All That I Desire: Words

I remember my mother telling me about the day I came home from my first day of school. She says that I was so proud that day.

"Mommy?" I asked her, "What do you call it when a caterpillar turns into a budd-erfly (butterfly, in adult language....c'mon, I was only 5.)?"

"What, my baby?" she replied.

With my semi-toothless grin, I declared, "Me-ta-mor-fuh-siss!!" (Metamorphosis)

That memory stays with me. I think when I came home from the first day of 1st grade, I had begun my love affair with words. Fascinated with the way each syllable bounced off my tongue and the sounds they made. Each word had a vibe of its own. Each enunciation unique. I used to love Handwriting class, too. I remember taking my huge, thin letter writing practice notebook home and going ahead of what my teacher assigned for homework. When we were learning how to write our "Gs", I was busy mastering my "Ns".

I had the WORST handwriting up until middle school, but that never kept me from my love of words. I wasn't outspoken or loud as a child, but that didn't stop me.

My interest with words increases steadily. I am well acquainted with libraries, bookstores, etc. I think I was the only kid in my whole elementary school that mastered the Dewey Decimal System. Card catalogs were a breeze to me. #1 on my Christmas list for years was Where the Wild Things Are or the newest Youth fiction novel. My mother knew that the best way to punish me for misbehaving was to remove all of my books out of my room. Simply sending me there only provided me refuge.

The floor of Barnes & Nobles is paved with gold; a place where I could honestly [and I sometimes secretly] break out into song.

In middle school I got near perfect scores on the verbal portion of the PSATs. I made straight A's in English. I even read the dictionary for fun!!!

This desire has also become a handicap of mine. I suffer from complexity issues a lot of the time. Every moment of my life requires a caption. Each occurrence a detailed explanation. Nothing can ever just be in my life. I must put it into words; in order to provide it with meaning.

But sometimes the silence that comes in a moment of awe is sufficient.

I am learning to welcome the ambiguity of life. To appreciate mystery and to see the beauty in simplicity.

What It's Like to Date. Him.

I thought this would be fun. You could call this a mirrored version of my "What It's Like to Date Me." blog.

Who is this guy I'm talking about? [Ladies, brace yourself. Fellahs, feel free to envy.] Now, if my heart could show you a photo of my love, it'd be a mix of three pictures...

First, the man with whom I was initially acquainted to: The Poet.
The creator of the sonnet, the haiku, and the prose. The man whose wit runs deeper than any other person that I've ever met. A daily pursuit of mine is to find new avenues that he'll divulge more of his mind.
He. Fascinates. Me.
Simply because I didn't realize that a guy such as he actually existed. I'd hoped...but I wasn't sure...and I am so thrilled to have a reliable open door into his thoughts. And he shares willingly with me. I see no end to his brainpower. No lid up top other than his skull. Beyond that, the sky is really the limit. He challenges me to think, examine, reflect, imagine, and dream. I am never bored by our conversation. Even in those calm moments where we say nothing, he always manages to speak to me.

"Poetry Book (Part One)"
2007

i run my hands across your poetry book.

feeling its texture

as you once did

my hands are where your hands

were

so...it's like you are touching ME.

i thumb through the pages in your poetry book.

one by one.

imagining that each new page is

as promising to me as they were to you

once

and you hold nothing back

so...it's like you're filling my empty spaces

i trace my fingers across the words written on the pages in your poetry book

left to right

block stanzas

to jagged lines

one after the other

as if my hand is holding

the pen that you held

to write these words

so...it's like you are holding me

...lay me. across your lap.

touch me. search me.

fill. complete me.

and hold me...

...like I am your poetry book.

Second, there is the one that consistently surprises me:
The Lover.
Weak knees & numb hands are just the beginning. He is unconsciously adorable and unintentionally sexy. While some ladies would turn their nose up at his wide smile, strong arms, and intuitive eyes; I could not be more lured. He tries his best as a boyfriend, but I am shocked that he cannot see how naturally the Lover inside of him flows. Now, I am not even meaning in a sexual manner, technically. Truth be told, that's a fruit we haven't yet tasted of...and yet...my experiences loving him and being loved by him tells me that he is the best lover I have ever had.

"A Hangover's Daydream'
2007

I see silhouettes of lovers holding hands, exchanging gazes, and

Merging hearts.
At this flaunt of emerging and bursting love,

I smile and I concur.

Sneaky public displays and quaint duos tangled in fondness

Only generate memories that hint at my own affair.

Warmth is meticulously duplicated inside of me

[Taken from the eyes of those who have made the same discovery

As I]

And is spread from end to end.

My wit became congested

Morphing the very spot where I stood.

Distorted and blinking I look around

Thinking I sensed his scent and

Felt the brush of his fingertips next to my cheek.

Taken aback I staggered

Drunk from affection

Inebriated due to the reminiscence of my love's presence

Lacking all sobriety

I collect each piece of my recollections of him and

Stumble my way towards the place he resides

To make our dream reality.

Lastly, the part that has come to be the foundation of our relationship: The Jedi.

