The 1st Love

There's still love there.

Like a tarnished spirit lingering in the creaks of an old home

appearing once addressed, but sometimes,

on it's own.

It jumps and hides from the air

it laughs and giggles at dawn

it cries at night.

Every now and then I look at your pictures.

I couldn't bear your voice anymore

I vanished, on purpose.

You may never understand

how I got over you.

But I did.

I love you - wait,

nah, it was a childish misconception.

But there is love there.

It's lost on that one corner

outside where we tried to -

the second time, too.

There is love in those memories

of you naked

of me intrigued

of me forgotten.

Stashed under an old mattress

engrossed in the memory of a photo

Yeah, there's still soul-aching,

heartbreaking,

breath taking,

love there.

I know you still care -

you have to.

We were innocent once.

We were at the same place, at one time.

where we drifted?

well....

Here I am.

I'm still looking for you.

Wind Chill

There's always a quaint perspective of love on television. There's always the overly happy couple with their overly happy stories of how they fell in love at first sight, first encounters, and the moment their lips intertwined under moonlight-- but they never talk about people like us. They never mention me and you. I stood on the bridge on Michigan Avenue and witnessed an undying emotion in the river's steady current. The glistening on it's skin looked like white angels dancing along it's waves, the light, that provided the blissful sparkle on it came from heaven sprinkled onto my beauty. So he sparkles. Truthfully, my pride no longer prevents me from admitting that I don't have a clue about how he makes me feel. But the wind spawned from his constant rush has enough power to piss me off and make me warm inside all at once. At 15 I would come home and be asked why my hair was all over the place, I simply said, "It was the wind". And so Chicago's love affair with me, wrote many poems along Michigan Avenue, it never ended.

American Dream Revamped - 2/5/11

My American Dream is...

New Beginnings.

A buried history of matriarchal sabotage.

A new legacy built by the strength and wisdom attained from

past endeavors.

A Family.

Mine.

My Own.

Children that I raise to be a reflection of the vision I have for them.

Happiness, genuinely.

The opportunity to live and give life,

to die after purpose, and to rest in peace

without having to R.I.P my soul.

The legacy will continue

and my descendants will tell stories of histories that I built

with my own heart.

One day I will be an ancestor,

and to me they will give praise

for being unselfish enough to recreate so they will have the opportunity to BE.

And not just exist.

Create your own American Dream!

But follow the legacy your last name refers to.

My American Dream is...

Not deserting you.

For being alone in this planet causes pain,

heartache.

And one experience is enough.

It lies in the meaning behind my words.

The words that will be spoken by the elite, the god's and goddesses of the streets.

Let it resurrect the minds that have deserted my generation

Like the Messiah.

Yeshua.

Let it be a relaxation

to the soul.

Create your own legacy!

Map out the faux pas of your past,

and your mother's past,

and your grandmother's past,

and your great-grandmother's past.

My American Dream..

gives daughters worthy mothers,

and sons deserving fathers.

Not lacking the puzzle piece that fulfills the portrait of existence.

My American Dream..

envisions MORE than Americans.

Spread Umoja across the planet,

for we are all God's seeds.