Thursday, May 29, 2014


Children will hear of your name
through gossip and speak of it as
rumors. They will only know of your
life what the tabloids tell them.
Your voice will sound like a whisper
compared to the gibberish of Nicki Minaj.

But someday when the caged bird
knows that freedom is at hand,
you will be there on the pulse of morning
like a mother to open the cage up for them.
To hug them into a brave and startling truth.
To kiss them out of a plagued journey.
They will bury themselves in the
mother nature of your antique arms.
Women will feel phenomenal again.
Men will hold you like the
last raw egg in the world for eternity.
Poets will be honored to keep your
legacy breathing through their fingertips.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Never Trust A Strut

They say a woman that can rip 
a back block like a runway is either 
out for your money or attention. 
And 9 times out of 10 she probably 
won’t even have to sweat her make 
up off to get them.
Beauty is such a plastic thing these days. 
Rumor has it a good girl who wears her 
heart on her sleeve will have it ripped off 
and stomped on before she graduates 
from junior high.
So that means that on the first day she 
struts into high school, she’ll be calling 
herself a bad bitch and bragging about 
men twice her age.
I swear, 
these times are a time bomb for apocalypse. 
A smoke bomb for love at first sight. 
Fear has our deepest dreams in a straightjacket.

We all pretend to be bulletproof until risk 
comes along with a revolver and challenges 
us to a game of Russian roulette.

Only if we knew that the winner would one day 
be able to reflect on life with a smile and no regrets.

Monday, May 26, 2014

Hunger Games

Like a hostage,
goodbye reluctantly crawls
out of the oubliette of her lips
and jumps to its death,
why death waits for her like
a grave in a forest laced battlefield.
Where trees gossip of war stories
and night eulogizes the fallen
as if it didn’t trip them into a corpse.
Imagine a genocide with make up on.
And once that becomes too
unbearable to fathom,
imagine a massacre for charity.
That kind of blood never did
mix well with tears or fire.
They fear those that move
through crossfires like revolutionaries;
that look presidents dead in the eyes
and see only a man with a suit and
more power than he can handle.
The system is like a box made
to not think outside of it.
So that why when you do they try
their hardest to either bury you or
lock you in one for eternity.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Single Mother

She once believed in love.

And it left her a stranded single mother
with a restraining order and a daughter
too young and simpleminded to see
her father and not flinch.
To see her mother and not cry,
but hope a smile will make
her believe in love again;
a hug will treat the throbbing
wounds from his wallop.

Sometimes she looks at her daughter
and sees the worse parts of him conniving.
Growing into a figment of her worst nightmare.
A spitting image vomiting the love out of her.
Every time she sips from the golden flask of his memory –
it becomes the quickest way for her to get wasted off hatred.

If she could I’m sure she would snap
Cupid’s bow and arrow in half and throw it on
top of the pile of broken promises in her diary.

She writes to keep from counting her scars;
to keep from reading the bomb threats
in her mind out loud for the world to hear.
Nowadays her daughter and art are the only
compasses love can use to find her again.

I hope she returns home safely one day.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Most Men

Most men will treat women
how they carry themselves.

If that be like burdens they
will only see them as whores;
as lousy sex objects whose morals have
been buried along with their hope.

Or if that be like insecurities they
will only see them as gold-diggers;
as opportunist whose flaws have
been tucked away along with the
corpse of their dignity.

But if that be like virtue they
will only see them as queens.
As heroine’s whose dreams have
taken flight along with their faith
through the stormy skies of impossible.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014


You drop a glass it shatters 
into dozens of pieces. 
You crack a heart it shatters into 
hundreds of thousand of words. 
You break a spirit it shatters 
into a lifetime of despair.
Maybe poems are called pieces 
because each one mends 
whatever is broken inside of you.
Whenever demons try to 
unscrew the sky out of you, 
you write them into an oblivion 
of poems and watch the life slowly 
leak out of their eyes and back into yours; 
the blood spill out of their invisible 
wounds and onto your pages.
I know it may not sound like 
much of an happy ending, 
but when you’re able to envision 
again I promise you’ll see a new beginning.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Your Choice

In life you can choose to
open mics or a can of whoop-ass.
Stand behind bars
or use them to free minds.
I’m not saying you have to be a poet
pouring words out of your heart like liquor,
but water for instance does more than
just quench your thirst and nourish dirt.
It adapts to hardships like The Titanic.
You can do the same.
But tonight you will go to sleep like
always hoping you wake up to a miracle
because *you think* you deserve it.
I’m betting all that awaits you
is a reality check – be the miracle.

