Moments like breath
Are sometimes stolen
Taken away when we least
expect it.

I admit to wanting to steal
Commit crime.
Take this shit to the streets.
Risk jail time to push it
Deep inside my pockets
Under the lining of my bra
Beneath the softness of my tongue
Bury it down inside my sweat socks
scratching against my ankles.

Moments, like breath
Aren’t guaranteed.

So I risk my life and everything that is real,
To fall asleep inside an hour of this moment.
To hear your voice for a just a few more seconds.

You are placing me under arrest.
This is the only time I ever rest.

Even if I have to call collect 
from a payphone at the County.
Put on those red jelly shoes
Pee in front of everybody
Trade in my jewelry
Spend 30 days in solitary confinement
East disgusting ham and cheese sandwiches
Check in with a p-o for six months
Wrap a tether around my ankle 
It won’t matter. 
I will kiss my imaginiation so softly, so slowly
My dreams, jealous
won’t know if my eyes are
open or closed

dead or alive
I admit to wanting to steal you.
Hide you inside a large coat.
Slip you on inside the dressing room
While the camera’s are on and walk out
Like I came in wearing this skin
And no one would ever question the tags
Hanging freely from my fingers. 
I want to line my veins, muscles and tissue
With our breath, our smell, our past. 
I was supposed to be your girl.
Is tattooed to your tongue.

I want to seize you inside this poem.

TAke you far away from the lights and energy bandits
Hear your breath and laugh in peace
Where you can kiss me because you love me
And that will be the way it is. 
Not a stolen moment, but how we live.
This call costs three dollars every fifteen minutes
We can’t afford to speak.
Like uncertain breath
And unjustified jail time

you take all my moments away.

- Jessica Care moore
“The Alphabet Versus The Ghetto”

raindrops; 180709

When you’re here I tend to notice the beauty
The same beauty that remains universal
The beauty you said you see in me

I can see these beautiful raindrops, launching themselves at your
Brooklyn window at 3 in the morning
As if they were trying to splash us
Cool drips to take us out of our gaze

“Beautiful.”
And I nodded before agreeing that they were
Not fully comprehending that you were
Talking about me
Especially when these raindrops and I are both in your view
There’s no way you can hold me against them.

Absent minded-ly, I opened the window and
Climbed out quickly, getting rain water slick on the fire escape
Named so perfectly with the inferno from the bedroom

One by one, each raindrop in my path fell from heaven
Kissing me on its way down, running off my face

Before your lips took their place
Pushing me back against the banister, adding to the noise
Of New York City, and with a quick lift I sat with legs spread
And you right back between them, holding onto me tight

The raindrops fell as if they were trying to separate us
When all they did was make you more appealing
Our beauties collided as quickly as we did again
In the middle of New York City under dim lights and raindrops.

-blackgirldemontreal.

cupid’s arrow in disguise

it makes him realize what he`s been missing
haze over his eyes ; feinin for my kitchen
skills ; and my love , my embrace
it smooths out the lines in his face
but doesn`t mask the tears than have stained his cheeks
when he`s alone and thinks about how his girlfriend is on the creep

but with another puff of grass it all goes away & he speaks his mind
and it seems like cupid appears through the smoke to find me
and draw me closer to the enticing smell of burning marijuana
to find him in a room full of males so hot it feels like a sauna
there day to get away to paradise island and i`ve opened the plane door
told to get out & i quickly shuffle away before the nose hits the shore

— but he`s already found me .. cupid has done his work —

back in the hall i wait while cupid works his magic
he slowly walks out and slumps down , eyes lookin like he gotta have it
it being trust , doesn`t wanna be mocked cause his girl is never satisfied
he can never forget about her ; still in love with her ; forgets his pride

but he forgets all about her when he lays ablaze next to me
cupid`s arrow in a nickle bag ; helps him see who`s real through the weed leaf

and then his fingers work their way up my thigh , lookin deep into my eyes
up my side , back down my arm to my navel; between my breasts , to my lips
he whispers ” love me ” nudging my neck with his nose
butterfly kisses from my collar bone to my ear ; in intensity he glows
lips move to speak but before i can talk he latched on to them for dear life
crash landing his soft pink lush mouth onto mine ; tongue breaks through my lips like a knife


& then our eyes flutter open and we smile ;
countinuin to kiss for a little while .

