I had a dream I was a tulip: pink & perky, blooming in the rays of your gaze. I awoke from this floral dream to find myself crippled by clutter: stacks of paper piled high, sprinkled bits of broken jewelry, flailing sirens zipping by. I hear you whisper, “This life is an unholy alter for you, God’s most delicate creation.” I feel my soft pink wings catch the wind of your breath and fly me back to my home of moist earth. I will wait for you here, basking in late summer sun, hosting honey bees & tattooed butterflies. One day I’ll know you beyond the dream, hear your footsteps as you stroll on cobblestoned paths. And if the leaves start to fall before you approach, I’ll be here next year. You already know, my spirit is a pink-stained perennial.
Your truth is a stone the color of West African dust that hangs from your neck, swinging from nipple to nipple, keeping time as you survey this city you call a home.
Your truth is a lover whose forehead you kiss each night as you tuck her in beside you, pulling her warmth closer, nestling your cheek into her crooks and curves.
Your truth is a leather-bound book you hold squarely in your palms each morning, filled with words already carved into your tongue, whose meaning you have meditated on and become one with.
Your truth is a dance that you cannot remember learning and cannot forget, a rhythm with the force of gravity that pulls your heels into the floor and rocks your hips with the ebb and flow of an easy wave.
And for this reason I find myself numb once in your presence; have difficulty seeking words honest enough to rise up and meet yours; have to strain to keep my face from tensing up into a confused half-smile.
You see, I keep my truth stuffed deep down in my back pocket during the day and locked securely in my dresser at night. In the morning I swallow other people’s truths, feel things I once heard done or said ease uncomfortably down my throat. And when I move, there’s a constant uncertainty to my steps and an uneasiness in my shoulders.
Your breath is soil.
My skin is cellophane.
I’m not ready to get dirty.
I’m not ready for you.
So I left for a while,
I thought I’d be right back,
But life’s an airplane in motion
And I enjoy the flight,
But I came right to you once I touched down on the pavement,
Knew I’d see my name in your hand as you stood waiting.
I just knew you’d be waiting.
In a taxi to your place,
Your smile all in my head.
Remembering how soft your sheets are when we’re in your bed.
Thinking how hard we laughed when you burned up those biscuits,
How I put my hand on your cheek and said I would fix it.
Shouldn’t be hard to fix it.
Then I press your buzzer by the door,
When I hear your voice it sounds unsure.
Say you’ll meet me on the inside stairs
As if you’ve got something to hide up there.
What’s to hide in there?
When I finally see your face
Your smile is faintly traced
Just a slight embrace
For me.
I say I missed you
Ask if I can make us some tea
You say, “No, no, I’ve got company.”
Oh, well I can come back later
I’ll bring some wine.
You say, “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll call later.”
As you part your door
Walk inside to leave
I catch a glimpse of blue
Color of the Aegean Sea.
It’s fresh and cool
Splashed across your wall.
The same accent we talked about at the end of your hall.
Always said when I moved in we’d paint it together.
But that was seasons ago,
Before the warm weather.
It’s been a long winter,
But I knew I had to leave.
Just can’t believe you’d paint without me
How could you paint blue without me?
(Definitely turning this one into a song – Copyrighted material people)
I just want to make you proud.
Give you a sunrise at which to marvel.
Plant the roots you watered deep and watch them sprout strong.
Be a tree whose shade you can rest under.
You’ve laid every brick on my path,
Using blood as mortar,
And I just wanna make you proud.
Watch your cheeks rise and swell with warmth,
See your eyes soft and wet, no longer afraid.
Tears of dignity.
Proud.
When the music goes off
The silence between my joints
In the space between my ribs & my diaphragm
The silence stuffed up behind my ears & below my throat & between my eyebrows…
It seeps out into the room
And I have to feel the space
I have to hear the ringing of me.
I’m so loud in the silence.
I just posted a video of me performing one of my original songs, “Real Love.”
This song is about being in a long distance relationship, about how it is a struggle, but so worthwhile with the right person. I began writing it while in Ghana in 2012, and I finished it last year with songwriter Vaneese Thomas. This song will be on my upcoming EP.
There’s still time to contribute to my Indiegogo campaign. If you enjoy the song & would like to hear the fully produced & orchestrated studio version, please donate:
Verse I:
When I’m in your arms I know it’s where I should be
It’s a place that feeds my soul.
And I don’t see myself ever letting go,
Cause it’s a place I can call my own.
And I know I have wronged you with my careless words, But somehow you always see me through. And I know times get rough when I’m so far away, But you can trust that I’ll always be true.
Chorus: Cause this is love baby Ain’t nothing less. Yes we’ve got love baby. We’ve passed the test. Through all the hard times We kept holdin on. And I know that we’ll always be strong Cause this is real love.
Verse II: People do ask me why do I try And I tell them the same each time. I say, “When it’s the real thing, you give it your all.” I can’t help but to treasure our bond.
Cause when I look in your eyes I find all that I need And more than I thought I deserved, And with your hand in mine I know we’ll always succeed, Cause we’re willing to grow and to learn.
Chorus: Cause this is love baby Ain’t nothing less. Yes we’ve got love baby. We’ve passed the test. Through all the hard times We kept holdin on. And I know that we’ll always be strong Cause this is real love.
I tend to write a lot while at others’ shows. Live music inspires me. I just saw the band Phox perform, and I wrote this little thang…
Your face was lost somewhere between something sweet & something soft, And I was floating somewhere between the stratosphere & the treetops. Problematic speech far away, somewhere under a thin layer of dirt, Just beginning to sprout.
CD Baby
