Edited Poems

"Maybe it's morning and the thrill is gone." -Solange

Story of my life, that song is. I'm listening to R.E.M., Nas, Damian Marley; an eclectic mix of things. I should start drawing again; I drew this pic of Nas when I was in high school, so pretty the soul in it, but I don't know where it is now. Got diagnosed with asthma this week but it just seems like a word, it offers explanations but doesn't phase me. Even the entire family being overprotective doesn't phase me as much as it did once; we deal with it. I suppose it means I'm in a good "phase." I have time to consider obscure matters like Tiger Woods.

Watching the news, one could see that most of Tiger Woods' women look like one another. It's an interesting dynamic, he a Black and Asian man, his women, all of them, white. It's always an interesting dynamic when minority men who have made something of themselves choose white women, or when minority men in general choose to be with white women. I don't doubt the existence of real love; I'm sure many mixed couples love one another and are attracted to one another. I'm sure most of it is genuine. However, it speaks volumes when white women are seen as more beautiful even by minorities ourselves.

Why are minority men, raised in rich cultures by strong, beautiful minority women, still having a greater tendency to end up with white women? Why is there sudden attraction to the white woman? I think it's unfortunate and partially a societal thing. I'll be the first to say that love isn't defined by race. However, it would be unfortunate if getting a white woman boosts the status symbol of minority men. I don't understand it. I don't believe in homogeneity but there must be stereotypes perpetuated in society which leads so many rich, powerful, intelligent minority men toward the white woman and against his mother, his sisters, his neighbors. I don't ask what's wrong with a white woman, nothing really. Just the opposite, what's wrong with minority women? Hmm... now to some Weezy.

"Got summer hating on me 'cause I'm hotter than the sun, spring hating on me 'cause I aint never sprung, winter hating on me 'cause I'm colder than y'all, and I would never, I would never, I would never fall." -Lil Wayne (always cheers me up.)

Edited versions of three poems, I'm not sure if they're better or worse but they're definitely not done.

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Holding Onto Equinox

You are the only white chalk against these blackboards—I see
your swagger overwhelms my inhibitions as my footsteps race

against my rationality, but see, you’ve piqued my curiosity,
oh stranger, and I must capture our equinox and pray it lasts

longer then the mere seconds that equinox tend to last before they
surrender to night’s loneliness or are erased by day’s realities, so we

could swoon to Norah Jones and you could “come away with me”
to the summit of our lust in that moment and make equinox freeze.
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The Ones Left Behind on I-95

He doesn’t understand why we
hate on his luxury to pity those
left behind when it was we who
had the ability to rebound
and it was he whose Deering High jersey
was torn and he whose black
and white bandana (the one which he used
to lure the black and white and Spanish chicas)
got torn up more than he did.

And it was he who befriended those
friendless weeds on that road-
way because of us—for we brought he along,
his body full of warmth
ejecting himself like a blanket
onto the lonely weeds and gave them life
with his warmth – brought some spring
to their winters—pledged his allegiance to
those crusty, mirthless things and left us

stupefied from his
unrealized ambitions
and our need to endure our
endless winters. Yes, it was he

who gushed red but it was we
who were knocked flat and he
got it easy.
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Night Temptations, Loveless Mornings

The music is pulverizing
hips dip in synchrony
enraptured by
Afro-Asian melodies
ascending to
the mosaic of

pounding clasping grasping beyond reggae passions
throb throb throbbing against dance floors
push push pushing against the walls
collide id iding with temptations,

hips are chanting –
music writhing –
souls despising
midnight’s cravings
for instant pop
when morning
still sings the blues