5/30

That moment when your mother is talking so loud and you don't know why,
but you get the feeling she's trying to embarrass you but your not sure what you've done to deserve it?
And the only point she continues to make is repeated and is not seemingly concerned with your red light,
in fact she keeps going.
If blood or distant relatives are within a 5ft radius they will turn on you and make an alliance against whatever relationship you thought you had.
They will immediately side with the crazy woman who knows a lot but is hard to comprehend.

Little girl,
everything your mother says will be hard to translate or understand.
Our experiences do not happen always as quickly as the way momma make it seem.
But sometimes they do.
Every time she passes you she is telling you to slow down,
that she's been there and knows there is too much to see.
She knows you can't hear past your age or hormones so she speaks in a tone that isn't make believe.
The only stories you know are the ones she left in your hair.
The amount of times she repeats herself will make for a game plan or 1-800 # she left on your recorder when boy hurts you, tries to take advantage, or catty girls make you the odd ball.
You will find her voice under your pillow the first time you second guess letting a man be in between the same sheets.

Mothers remind the sky that its empty without clouds no matter the shape.

When your eyes were rolling in the back of your head it'll be to store away aggravation and common sense you'll need to fight off bullies and find people that say you can't do it.
Little girl,
there is nothing more embarrassing than a woman who doesn't know how to be her own woman and everybody knows.
That "know it all" living in your bottom lip and selfish tongue is the reality of a street light with no bulb.
How will you know when to go home if it weren't for momma?
Or which way to take?
The walk is longer if you do things with underdeveloped power Sally.
Who but momma's voice you remember cracking open the sky,
making the village aware that she needs help and you will be a woman soon?
Soon, it'll be your turn to do it on your own in the city with urban cowboys and fast talkers.
This life is a jigsaw with missing puzzle pieces and amazement.

Pack wisely.



6/30
If you want to f* him after you hear his poem, DON"T!
If he makes eye contact while he's singing at a R&B concert and makes you believe he just added a verse to the song because he saw you, HE DIDN'T!
Yes he's gorgeous!
But he knows it.
Oh and the song sucks!
He'll do the same set tomorrow night in Atlanta.
If you exchange digits and he doesn't call you or text you or inbox you on Facebook
1) He never planned on calling you in the first place.
2) He doesn't like you
No really.... HE DOESN'T LIKE YOU!
If the first time you meet while giving speed dating a try he touches you 45 times in 10minutes during the conversation,
this is either some really immature "Watch this dude..." moment or he has a really bad case of OCD.
If every time you see him and he has on sunglasses and there is no sun and it is in fact night time,
he might have identity issues, have a lazy eye, or be blind.


7/30

The ocean went for miles without giving up,
before it wrapped around the world 50 times before it decided not to swallow the rest of the beach.
It climbs the Earths walls on its side and sometimes it lays gray like platinum concrete.
It's mouth has too many zippers to count.
On days when it forgets how to keep secrets the tide is uneasy and suffering dirty.
It vomits dead jelly fish that thought they would get out alive.
Healthy mornings are when the ocean gives birth to another matte finish and makes it sway and ballet like Alvin Ailey dance company.
The water does not crash,
it heartbeats and captures.
It is blue and calming,
making seduction to the sky.
A fickle and inconsistent pair fell asleep in the oceans belly.
Mermaids are the minority,
and the moons are jealous at how wide their voices grow.
We forget about peaceful things that happen while we're sleep walking into bow and arrows.
We still can't explain how the ocean got here or which came first, morning or night.
But somehow,
we've figured out how to hate or rape a race that shares the same Sun.


9/30

Get
quenched
Get lifted
Get up
Get out
Get inspired
Get with it
Get love
Get stronger
Get back
Get it Get it
Be.

4/30
Thankful

I learned how to pray in my mothers hands and mouth,
and beside my grandmothers beanstalk bed.
From what looked like whispers to nothing and had no sound.
Private in the way God holds their attention.
Everything on their lips full and in plural.
This is what praise looked like in my house.
A silent energy that carried currents.

When I was little, my mother would pray my hands together for me and busy me with the Lord's Prayer.
She trained me early on to memorize things that could make me whole,
like poetry.
No matter if you're a believer or not,
we've all got a little bit of Jesus in us.

As an adult, I need more answers, thicker notepads and plentiful pens.
I pray on all things I touch in poetry with a whisper, full lips, and in plural.
I use my hands,
I hold others attention,
I make things.
This is what praise looks like in my house.

3/30
Classic I Am Poem

I am passionate and brilliant minded.
I am simple and plain.
I am jealous streaks and raised eyebrows.
I am the Bermuda Triangle and the feeling of pockets.
I am woooooo and lalalalalalalalalala singing off key and then on again.
I am a car wash and the sound of a hurricane at night before it calms.
I am the Lorax and Utopia's Sun.
I am the sword of Katona and Micheal Angelo's heart.
I am cupcakes I gave up for lent.
I am never enough and more than.
I am the mouth of babes you never listen to.
I am my mothers dimples and hands and laugh and any other good things that attracted my father.
I am short breaths and small fingers.
I am guitar strings and the throat of Jill Scott when she sings Lyzel in Eflat.
I am street corners, the block is hot, a mover and a shaker.
I am split ends and long braids.
I am black like my name spelt with a "Y".
I am O.G.
I am affirmations I don't always believe in.
I am learning how to believe in myself.
I am doctor touches and uncertainty.
I am full glasses and empty gas tanks.
I am more than a poet.
"I am almost human."

2/30

For Mechelle Nicole Gonzales

When I first met her she sat alongside the wall and tried to disappear in chipped paint.
Butterflies flapped on her lips and “a rose by any other name” laid placid behind her right ear.
She wore a white shirt and khaki pants,
they all wore white shirts and khaki pants.
But she stood out while sitting invisible.
Her eyes are the shape of round buttons,
the big ones you could never loose.
I find her wanting a creative outlet by the way her body folds in the corner engaging nothing, but following all the rules.
I have reason to believe she has more to offer than olive skin.
While visiting a Victorian village,
I let conversation listen to her talk about a father she loves and hates,
a mother who suffers in rooms with drawn curtains,
and a brother she needs to be better for.
I hand her a pen and paper and tell her to save herself,
to learn how to swim,
to start eating healthy.
She draws pictures of her insides and tells stories in a maze that looks like her heart.
She is growing girl in these words.
I am needing her to see her worth and live life in rainbows and rooftops.
I am wanting her to be more than marble balls and a glass house she can’t see out of.

The first time she came alive on paper,
I saw her realize that before this moment she hadn’t really been breathing,
and her native tongue “poured onto pages.”
Every now and then she tells me when she smiles and how many times.
I hope she never forgets what it means to be creative.

I am dedicating my April 30/30 poems this month to Trayvon Martin, Black America, and the Hoodie Nation

1/30:

When the weather is warm
and hands are making repairs around my house
and dirt are on my pants from the mess I made in my garden;
When the sweat rolls from my thoughts and the musk makes smell
and I am the only ugly thing standing in the field;
When the clouds make blue bubble gum and God turns on the highways
and we are all just a Western burden;
When children down the street make giggles in bouncing balls and sound like Peace Treaty's
and religions have forgotten who's wrong;
When cars are whipping around concrete
and they pass natural spirits for the day;
When dishes are piled in bellies
and a lake is drowning suds;
When the tongues shout radical words that have clearly learned how to pray
but be blessed with black wings;
When no one is watching the appointed
and hands are empty -as in- unarmed,
the armed will skip a heartbeat
and a little boy will die.