I am Home

 

I am not your all-access freeway

That you get to merge onto—

Only to get off at the next exit.

 

I am the driveway you enter

When you know that you are home,

After a long hard day at work.

 

I am both ends of your spectrum—

Including the middle.

 

I am the period at the end of your

Sentences—without question.

I am the lyrics in your song.

I am Proverbs 31.

And I am Ruth!

 

 

I am not the woman name Jezebel.

I am Deborah; I am truth.

I am the water you bathe in

To soak your cares away;

I am the ocean you swim in

And the Spring you drink from.

 

So, don’t come to me whispering

Sweet nothings in my ear—only

When you want to quench your thirst.

 

I am your life-line—your lifetime.

I am, “Let me take you home to

Meet mama.”

 

 

I am wedding bells in September—

Your other half...remember.

 

I am kisses at noon and at breakfast time.

I am dances under the moon; I am sunshine.

 

I am homemade buttermilk biscuits and gravy.

 

I am, “Let’s make love at sunrise.”

I am Filet Mignon, broccoli, and perfectly

Seasoned mash potatoes—at the candle-lit

Dinner table.

 

 

My love is solid, good…and, stable.

It fills you up—and with it—you shall

Never…grow hungry.

 

For, I…am home.

 

 

 

 

Uncontrollable


It drives me crazy when you think you know What’s best for me and try to control my choices.
I am uncontrollable!


Regardless of how long it’s been since you came
Along or how well you think you know me,
Remember, I've known me a heck of a lot longer
Then, you’ve known me.


I live, eat, breathe, think, dream, sing, have Birthed a child—hell, I’ve even ran a mile or Two—have failed and succeeded, loved and Hated, prayed and fasted, forgiven and sinned, Laughed, cried, and been elated in this skin!


Made love on the counter-top and slow danced To Prince’s “Purple Rain” and dropped it like it Was hot to Eric B. and Rakim's, and to LL’s hip-Hop!


Laughed and cried, flourished with pride, drank
Wine and exotic teas, permed, blow-dried, went All natural and even sported a weave.

 

Feared for my own destiny but found the Courage to believe. Eat Chilean Seabass and Macaroni And Cheese.


Have fought off attackers—destiny’s would-be Hijackers. And write, form, and transform basic Words into powerful poems. Don't let your Ignorance be your norm.
 

I am uncontrollable!


You’ve tried rather daringly—and need I say—
Quite ignorantly, to convince yourself as well
As me, that you know me better than I know Myself!


This is absurd. For I live in this skin!
You’ll find yourself highly disappointed trying to
Box me in.


I was living and thriving before you ever came on The scene, so please, love me for me, or leave.
Before you even attempt to call me your woman,
Please know that I am my own woman first.
I have no need to be re-birthed—and I know my Worth:


Molded out of destiny’s hands—given life, Uniqueness, will-power and purpose at God’s Command. I was complete and validated then!

So if you chose to stay, please don’t do so with The intent of trying to change, or control me. 
I am uncontrollable!


Now, having said that, I am not some inflexible Object of your affection and desire, because I don’t mind bending, baby: I said bending.
 

I don’t mind compromising or meeting you Halfway, and I don’t even mind making Sacrifices. For, anyone worth loving is clearly Worth giving up a little something for:

I said a little something.
 

You see, although I am willing to make some
Sacrifices, don’t ever expect me to become the Sacrifice.

 

And…and I don’t need you to be my daddy.
I just want you to be my man.


Now baby, if you can understand, and roll with
That…then let’s slow things down...and re-begin.

 

"Hi, I'm Hollingsworth...and your name is?"

 

 

 

 

They Call…But I Don’t Answer

 

They call me
Ugly,
But I call me

Beautiful!


They call me
Cursed
Because I am dark,
But I call me

Blessed!


For I bear the mark—
Kissed and caressed
By God’s own sun.

 

They call me
Nigger,
But I call me

Queen!


They call me
Easy,
But I call me

Worth the wait!
 

They call me
Defeated,
But I call me

Winner!

They call me
Inferior,
But I call me

Fierce!


They call me
Worthless,
But I call me

Treasure!
 

They call me
Wounded,
But I call me

Healed!


