Poems from The Journeys We Take, v.5, (2016)
E-mails to Budda
Budda, I remember how much of a perfectionist you used to be.
If anything was out of place, you fixed it. Like me.
Only thirteen, me and only me; imperfect.
You found me and when you did, I was in jubilee.
Budda, do you remember when we’d venture off together?
Rain, sleet, or snow, they could find us
in any weather, inseparable.
Budda, what ever happened to us when I moved away?
I thought about you all the time, called you every day.
I loved you, Budda, cuz you still loved me
when I came out.
And if I needed you,
you’d be there without one doubt.
You were so mad at me when I met Marie…
You were so angry, you had bears attack me.
You thought you were replaced, that was
news to my face, I just wanted another friend.
You saw it as the end. No matter what you did,
I’d always place the highest bid for you
because you were always my right hand, my
go-to. Not any more. You’ve lowered your
own score. Bye Budda, I’ve found another.
6. Betrayal is real and one day
I hope you know how I feel.
I was born in a two-bedroom house
with four other people living there.
I was born seeing people be robbed
and beaten for ten cents.
I was born being bullied and taunted
for the way I looked,
like an overweight monkey
one girl called me
just for being overly developed at that age.
Like an old nappy-headed slave
or just plain big-lipped Jenkins.
I was born terrified to be myself.
I was putting scars and cuts on my body,
no one could understand.
I was born to become a blank canvas
everyone could destroy when they were angry.
Torment to make themselves feel better.
Judge so they wouldn’t have to judge themselves,
and just ruin so they wouldn’t have to admit
they were ruined.
I was born to become a building with a sign in front
that said Please Destroy.
So I believe I was born in the wrong body.
In my dream body, I am able to be loved
and return love.
In my dream body, I was born as a butterfly
meant to fly freely forever.
In my dream body, I was born like a tree
of red apples and one green apple, but
I am finally a red apple.
In my dream body, I have no scars, just
beautiful porcelain white skin,
I have straight, long, blonde hair
down to my waist.
I have a figure like the average person,
I am normal,
but in my dream body, I am fake.
Nothing can go well in my real body unless
I accept the body I’m in.
To be immortal is to be
the tides will carry me,
on and on.
I want to be blue.
to trick the eye
and surprise those who look at me.
never a stop or a struggle,
I will navigate my way around the
I want to be
in my mind.
To be immortal
is to be
I want to be what you need
on a hot summer’s day,
the cold you need,
the quench you desire,
relief to the desert of your mouth.
I am not completely conscious,
but I am aware just enough to know
I am what you want,
the calming sensation you get
when you look at me.
I see you.
While you stare at me
like a deer caught in headlights,
similar to gazing at the sun
knowing you could be blinded,
to be immortal
is to be
Detroit is a fire that burns bright in the darkness.
A golden eagle with a broken wing
but still determined to soar.
A busted old car
that does not know the meaning of shut down or stop running.
It is the dullest, most worn down pencil in the box,
but has the potential to become the sharpest pencil of them all.
The Old Me
Shout out to the old me
the girl who loved being free
like a bumble bee,
this poem is dedicated
to the old me.
This new me
This new me is unhappy,
like how a fat kid feels
after he’s done eating
his chocolate cake
I’m drowning in the
sea of me.
Who’s going to help,
who’s going to come
Come be the light
in my darkness,
your laugh and smile
is my light,
is my light,
are you coming?
The Rock Showed Him Even Better
eyes of a ruby
body of a diamond
fingers of pebbles
and a heart made of glass
she meets new people with her body made of jewels
a girl made of rock
a boy made of stone
the diamond showed him new things
but the rock showed him even better
he fell for one without crushing the other
just one question
the rock made of stones
or the heart made of glass?