Extraordinary Machine

some folks
are really good
at being guarded
it’s their countenance
the colors
that make them
familiar
they don’t ever
open up
you would
have better luck
waiting for them
than trying
to pry them open
they are
usually cancers
you can tell
they want to be
vulnerable and emotional
but they will not
allow themselves
i hope someday
this changes
i hope
that is what i do

i wish so many things
i miss so many things
nostalgia consumes me
on nights when I cannot
get away
from your negativity
i daydream about the past
i obsess with the future
i do things great men
and women tell me to do
when faced with lifes challenges
some days are better
than others
some nights my emotions
are indifferent
every night i pray for you
and him and her
i hope that we can all
tackle lifes obstacles
i make vows to myself
i promise not to break
i meditate in my mind
i will never
pull the trigger

a poem about nothing
but something
because I know better
my creativity in a box
buried deep inside
my everyday responsbilities
I still trust you
with all my heart
I still value your companionship
and solitude and angst
and hope and pain
you still inspire me
to be the real me
not the one
masquerading around
pretending as if
it doesn’t feel like
a dozen knives
stabbing me in the back
then in the front
when I don’t
write.

I haven’t been on here in a little while. I haven’t written anything worthwhile in an even longer amount of time. No poetry. No flighty prose. No tumbling of feelings into something that resembles an introduction to creative writing type assignment. I haven’t really felt like it.

And then tonight something stirred inside of me again. I felt like writing. I didn’t feel like writing anything in particular but I felt like trying. I felt like silence and solitide awaited me and I wasnt alarmed; not in the least bit. I just turned Meshell off…I love her but I need to hear myself think.

I’ve been reading fiction. I don’t mean that in the plural sense of the word. One book…Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “Half of a Yellow Sun.” I have the last tiny chapter left. It was simply splendid. I haven’t read something that wasn’t assigned to me in probably over 2 years. I’ve struggled when I’ve made myself read for “leisure.” But, this relationship was different. Her writing style was simple to get lost in. Her imagery was lucid and believable and the story was captivating.

It’s a shame when you learn about your history through an author’s fiction. It’s a cruel joke. It’s painful. We didn’t learn about Nigerian history when I was in primary school. We learned about Europe and America and all that jazz. I feel bamboozled. I feel ashamed. I feel angry. I feel sad.

I want to shake those folks in that sleeping giant. I want to look them in the eyes and ask them why we continue when we now know better.

I’ve suddenly lost all desire to continue writing…

empty classrooms
that I want to say
were the third
floor of the cathedral
we even spoke about
the old window
on the fifteenth floor
but judging by those
intruding men
it was more likely
holy cross at howard
but the women
were beautiful
and down to smoke
so we puffed
and passed
and enjoyed
each others
company
and it was
a fantasy
but it was
peaceful
and appreciative
and we ended it
in a dance studio
or I ended it
and abruptly
woke up

maybe I am unworthy of you
i do not know
but what I do know
is that whenever I hear
that hurt and pain
in your voice
masked as anger
a part of my heart
breaks off into the night
and I lose a part of me
in that moment
never to return again
for the thought
that I have caused you pain
makes me want to never
return here
ever again 

you ever want to apologize
to someone for something
so badly
that you do
then you do it over
and over again
in your mind
to the point where
you think you’ve said it
a million times
but you haven’t
well, I have
and it doesn’t taste
any better
the more times
you do it
but eventually
I think
it does become
a bit easier
to swallow

you’re so close
i can feel each
and every
apprehensive breath
you want to dive
back into this ocean
but you’re unsure
about whether
the beasts
you conquered
have returned
to take you
back with them
well, i ain’t no
sailor nor sorcerer
but I can reassure
you this
if you jump back in
and hold nothing back
this time
you won’t go missing

yeah, you try choking down a panic attack
ignore all the blood and guts and tears
and tell me everything will be okay
and that I should believe you
because you love me
that you wouldn’t lie to me
although
we both know that you would
and that you’re going to leave
eventually

trapped in a closet that’s really a campus
tucked away in the upper west side of town
the district of columbia
not to be confused with manhattan
for in manhattan
you can still find solace somewhere
with someone
and everyone tells me
you have to find freedom
in your heart first
but I tell them
to go fucking find freedom
themselves