I Deal In Sleep

How about you come with me, I deal in sleep. No sand or any of that shit, this is pure chemical relaxation. No hangovers and no side effects. I’ll make your bed, then you circle it, anticipation is the best part.

When is the last time you slept so deep you didn’t even realize you were asleep? That’s what I got. Counting sheep is for the lame, take my hand and get some of this. You like warm blankets on cold mornings? A contented loved one curled up next to you? Then don’t look past me, I deal in sleep. No waiting in lines, just me…..and your sleep.

Clouds of bliss and heavy eyelids, soft socks and satin sheets, I got all that. You wanna conk-out or drift off? You like that heavy sleep with drool and eyes stuck closed? Or do you want some light sleep with light dreams? What you waitin’ on? Come with me.

I got nightmares and flying dreams, sexy dreams and adventures dreams. Fantasies and real dreams, you wanna be a man or you wanna be a woman? With no more delay, step this way.

I’m not the sandman, I deal in sleep, call me the sleep dealer. Now, let’s talk price. First born, last born, I’ll take anything. A pound of flesh, a pint of blood, I’ll even take your cash.

Yes, I am the sleep dealer, I deal in sleep, but you may know me another name………the government.

My Entrance Into Amerika Is A Bill Of Sale. Inspired by James Baldwin.

I was not taught much about Mr. Baldwin in school, in fact I was not taught much in school. It really sad, I could have been a James Baldwin had that been nurtured in me. I’m sure a lot of Black talent has been wasted and not developed in schools and I think that’s the point of school. So please go easy on me as I make this attempt at interrupting this great, great Black treasure.

They call me Amerikan, but only by default.

They call me nigger because they are Amerikan by the grace of god.

I am owned, for the bible tells them so.

Though we share the same shameful and secret blood, you kill me.

The secret of us, must remain the secret of us.

We don’t seem to understand that what we have here is not a race problem, but a shade problem.

More of me shades you than live oaks on plantations that shaded you from the sun that shaded me.

Good evening Mr. Amerika, how are you this lightless day? Did you oppress, murder or break any treaties today?

In this country and in my mind, I was born colorless, grew up shady, matured into a darkie and retired a Black all the while called anything but.

And still my hand fits perfectly over my heart when I pledged allegiance to the this United States of Amerika. Perfectly, perfectly I say.

My calluses and broken back are not from labors that had benefited me and mine in our pursuit of happiness. No, but from empire building of which I am still not a part of.

Though history will tell the story of Amerika, it will not tell truth of Amerika.

I’m not angry nor will I get angry at this, my country tis of thee, but I am mad. Driven mad.

So I take my bow and bail out gracefully, because the day is coming when I will be just taken out.

To Be Young, Gifted and Black.

In my continuing effort to bring to light the mental illness in people that look like me, I present to you one of my all time favorite singers, Donnie Hathaway. Though it’s still discussed as to how and why he ended up dead, one thing for sure is he suffered with and from extreme mental illness. It was also reported that just before his death, he thought white folk were out to get him. A part of his illness? Plain ol’ paranoia? We can’t be sure, but one thing for sure is he was suffering. Let’s not suffer in silence. My motto: If left untreated, mental illness will kill you just as fast as any cancer or other terminal illness, you can trust in that. And yes, that includes a reckless lifestyle.

I thought about how I would like to bring Mr. Hathaway to you and I’m still not sure, though his story does need to be told, but not harped on. His music was his gift to us and his music is all he owe us. So I’ll just bring his music and leave the wiki link for those who want to know more about this Black genius. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donny_Hathaway Please feel free to add any song that you like.

Rage Turned Inward

This is another re post of a poplar piece I did a few months backs. It’s also a look at where I was and how far I’ve traveled in this journey. If I had to measure from there to here in miles, it would be about 100 miles of travel and I still can’t see my destination yet. 

 

Do you know me? then shut up.

Teeth grinding and I can’t even see.

Lips pursed tight and thoughts on fire.

Muscles inextinguishable and reality on yield.

I put my hands around the throat of my invisible tormentor and squeeze.

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I don’t wanna talk I don’t wanna listen I don’t wanna hear I don’t want you I don’t want me I don’t wanna come I don’t wanna go I don’t wanna feel I don’t wanna see I wanna be mad I wanna hate I wanna kill I wanna be killed I wanna hurt I wanna scream I want it dark I want it cold I gotta go I gotta disappear I gotta run I gotta choke I gotta hit I gotta kick I gotta burst I need to move I need stop I need to pierce I need to stab I need to bleed I need to be tight I need to be left I need to be alone.