They call me
Poor,
But I call me

Rich!


They call me
Victim,
But I call me

Victorious!


They call me
Weak,
But I call me

Warrior!


They call me
The infamous “B” word,
But I call me

Woman!


They call me a
Mistake…
But God calls me

Purpose!


What! Are they calling you?
And do you dare…answer?
 

 

 

 

 

 

DNA = Donor Never Around
 

In secret, I wondered: if I truly
carried inside of me, your DNA,
and if so, why wasn’t that
enough to make you stay?

 

I found myself reflecting
back on my youth—staring down
dark gutter-filled pathways
to assess the truth, and to finally

slay the dragon that attempted to

set my destiny ablaze—in lieu of your
absence…

 

…long before I ever
knew that life had dragons,
and that many little girls like me
had no daddy—and long before
I ever knew—I had the capacity…
to dream.


Reminiscing on a time
when I coddled wet kisses
and warm beer bottles to cope—
when I clung onto false confessions
of adoring love with naïveté and hope.
That ‘make believe’ made me believe
in the lies that the grown men and
young boys spoke.

 

They played on my insecurities
as a fatherless child—like a
hand-me-down toy.
To them, my pain didn’t matter,
nor did my void.

 

Pressured into giving myself away—
weakened by ultimatums and,
“If you love me you will do it”
those calculated advances, and:
“Baby you know I love you, right?”

 

All under the dark pressures of dim lit
moonlight…where my sky and stars had
already fallen.


For a while, I played the game
they wanted me to play
because as a young girl with blues—
left, bullied, and bruised—it was a

logical step, that the next
would be getting used.


Giving in to their lust
in exchange for misguided trust—
so they could combust—
I thought this was the
only way to make them stay,
but just like you, Mr. DNA…
they never did.

 

So, I learned to silence my voice and to
keep my aches and screams inside—
hiding them behind a nonchalant attitude
and a multitude of phony smiles.

 

For a while as a child, I told people
that my last name was "Miles"—not
because I didn’t like Hollingsworth
—my name given since birth.
I chose Miles because that was said
to be your last name.

 

In spite of the obvious rejection,
as a young girl, I still yearned for a
father-daughter connection.
Therefore, I created one by the
unofficial taking of your last name,
so I could at least pretend I was
claimed—but clearly, I wasn’t.

For, all you saw was baggage.

 

Reflecting back when I was
six-years-old and seeing you
for the very first time:
you introduced yourself as
my father but not once did
you bother to reach down to
touch me—every little girl wants
to know her daddy’s touch


But you looked upon me
like one would a dirty penny
found in an alley, rather than
seeing me as your number one.
You gave my grandmother
a measly twenty-dollars.


I guess you thought that was
the total sum of my value, and
all of the work my grandmother
had done—to raise me and to
keep me alive.


You left and never returned.
you disregarded me and then
discarded me—your off-spring—
like the wrapper from the
condom you clearly didn’t wear.

Was it too damn much to care?
 

I was severely broken,
but then, so was your manhood
because you failed to do what a real

man would like…take care of what

he has created.


You see, I was your production—
created by a flop—d
onor you

were never around!

You’re just another deadbeat—
a clown without jokes.

 

Bound to biology, I thought I was

a flop  too because I placed my

value in your leaving but after

assessing the truth, I've realized

that my value was never tied to you.


For I’m the daughter of the "Most High"
GOD—Giver of my destiny!
He has healed my scars.

 

I may have been your inconvenience

but I was His full intention—long before

I was ever pushed out into this…dimension.


Least I forget to mention
I’ m not a mere “bastard child”


I AM DESTINY'S DAUGHTER.

 

 

 

 

Sistah2Sister
 

When I look at you
I see past your vanilla skin
and your beautiful deep-blue eyes.


I don’t merely see a white woman…
An automatic enemy of my blackness
I simply see…a woman.


No stereotypes!
No racial hypes!
Just…you.


Another beautiful rendition of
God’s creative wisdom—
A divine masterpiece,
Created out of the intellect
Of supernatural brilliance—

 

A profound loveliness
JUST as I AM!
JUST…as We ALL ARE!

 

 

 

 

Keep Dancing


You are like a beautiful
song, composed by a
superior mind.

