Study Partner

She has me open like... 24-hour diners and campus libraries....

Got me wanting to stop by her to grab a little something to eat 

while I study her anatomy and physiology...

See, the science of the matter is 

I'm drawn to you like opposite ends of magnets...

... And the algebra of this equation is 

I want to lay opposite end, 

divide your legs by 2,

 and sine my name...while you cosine of course.

And for a little geometry...
I want to balance the equation between
the slope of your neckline...
to the obtuse angle your thighs provide...
then use the pythagorean theorem to discover 
the angle of your hips.
Trace a straight line between the two corners of your lips...

You are like...
a perfectly constructed sentence.
The subject of my thoughts being 
predicated on which part of you my eyes behold.
See...
your heart beats in iambic pentameter.
How do I know? I've counted when laying upon your bosom.

The curls on your head are like beautiful commas.
Beauty marks adorn your body like periods...
giving me pause, causing me to stop...
...and admire each one before continuing to read you.
You make words fall from my eyes...
phrases grow in my locs, and...
poetry flow through my veins.

You are...
a sweet word.
A beautiful simile.
The perfect sentence.


Fin.

I'm a Recovering Undercover Overlover...

Healing is such a process. I continue to learn this every day. The crazy thing is just when you begin to think that you've healed some, something pops up to remind you of what you're healing from. It's like ripping the scab off of a sore once it starts healing.

To carry that analogy further....after awhile, a scab stops forming on an open sore. You're forced to have an open and raw sore that just heals eventually with time.

When it comes to healing...sometimes you have to just let your feelings and emotions go raw in order to heal. I know, it seems totally counterproductive, but trust me, it works. Remember when your mom used to tell you, "You don't need a bandaid! Let that oxygen get to it." The same thing applies to your emotions.

Sometimes you just have to...well...live. Take that bandaid off and let the air hit it. Be raw...open. It's ok. It'll heal faster.

Just something I'm working on..*Under Construction*

You inspire me to write of you...
creating similes that compare your eyes to burning embers...
and your skin to satin.
I place a comma at each of your body's curves, ensuring to pause and peruse
before continuing my journey.
See...You make me want to write forever.
I simply want to write our never ending story...
making sure to get wordy during the climax where our bodies combine
...in a little onomatopoeia.
Baby I'm alliterate for you.

Possibility...

See…

I want inside of you

Not how man and woman be,

but in the section of your

heart…

that says…

"Possibility"

I want to pick you up

And…

wrap your thoughts around my action…

kiss your mind with the catalyst

That provides satisfaction

Cuz see…

My mental is packin'.

I want to unsnap your hesitance…

and…

Pull down your inhibitions

undressing your protection

and letting my third eye explore…

the front…of your mind

Occasionally peeking behind…

when you aren't looking of course.

I want to touch you all over…

with every letter of the alphabet

trying different positions until I

find what feels right…

A leg shaking…letter spasm

heart-pounding…

Word orgasm.

…pushing my love in…

watching your love pour out.

Afterward, holding your heart…

tight through the night…

and praying your worries and

inhibitions don't rise again with

the sun.

See…

I dig you.

I want to make loving you

my life…

and live you.

Play in your mind like kids do…

And at night slide in

and out…of your mind…

Like skids do

But it starts with you.

You have to let me inside you…

vibe you…

Not how man and woman be…

but in the section of

your heart…

that says

"Possibility"

Untitled...

A few years back, a neighborhood gangsta asked me...
"What motivates me to awaken everyday? What helps you keep the bad in this place away?"
I told him that I do heart surgery...he said, "What?"
I told him that I open my chest/book and let my heart fall on the paper.
I let the pen be the blood vein robbing my body of the bad blood and placing it on the sheet
in the form of.....
.....iambic pentameter/a heart beat.
My HEART then BEATS to HELP my WORDS flow FORTH
the BLOOD on the PAGE then HELPS someONE give BIRTH.....
.....to a newborn poem.
I told him to let the notebook lines be the suture for the stitches in your heart,
for without them your heart would fall apart.
He then asked, "What am I supposed to write about, when all I see around is my niggaz gettin gunned down? What do I say about the gov't that doesn't want me to succeed? How do I make the future better for my seed?"
I told him...
Don't worry what to write about,
when your heart starts to beat, the words will flow out.
Just make sure you come to surgery with the right tools in hand...
the pen...
the paper...
in the end you'll understand.
And what of the world that wants to hold you back you may ask...
Tell them you want to live...
tell them you want to love...
tell them you want to read a book, you want equal education, a college degree,
tell them you want to end modern day slavery...
tell them you want to march, repent of your sins and be born again...
....raise a respectable child...
you want to educate and be educated.
Tell them you want to take the gun's out of your niggas' palms so....
their high blood pressure can calm...
tell them you want to live...
tell them you want to love...
and tell whoever wants to still hold you back, that you can't hold back a beating heart...
with a strong pulse...
and that in order to stop you, they'd have to kill you first.
Oh, and the seeds you plant and want to grow?
Write a poem saying your seeds need water to sproud, so they need a gardener...
Tell the dead-beat dads they should stick around, instead of leaving their seeds
to grow with weeds...
....like a fading heartbeat, dead beats end up beat dead.
Once you've filled this paper with the blood from your heart...
close your chest/notebook and ball it up.
Throw the paper holding your heart in the trash because your next poem will outlive and be better than the last....
...and if there is something in your lifespan someone wants to retort,
tell them to go back and read your autopsy report.
Then ask them, "Do you still want to be like me?"
So this gangsta handed me his gun.
He then said..."I want to live."
He asked me what I thought and I told him...
...it was the best poem I've ever heard.

Baby...Let Me Read You...

Your body is my book.
I spread your boundaries
And intake the alliteration of the alternating peaks and valleys
of your multi syllabic structure.
I caress your spine while taking in your aesthetic…
pulling back your cover and perusing your story’s natural arc…
While my mind races towards your climax.

Baby…you’re my favorite book. I’d read you over and over again if I could…
Studying the very compound nature of your structure.
Thumbing through your life stories and folding you over, just to remember what position we were in…

Baby…let me read your book.