MaMA'S bOY

(fafalu)


whenever she releases your diaper bag

i hope you find a midwife to birth you into reality

where men don't wait on the world to serve them

pudding and strained carrots and such.

when to beleive in yourself (in parts) .4

say you aren't in love

not even close

more of a deep like, newfound love for self --



where do you go...when he finds your spot in the back

low lit bedroom, a mere backhouse attached to front sprawling property...

maybe, he hasn't "found" your spot, per se

but definitely, made your core warmer than it was when you broke up

with your first love last month.

more room temperature than you've felt ever since you found his heart cradled between her ice cold fingertips

the god's are not as crazy as you think

there is always a divine reason,

the sunshine is glaring because your destiny manifested a new day just like this one

but you'll never see it

he has you sprawled over, ass up

inviting an unfamiliar touch

until you feel like you are worth more than the pale

white blinding burn that's molested your inner child, since the 4th grade



a place you've never missed

but always called home

so you suck it in, bend over

squat and thurst until you've come

into a new

self

when to believe in yourself (in parts) .3

If the liquor doesn’t squeeze the passion
Out of your nipples
He will
Beer tap taste breasts still hidden
Fabric hold saliva, like breathe hidden from blue faced newborns

And a part of you will die

With him, there are no wounds open to burn or sizzle
Just pushing against laytex
With skirt raised and thighs slathered in sweat
Too numb to flinch off words that cut girl’s flesh
In between the midnight hours

He is not your first, surely not the last man to find you
tipsy and writhering under his gaze
Politics baiting hopeful tongue for some attention

More recognition than the pretty legs and eyes
You’ve been cited for

And you will wait for them to catch up with you
Pushing against his overeagerness, too hard to feel
Where you really come from
You’ve learned to fuck for forgiveness
For esteem leaves you in puddles around ankles
Begging the whispers in your head to cease

Still, silence won’t greet you until hours pass
After you roll away from his flesh flushed of liquid
And possible children
After your thighs stop aching from unclaimed fingerprints
After the morning glare reveals his last grasp for your beauty


Part III

when to believe in yourself (in parts) .2

when in doubt, follow him home

two cars behind

just in case you change your mind

and want to retreat back to your safe haven

of self

think: home or sex

neither occupy the same space, these days

so you trail mr. whoever

wondering if he really will cook you waffles, as promised

or throw you down and do to you what the movies say

men really want to do to you

or will he lay you softly --and do to you,

what you've been waiting for every man

you've ever met to do before him

a high standard for a species of visualist

and you've gambled for higher stakes

still, you don't care of the pounding in your chest

when your final escape smiles in the sign of a freeway

exit

you ignore the shake of your left hand

daring to press blinker signal alive

your insides run cold with consideration for an early return to your blueprint of silence



part II

when to believe in yourself (in parts) .1

i was too soon for the moment

too black and beautifully big

and untrusting of my curves

of myself and how i looked in between shadows

so i hide in between the breaths and the rare occasion

of slamming your body against another for heat without reaching for air

or the elevator alarm/sounding

button: blinking

RED

with concern





part I

st. valentine and the last couple of days

that day of red that most single people were conditioned to despise, came and went. it was nice for me. as i was surprised with something really beautiful. and him in his all knowing - knew exactly what to get me... though, its funny. i remember sitting in high school home room praying my sweetheart would get me one of those flower-grams that our high school sponsored with a nominal fee.

i dont remember if i ever got it. but i do remember just wanting to feel loved. and more importantly. watching everyone, watch me FEEL LOVE. cause that's what its all about, right? PDA at its grossiest. i mean. when else can you walk around with flowers and candies and teddy bears and hickies on neck (stay with me) and be applauded, for someone loving you so!

and i dont want to hear that "it should happen every day" -- you damn right it should! but does it? probably not.

and that's me in all my wierdness. ive been having a moment, of late. a bit of a sticky situation at a school where i teach poetry. after the event of madness, i was left feeling like a teenage girl from northern california with a color complex all over again. it was not a good feeling. and i left feeling all of 15 years old. vunerable and unworthy. it took me a couple of days to get it out of my system, before i had to return to this class. and i thought i'd be able to cleanse myself of that ugliness. but after two classes (one of which was cancelled)... i decided. im not over it.

my last day at that school will be the first friday of march.

it was a pill to swallow. but i felt it in my bones. the unhappiness that clinges to your matter and swishes itself around the parts that work well -- until, well. they dont. so now im feeling bad. for giving up. for being weak. for not being "adult" enough to just ignore it. for not being "spiritual" enough to turn the other cheek. and then i let it go. realized, i am human and of flesh. and hurt like everyone else. i cant be the superheroine all the time. so its ok to retreat when things get too tough. not that im a quitter.

or maybe i am. either way. this is what was best for me at the time and im willing to live with it.

as soon as i allowed myself to breath in that difficulty, i allowed blessings to walk thru the door. and i received a new residency fitting perfectly in my schedule where the other class was removed.

and now im back to being the artist.

with my new book out and about. i have sold over 100 books in less than 60 days. i haven't been touring, as i have a maniac to think of -- and honestly, her lead role in The Wiz is way more important. word. but i have little things here and there. (check the calendar) and this excites me, as i get to go to my home away from home, that is england -- and pay homage to a dear friend dike, as well as, an organization for single parents, underprivileged and newly clean teens. im honored to return for the program's farewell and feel it couldnt come at a better time in my life.

soon after that. i will be returning with my good friend, Kevin Powell, in the restart of a hip hop movement "HIP HOP SPEAKS" a quarterely forum focusing on the culture and its obligation to the community. i produce the emcee battle segment (which element of hip hop is that) and cant wait to be a part of it once again...its a part of me that i think i miss most. i mean, i came to NYC as a hip hop journalist and remained as a poet... but hey... it's all relative, right?

lastly,

i will be under the knife again. the first week of april (during my spring break) instead of hitting the beaches of miami or mexico -- i will be getting my foot worked on. yes, again. it is the last step for me to wear shoes again properly -- and if you know me, you know i miss wearing adidias, converse, italian leather and stilettos... this operation will leave me in a bed rest setting for atleast 6 weeks... something i can't allow, as i only have a week and a half off.. but hey. ive made harder things work in less time.

so im back to the lab. sheroshima pre-orders are being mailed (finally) next week. and i am already in the brainstorming process for something beautiful and new and fresh and fun... you'll see

like this tree

i will grow

i will provide shelter

and shade

comfort and security

but i need to be fed love

sweet candy and hugs

throw your arms around my middle

no matter the thickness,

tell me the good things as much as you remind me

of my weeds, my dirty soil, my sticky roots

shower me with more than hailstorms and thunder clouds

bad weather is obvious - the forecast predicted if its worth it,

there's work to do

so, shine me the warm sun of your smile

because i deserve to feel appreciated too...

political incorrect

SO im watching john tucker must die. and yes -- it's all about being politically incorrect.
so why am i watching it?

ask me when it's over

my grown up...again - a refresher

i dont like people sometimes.

but i usually have a reason.

and then there are times - where i try to like people

for the sake of unity

but then thats dead... im too old for that shyt.



so im on my grown up shyt.

acknowledge your existence.

no sneers included.



now that's grown up...



prayer: forgive them father for they know not what they do.

or do they, father. and they just don't care?

please give me the strength to be better

to work harder at being forgiving

and if i cant forgive, to be at peace

in your name. i am

human

the barrel of un's

i haven't felt THIS vunerable in a decade...