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The world is safe, all these things are Rage Turned Inward. That is depression.

What would you do?

Sexy Ass: PG version

this is suppose to add to your reading pleasure:

Look at her.

Mounds of lovely Blackness catches me and keeps me, I follow that bounce and mumble; got damn it, girl!

Don’t stare……whatever.

Mt. Kilimanjaro is jealous of those mountains.

Hips beg please, but only ask once and I am there.

Thighs all fresh baked with warm icing dripping down, let me get that for you Sista.

You want some don’t you? Who me? Well……….

Her tempo is my cadence and march behind her, I don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind.

All give pause when god’s gift sachets by, we can almost hear it.

Hey Miss you single?

Of course not, with that sexy ass.

Vampire Blue/to serve and protect FTP

this for the enhancement of your reading experience:

Skin white like illness, cold and sticky.

Breath like death, chilly as a cave.

Heart pumps in reverse, pushes out life, a blight of nature.

A light less world, black hole sun hangs in the sky.

Death dealers, steals hope and shelters us from joy.

They walk in packs.

Tongue spits lies and flesh bullets, piercing contentment while befriending faux humans in search of real humans.

Dull fangs rip skin and spill life, leaving half dead, semi-conscious husks to promote a dull agenda.

They only exist in the periphery of our everyday, but never far away and always to close.

Peace is not know, greed is inhaled.

Watch for them to throw words and hide their tongues.

MY TORTURE.

Maybe this will enhance your reading pleasure:

MY EYES WON’T OPEN WITHOUT REASON

MY EYES WON’T CLOSE UNTIL THEY CAN’T STAY OPEN

MY MIND WON’T STOP UNTIL I HAVE PEACE OF MIND

MY GOOD THOUGHTS TWIST UNTIL I’M SATISFIED

MY BAD THOUGHTS ARE RICH AND DOMINATE

MY BEHAVIOR IS SKEWED AND DICTATED, MY MOVEMENT IS PHONY AND QUICK

I WEAR MANY HATS AND NONE HAVE MY NAME ON THEM

COLD BLOOD TAKES COLD EMOTIONS FROM COLD HEART AND COOLS MY AMBIENT

I STARE INTO MYSELF IN HOPES OF

ONLY MY TOMORROW CAN TORTURE ME LIKE LOST LOVE I LOOK FORWARD TO NOTHING

I WANNA BE HEARD AND SELDOM SEEN

IF CONFUSION IS ANYTHING BUT A WORD THEN I PIN IT TO MY CHEST AND THROW MY LINE OUT IN SEARCH OF DIRECTION

MY TORTURE IS OUT OF MY REACH AND I ACHE FOR HER

A FOOL WAS BORN THE SAME YEAR I WAS AND I WONDER

I THINK TO MYSELF AND GO TO WAR WITH ILLNESS AND ROT

MY ONLY EXIT IS TO FINISH AND I THOUGHT I WAS

WHEN YOU SEE ME DON’T SPEAK AS I AM SELF CENTERED AND I TAKE EVERYTHING THE WRONG WAY

WHEN I SEE YOU I WON’T

Barbed Wire Rapist

This is another re-post, not because I’m lazy, but because I wanted others who may have missed this to see it and feel it. This is the hardest piece I’ve written to date. It speaks to Black women’s history in this country with white men. It was inspired by a story told to me by a serious Sista. 

This may enhance your reading experience:

 

Our grandmothers screams can still be

heard through trees and swamps and back roads,

screams that signify a fire has started.

I can still feel white hands around Black

throats, still hear white breath in Black ears,

whispering devil thoughts in demonic tongues,

useless crying in half way nights fall on

nonexistent ears.

Barbed wire rapist with razor blade fingers,

leaving genetic scars on Black wombs and Black seed,

stubborn intrusions polluting Black blood with insanity

and double cross, injuring Black minds with delay and self doubt.

Healing still not coming to our grandmothers while,

rancid, pus filled wounds are left to fester and

infect, as you stand tall as if superior to Black

people, on your infertile land, which left

infertile by your dead crops and manipulations.

You felt deviant ecstasy as you entered

Mother’s land, with swollen, pale, hate filled bayonet,

stabbing generation pon generation of Black genius and

resource, with exact precision and intent, you wanted

nothing but to inflect devastation that carry the balance forward.

Barbed wire rapist shooed husband and father

from uneasy comfort, so bringer of bondage could

continue to defile and lay waste to Black

pearls and little girls.

Full of shame and self detached, her eyes

would never meet her man’s eyes again,

while Barbed wire rapist grinned and wait for

half way night, as doors can’t lock and cowardice hates light.