My partner in rhymes. The Hip to my Hop. The Emcee to my Poet. My colleague in the Art. I'm his co-pastor & he's my constant collaborator. Our passion for love.life.lord is a source of joy and challenge. He holds me accountable and keeps me honest. Without knowing it: he teaches me lessons...above all: to remain true. Perfect? He is not, but the brokenness I see combined with the pursuit I witness inside of him, instruct me to keep going. When cultivating my own potential, I see a reflection of his. A living, breathing revolutionary. And he's my best friend.

"He.Be.Revolution."
2007

I've touched the hands

of a revolutionary.

a man.

and a catalyst

for change.

I've kissed the lips

of a revolutionary.

a force.

a potential name

for legacies.

Not one amongst

the legions of those

bound by the streets

and chained to a mindset

he pumps his fist

yes

but he's holding

a pen.

a mic.

He's the epitome

of Black Pride.

Malcolm's Pride.

Martin's Pride.

Mother's Pride.

Nonviolent ferocity.

Knowledgeable Grandeur.

Confusing the masses

Because he maneuvers just fine without

The gun on his hip

And the chip on his shoulder.

Never whining.

Pointing no fingers

and expecting no hand-outs.

He moves.

He molds.

He is.

With feet firm.

His convictions are deeply rooted.

Eyes focused.

His sights see beyond the Struggle.

His age inconsistent

of his wisdom

But oh. How his father

would be so proud. if only

his eyes were just as clear.

He doesn't just know of revolution

or hope for revolution

or front with the cap wearin' and slogan shoutin' revolution

But

He thinks revolution

Sees revolution

Speaks revolution

and

IS revolution

I'm loved by the spirit of

a revolutionary.

A heart

too good for this world.

All That I Desire: Truth

Truth (n.) - the actual state of a matter; ideal or fundamental reality apart from and transcending perceived experience.

My mom says that I, as a little girl, used to ask the "Why?" question a lot. I believe this tendency was grafted into the core of my personality, because I feel that "everything happens for a reason". And for as long as I can remember, my first inclination/reaction when faced with a circumstance [good or bad] was to ask "Why?"

If you look at the above definition, it's two-fold.

First: the actual state of the matter.

Does anyone, other than me, notice that our society thrives on deception?

We are either taught to lie or buy into lies.

Advertisement paints elaborate (though at times hilarious) fantasies, promising the consumer a desired end, if only they would buy the product. Music is whoring itself to this Almighty Propaganda, relying on a formula in order to be successful. Meanwhile, the truth about music is confined to a solitary, aged category: Socially-conscious.

The religion of Hollywood consists of public persona; so individuals don't look up to their character, but to the 'characters' that they reenact on screen. Ask any actor why they love acting, and some will say that they love being able to become someone else. There is thrill in deceiving, so to speak. I'm not being overtly-cryptic, but I cannot help but notice a trend.

Identity is dependent on what is the most glamorous at the moment. We teach our children that they can be anything they want to be, which is true to an extent, but we don't combine that theory with positive avenues. These positive outlets (ie: The Arts) are meant to help them DISCOVER who they were created to be, because no one (in my opinion) is born without an innate purpose. Negative activities repress or pervert that purpose. It is my firm belief that evil is the counterfeit of good. It is a distorted image of what is true. Deception is an altered version of the Truth. Locating the lie is the first step to discovering Truth. So, discern the lie.

Second: ideal or fundamental reality apart from and transcending perceived experience.

Your eyes can lie to you. Your senses can lie to you. If our 5 senses were adequate enough to come across truth, then the Creator wouldn't have given us Intellect & Emotions. It's funny that each of these three aspects cannot function separately.

I mean, let's look at that for a minute...

A person who is nothing but a brain, that is, possessing no heart or way to gather information from the environment is incomplete. Sensation is needed to alert the brain. Emotions are needed to reinforce a certain behavior.

A hot stove. A naive child. Child touches the stove. The Senses feel the heat - sending a signal to the brain to remove the hand - afterwards the child expresses Fear/Caution each time he/she gets too close to a hot stove. They all work together.

God is cool, isn't He?

Getting back to the point:
We should always question our surroundings and never should we even begin to accept anything that hasn't been confirmed by all three parts. Now, as a believer I know that there is 4th piece: The Spirit. And the spirit is a profound thing. It can disprove anything that the three previous portions can emphatically prove. It can also CONFIRM what is found, naturally.

So now, as I mature, I allow the Natural and the Super-natural to work together; in order to help me find Truth. This Truth, however, originated in the Super-natural....

...because I refuse to believe that the source of Truth came from a world that decays daily. Someday, whether it be tomorrow or 1000s of years from now, this reality as we know it will be gone. So what will happen to Truth? If our current reality is all there is, then there is no such thing as hope, only probability. No such thing as desire, only animalistic urges. No such thing as love, only temporary attachments.

No such thing as Truth, only relative opinion.

All That I Desire...(Prelude)

I have many passions, but they all center around two specific things:

Truth. And Words.
To be continued....