-blackgirldemontreal

Just Friends

Uneasily assimilated to this new nation of infatuated,
where permanence is a penance debated,
love and hate equated
sides saying I’ll not be committed lest of lust be acquitted or emotion forfeited
What some fought for after forbidden for granted we take and keep hidden
Were limited by unlimited possibility, our over abused ability to easily set free that which no longer heats below to the proper degree
Where lies morality when deception is a clarity we pretend not to see
For the warmth of a body and chill of impenetrable heart ignorance to rationality is the unloving fee
but desperation for lusty perspiration and false acceptance are key…

A Broken Heart

kisses fall on top of shattered pieces of dreams

trying its hardest to piece everything back together again with the soft, sweet action

the action is repeated simuntaneously, slowly dispersing all the negative weight that caused it to shatter in the first place

lost dreams and hopes are now faded into dust and particles that was once a heart

a heart that was held captive by thoughts, imprisioned by false promises

happiness slowly drained from it, causing it to crack and slowly break…

now his kisses fall on top of shattered pieces of dreams

trying to piece back what he wants to gain

-Alkin C (peaceluvhappinessmusic)

backseat brilliance.

black boys and girls
pretty faced latino boys and un-graph-able latina curls
all in the back of class
most of em acting an ass
taking a backseat to their edumacation
only interested in intimate relation

but in the class’s abyss
where the darkest stories are in the midst
sits an intelligence, a gift, an art, a talent
stronger and as powerful as our talent

from the girl that can put on any performance and play her face to its part
hoe, slut, whore; but an actress’s Oscar looms, waiting for her in the green room
to the boy swiping metro-cards at the platform, all the ambition in the world
his drive more determined to be unconquered, makes the spin of an F1’s engine look like a twirl
the beautiful boys and girls who use a sawed off shot gun’s blast as a starting shot
the one that show humanity when tears drop as the apply pressure to the wounds that won’t clot

young warriors who don’t know anything but to fight
praised by his peers as he stands up for his family; yet turns on the same ones that very night
cannot channel the aggression, the torment, the pain, the insecurity
planting children in the plural, but all their innocence couldn’t make a drop of purity

which brings about young mothers, wiser beyond their years
questioning their young warrior’s future, turns dreams into fears
so they sacrifice their babies to save them from being shot down by those they don’t know
a mother’s love? others aspire that they will prosper and bring them forth to show

praying on subway cars and daydreaming in pissy elevators about their and theirs existence
hoping with everything that unlike them, they will bring forth their backseat brilliance.

He’s my lover…

Because he could cure my world with a word or kiss from his mouth.
Because he could lift me to the stars when my life was going south.
Because he said I was the best he’d ever had before the song came out.
Because I could go to him and he’d have me any time with no doubt.
Because I felt lustful in his rapturous embrace
But equally tranquil afterwards and safe
Because I could be naked right down to my soul
With no worries or judgment just free to lose control
Because when everyone was backing down leaving me alone
He stood for me stronger than any rock or stone
Because until this day I live for his caress
Because because of him I can forget the rest

Blinded

I don’t want or need to be piggy back ridden
I never beg or plead to be unhidden
you reveal or contain unbidden
I have no greed no airs to put on
so if you choose to be gone
who am I to call it wrong
I was here before your head became bigger then your brain
before you were blinded by minimal fame
if I’ve learned to play its you who put me in the game
Its easier to hate
what you chose to create
I offered what I knew but you chose too late.
I stare at a stranger while you ignore a truth
I don’t have evidence and I don’t need proof
before you came along I was innocent youth.
Said stop looking down, stop speaking that way
a transformation in less then a day
for you I’d perform any which way.
So many you trained in turn
you start the fire to anger at the burned
reassured karma is a lesson you’ll learn
So give them an image adorn them your art
just remember those there from the start
the ones whom leave the shell and aim for the heart