Monday, May 19, 2014

Most Epic #Selfie

Imagine if Maya Angelou, 
Mother Teresa, Mahatma Gandhi, 
and Malcolm X all took a selfie together. 
It would look like black power lifting 
the heart of a woman and chanting world peace.
Their eyes will be a movie reel of memories; 
bloody ones washed away by tears of joy. 
They will show our generation what it really 
means to let your smile speak for itself. 
To let your skin color blend into a 
scintillating hue of love.
We will try to mimic this historical moment. 
They will sit in a throne made of their 
own bones and laugh hysterically at the irony.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Five Never-Lands of the World

(I’m going to start this poem out by saying…)
I. Never look up at the sky and see a heaven
you may only reach in death,
but instead see nothing more than an attic you
can use your faith as a ladder to scale;
broken limbs will heal but sometimes hearts never will.
II. Never be afraid to wake up out of your slumber
for fear of never seeing your dreams again.
It is possible to see the same miracles
while still keeping your eyes open,
unless you have blindfolded your hope with doubt.
III. Never say love doesn’t exist when
you know you can’t live without it.
You may not be able to see oxygen,
but it still gives you life; love is no different.
IV. Never let the crippling blows of life numb you
to the vivacious sensation of laughter.
I know a woman that did.
Now she’s only able to see life through the eye of a hurricane.
V. And Lastly, never live life just for yourself.
A pilot without passengers to keep him
grounded will eventually crash & burn.
We all need purpose to fulfill us the same way we fulfill it.
(…never let your upbringing bring you down.)

Saturday, May 17, 2014

The Truth Hurts

In the world there are really 
men with zero respect for women; 
women with zero respect for themselves.
Strutting around loosely like 
the fly line on a fishing rod, 
using their body as bait to 
lure in the Big Fish.
And here it is I’m still penning 
love poems about how beauty 
ties my tongue into a tripwire 
my words stumble over. 
And how she’s beautiful enough 
to flaunt in an art gallery right 
next to a Picasso painting.
Then, I wake up from my dreamworld 
and see the same girl pregnant with a 
man that spent more time behind bars 
than with her. And not too long after her 
water breaks she will try to spend more 
time in the club than with her baby.
The reason I paint ugly 
pictures of reality so often, 
is because the beautiful ones 
are masterpiece enough to 
speak for themselves. 
And most people only listen 
to your words when they’re 
hostile enough to start a war.

Friday, May 16, 2014

By(e)-gone Homies

When a young boy wants to be 
down he looks up to drug dealers 
like moons and forefathers. 
He dreams of the day he can roam 
blocks freely without his mother 
eagle eyeing his whereabouts.

So he opens the front door every 
morning like the cover of a textbook and 
studies the kinematics of a criminals stride; 
the cinematics of a drug dealers swagg. 
The way young girls watch them like 
the backs of fathers that walked 
out of their life years ago.
This is so far from a coincidence that 
you can barely see the connection. 
But its there waiting on your doorstep; 
on the corner of the poppy store with 
the dope boys.
And when your finally old enough to 
hear your mother’s words like 
summer homework assignments, 
all of those childhood dreams will 
come true.
Friends will become strangers and 
mistakes will be a permanent marker 
of blindfold on your vision.
I just hope you don’t run all of your 
loved ones out of your life, 
before they have a chance to save it.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

You'll Pay...

I am so much more than a 
shy, tongue-tied, closet poet. 
That wears black like goths 
and can light up a gloomy 
day with just a smile. 
My miracles are no less 
Godly than the next man, 
so if you try to treat me like 
dirt on your shoulder expect 
a magazine of poems to be 
written about you; 
the kind used to 
feed rifles during war. 
Because thats what happens 
when you try belittling someone 
that has the tongue of a sword 
and the heart of a sniper. 

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Till Death Do Us Part

What if the woman you gave your 
heart to like she needed a transplant, 
was the same one that stepped on it 
like she had a death wish and 
land mines were buried deep in the 
war front of your chest, or vice versa?
I imagine regret would feel like a sword 
cutting clean through your wedding vows. 
Years will begin to wear you thin and 
bad blood will thicken your skin.
Screams will be earsplitting enough to 
wake a boy out of his sweet dreams. 
No bedtime story or goodnight kiss to 
put him back to sleep, just routine. 
Just the quiet in his own mind to 
disappear in.

Monday, May 12, 2014

A Different Kind Of Thank You

A tree needs sunlight to grow. 
Poems need poets to write them 
out of the dark corners of their mind.
Today is mothers day… 
Tomorrow will just be a Monday.
My mother may not love like most 
mothers do, but one thing she never 
did was let her demons take custody of us.