 

Your melody is
breathtaking and
your tempo—
divine.


Every element of
your song is
perfection—
keep dancing.


You've got to keep dancing.

 

 

 

 

Hostage
 

Hostage is what I feel!
Trapped inside these four walls against my will,
With no means of escaping out of this reoccurring

Act of raping…
 

Hostage is what I feel!


When I feel your hands ascending up the curve of my

Thigh and hear the sounds of zippers zipping down,

I cry.
 

Because hostage is what I feel!
 

When you covered my mouth to silence my cries,
And he covered my eyes to lessen his shame,
When they spread my legs and held them open
To give you the opportunity to do what you intended

to do to me…

 

Hostage.
Hostage!
I say hostage is what I feel!


When your hands began stroking my virgin clit as
You pressed your inhumane body against mine and

Began to enter that ugly beast inside,
 

Hostage,
Hostage!
I say hostage is what I feel!

 

But you didn’t get my good friend Kia.
She ripped from your grip and fled on foot and ran

Home to her mother and someone called the police;

She knew something bad was happening to me.


Although my fear and humiliation were long-lasting,

My virginity was spared by the siren I heard

Thereafter.


And though you stripped and ripped as you invaded

Me, rescue in uniform came and aided me...just in the

Nick of time.

 

Woo! It just blows my mind.


Hostage was I, but for a while
Hostage…I am no longer!

 

Hostage are you!
Wrapped up in your gated and shackled evil minds…Appearing to have been human flesh once upon a

Time.


Only wearing cloaks of death that stink up your own Souls…getting your kicks off trespassing young

Bodies…you’re cold.
 

Hostage!
Hostage is what you are because of the sickness of

Your own diseased and demonic minds.
 

Hostage is what you are because of the humanity

That fled from your rotting souls inside.
 

Hostage you should feel!
Because hostage you are!
Hostage…I am no longer!

 

 

 

 

I’m Sorry

 


When love betrays you for
The last time like the many
“Last times” before, it becomes
An overwhelmingly heart-wrenching
Task to endure.


And to strip down—to bear the
Burden of looking at yourself
In the mirror—to say to the
Woman who’s staring back at you, in tears:

 

“I’m sorry for the mass pain I’ve
Caused by being a fool…again.
For getting sucked in again;
For loving again;
For trusting again;
For longing…again;
For being a touched
Woman…again—broken again—
By the one whom I let
Touch you, again…”

 

It is devastating.
 

 

 

 

One of the Greatest Rhythms

God Has Ever Made
 

I lay upon his chest to rest,
and to be caressed, and I know
in this moment—I am
incredibly blessed to hear—
life beating so powerfully
inside of him.


His heartbeat is one of the
greatest rhythms God has
ever made.


It plays…like the rhythmic
sound of drum-beats in autumn,
and dazzles like Angelou’s Poetry,
Savion’s Tap, and Gillespie’s Jazz.

 

Chills my bones like wintertime

and snowflakes—and like Prince on

the electric guitar.
 

It revives me like springtime,
flowers, and rain.
His heartbeat plays so
beautifully, and is breathtaking.

Like summertime—and hot
chocolate coated with marsh
mellows—it warms every
fiber of my existence, from
the inside, out.


Like the flowing river—and like
the coolest breeze cascading across
my skin—it calms me.


His heartbeat is one of the
greatest rhythms God has ever
made, and I swear I wish for it…to never
stop beating.

 

 

 

 

On the Verge!
 

 

I’m on the verge
of a meltdown,
so don’t bring me no bad news.


I’m on the verge of a meltdown.
Bring me some good news I can use.
I say I’m on the verge of a meltdown,
got all kinds of blues—
every time I seek to win,
I always seem to lose.


I’m on the verge of a meltdown!
don’t bother me, you hear?
I’m on the verge of a meltdown!
Child…you need to fear!


So please take ten steps back
and let me coooooooool down.
I am begging for your silence—
don’t want to hurt you now!


’Cause I’m on the verge
of a meltdown, so don’t bring me

no bad news.
 

I'm on the verge of a meltdown.
Bring me some good news I can use!

 

 

 


 

FOLLOW ME

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