wifey season - solomonsdaughter

as the winter months roll around && it gets cold
snow starts dumping && hats n’ gloves are sold
so are the hearts of so many boys
as they focus on one girl; deafen all the noise
hold on to one chick to keep em warm
through out snow days && snow storm
bringing em girls hot chocolate, giving up they hoodies
mo prone to wanna cuddle with a movie than get the goodies
finally realizing a woman’s worth, kinda what Alicia was talking about
trying so hard to keep yall together bringing down all the fault
on himself, even if he ain’t do nothing
understanding there’s nothing like the warmth of a woman
less likely to cheat since not a lotta skin be showing
thinking a lil straighter, acting like they got halo’s glowing
best take advantage of his increasing reason
get cha status right, cause its wifey season.!

two years ago this time around.

Street Product

A jolt of pain explodes in his chest

causing him to lay back down.

Images flashing through his mind,

thinking about the ungrateful deed he has done.

Ungrateful, immature, selfish

He let his body be his gun.

Taking shots at whatever specimen he could find.

He only does it for the rush, so that he

could receive his prize.

The one thing he centers his whole life

around; the white.

It’s been a battle with that street product for years now.

His life turned into a routine.

Endless nights and short days filled with

sweat, tears, violence.

His area is the demon’s playground, skies of gray,

not one light to be found.

He lays down, ready to take his last breath,

worried about which dumpster his body will be laid to rest.

Times of regret follow him, slowly tangling him

in a smoke of death.

He still tries to find that high; the white

but he always wonders why.

-Alkin C (peaceluvhappinessmusic)

Polarity

neptunelle:

Everything I’m not, probably will never be

Still complementary to what I am

All the things I dream I want

Yet in every day I work so hard to not have

In all good sense I shouldn’t desire

But intuition says you’re something I may need

Or maybe I just delude self into thinking you could improve self

That’s just typical we

Our differences our detriments

Somehow they meld to our credit

I could nourish you

You certainly ground me

So natural, the symbiosis almost unreal

Typical we

In vain, I try to organize what I feel

But the free flow of messy thoughts of you are inevitable

Wander through my unconscious mind many possibilities

But the reality stands perfectly in front of me

How irresponsible of me to find inspiration in you

Typical me

-Unfinished. Just like our business. Can’t find the right words to say, But can I ever? Until then, [Virgo], something is better than nothing.

kevin-anthony:

No final sentence without a beginning, 
Each word expressed has its own meaning, 
To write is to spill out entangled thoughts,
To unlock imagination itself,
Because not everyone is free,
Most are prisoners of fate,
Chained to containment.

My mind has been concealed, 
Bound by the structure of chaos,
Following the rules of the shadows,
A life of dark-faded figures.
Shattered portraits of hope,
A world devoted to seeking something else,
To obtain a better phase,
To become someone more.

This moment begins my transmutation,
My genetic code changing within,
Shedding the dark shadows of my mind,
Becoming free of this weight.
Replacing the broken frames,
Giving hope a settled place,
Becoming the someone I can be,
Becoming the real me. 
This is the beginning.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the 
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message
bout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver’s seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

Gil Scott-Heron

Woman

she wanted to be a blade
of grass amid the fields
but he wouldn’t agree
to be the dandelion.

she wanted to be a robin singing
through the leaves
but he refused to be
her tree

she spun herself into a web
and looking for a place to rest
turned to him
but he stood straight
declining to be her corner

she tried to be a book
but he wouldn’t read

she turned herself into a bulb
but he wouldn’t let her grow

she decided to become
a woman
and though he still refused
to be a man
she decided it was all
right



Nikki Giovanni

i refuse to rap about my pussy.

inpresstheempress:

it shines so bright
misleadin the sight
givin absolute reasonin
for thoughts of warmin
yet cold rushes
powder ears with blushes
frozen to the core
i wish to be mislead no more…