No, she was more heroin(e) than 
needles and burned silver spoons. 
She kept us from strolling down that 
dark alley of fire and brimstone and 
never returning for a home cooked meal.
For that, no bouquet of flowers 
should be able to express our gratitude.
Instead, mothers around the world 
should be able to know everyday 
that their sacrifices aren’t in vain.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Clouds are our Thrones

Our future is an
hour glass of hope
trickling out of our grip
like a handful of sand.
Time is a time bomb
ticking the breath out of us,
but still we move as if we have
forever in a chokehold.
The same way too many have
and now they pay for it with their
We can’t afford to make
the same mistakes.
If Floyd Mayweather Jr. can make
32 million in 36 minutes, than these
modest dreams of ours will definitely
awaken in a waterbed of success.
Of course we will earn
it until we deserve it.
Cherish it with memories
Faith will do the rest.

Friday, May 9, 2014


Sometimes the only thing 
standing between light and darkness, 
is a superhero cape of curtain 
or a cloak of villain depending on 
which side you mark as your territory.
You claim as your destiny.
Some people journey through life 
with one foot in heaven and one foot in hell, 
trying to have the best of both worlds; 
hoping to see the guardian angel in their demons.
There are voices that haunt me. 
They whisper in the day and scream at night. 
They tell me to follow in the footsteps that 
leads to broken hearts and forsaken dreams…
My answer is beginning to sound 
more like a lie falling from my lips.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

Bad Choice vs Bad Luck

I’m tired of people mistaking 
bad choices with bad luck.
A bad choice is deciding to 
drive drunk with a death wish.
Bad luck is a mother being killed 
in a head-on collision and her 
two sons having to watch her 
casket descend into a grave.
One was in control of his destiny 
until he decided to let alcohol 
take the wheel.
Why the other, had no idea that 
her life was coming to a closing.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Mark My Words

We will draw on this
summer’s canvas with
permanent marker.

Make everyone swallow
their doubt like fear.
Like a boy swallow’s the
vegetables his mother
cooks if he ever wants
to go outside again.

Just wait.

Have your popcorn handy;
your notepad ready.
We will make history
like soul mates make love –
slow and forever.
Slow and forever.

Sleep will be scarce,
but dreams be lived.
Dreams will be lived…
P.S. I wrote this why
watching Gangster Squad.
It taught me that every
man wears a badge.
I wonder if your heart
counts as one.

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Three Teenagers

One, counting money he 
knows the sum of already. 
The other brandishing his 
middle finger to the world 
as if it makes him a hoodlum. 
And the last has a cell phone 
pressed up against his ear with 
no one on the other line, 
trying to mimic the drug dealers 
he looks up to.
Eight years ago this was us - 
prepping for our mugshots. 
Believing clothes and sneaks 
were enough to cover up our flaws.
We were lost souls trying to 
find our identity in rap songs 
and police sirens. 
Hoping one day the girls 
would see in us and not through us.
But one day you grow older and 
realize that those days make 
waking up today, ten times better.

Sunday, May 4, 2014

...Remember Me

Some people dig
graves with their words.
Others build castles.
I want mines to be a
key that unlocks the
gates to heaven.
That unstraps the
straightjacket caging
your soul; blindfolding
your eyes when its
islands to sightsee.
Dreams to skydive in…
they tell you the
corner is a cliff.
They lie.
One step off the curb
and you’ll fall into the
arms of your destiny,
with opportunity waiting
deathly quietly alongside
her like a father for his newborn.
This is rebirth.
This is taking the world
by storm peacefully.
Because the truth is,
I don’t know any other
path to happiness.

Saturday, May 3, 2014


Somedays I speak poet. 
Some nights emcee. 
Sometimes both. 
Somewhere in the 
past my high school 
spanish teacher told 
me my tongue wasn’t 
well-bred enough. 
Some people chuckled 
why the words mumbled 
out of me; 
she was right. 
And even cared enough 
to find me when I dropped 
her class stealthily like a 
burden off my shoulders.
But nowadays I would 
ask her, what good is 
a foreign language if 
your native land already 
can’t understand you.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

See the Invisible

I guess im supposed to send 
God’s calling straight to voicemail.
Or better yet, 
ignore it and spend 
the rest of my life burying hot lines 
in yellow pages and never seeing 
them spread their wings across 
the world like a phoenix.
Dialing what-ifs, 
but knowing they won’t 
ever call back again. 
I can’t just hang up my future like 
it was the wrong number, 
or a bill collector.
Nor can I just scratch this itch 
in my palms and go back to living life 
like paradise is a phone call away.
And I know you only say 
these things to keep me safe.
But once I found out that even 
blind people can see their dreams, 
I made a promise to myself 
that I will never lose sight of mines.