“Don’t You Write No Poems About Me”

When you die do you get to take your memories with you?

🦋🦋🥊🦋🦋

A Poem About Cheese

If your heart was a cheese, what kind of cheese would it be?

I’m sure my heart is made of brie. Hard on the outside, but once you cut it open it oozes all over the kitchen counter like butter. It’s an introverted cheese. Some people like the moldy rind and some don’t, but brie never makes any apologies. It’s the cheese you put out for holidays when you want to impress people. My heart is like the holidays.

I’m pretty sure her heart is made of cheddar. Just as sharp as her tongue. As yellow as the sun that shines through the blids onto her cheek in the morning.

Or swiss. Full of holes because she gives too much. Or blue cheese because she’s always cold and her heart crumbles whenever I try to take a piece for myself.

She told me my heart is probably made of gruyere. Old and cracked and mostly good in fondu. The kind of cheese you melt down and make a party of and share with friends, and then regret that you didn’t save more for yourself to give to someone special. A type of cheese that likes to please. That melts too easily. Goes good with beer and cider.

I disagreed. I prefer red wine, myself.

She said her heart is made of pepper jack. Mild, but spicy when it needs to be. Versatile. The type of cheese you fall in love with instantly and will love you back just the same, but every now and then in the middle of the night it will wake you up and remind you, you’re not as young as you used to be. You have responsibilities… like no eating spicy foods past 10 p.m.

Lovers, Family, Friends + Strangers

We say goodbye, but no one ever leaves us.  They die on the outside, but still live within. Once we love them we become them, and all the people we’ve been with  become all the people we’ve been, and all the people we’ve been  become all the people we are. I know it’s hard to forget about them without losing a part of ourselves with it all. Can I love you and love all the other people you’ve loved? I wouldn’t know where to begin, but I’ve survived hurricanes much worse I’m sure I could weather again. It’s difficult to let go of old people we were when they’re the reasons why we are the crowd we’ve become, but I’ll try to calm the mob in you while adding to your parade, still careful to not let everyone you are  come undone.

You’ll Know This Is About You

I have been a different person with different people. I sometimes become who they want me to be, or I’ll retreat when I feel like they expect too much.  I’m the strong, silent type who talks a lot, and falls in love too quick, and breaks hearts too often, and is always there when I’m needed, and never answers the phone when it rings, and has a heart of gold, and a heart of coal, and is too selfish to ever consider anyone else, and will give away the very last of his things… 

at least thats whats they say, and they would all be telling the truth. 

I’m looking forward to discovering who I‘m going to become with you,

who will you turn me into?

THE WATER IS RISING 

The winds are picking up and people picking their things.... Here we go again but those who stay are not ready to go wherever her winds blow them I know you cant say nobody told them but you can say nobody showed them the way

It figures.... the rich in this city don’t give a damn about thousands of poor niggas

The winds are picking up but for most there's nowhere to go just get on their knees and hope they don't wind up wherever the winds blow

Left deserted without help with the only comforting words of "you have been warned" but the poor in this city are strong we should make it out of whoever decides to weather the storm

we should be safe now we can see the sky now we can go outside now that the winds have died down... but the waters are rising

and the streets begin to overflow those who find a way out still have nowhere to go

There is a thin line between determination and desperation in times of despair it’s almost as if the waters are purging us but who is to decide whose soul will be spared?

I SHOULD BE THE ONE TO SAVE MY PEOPLE I SHOULD HAVE PLAYED MY PART! I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED WHEN GOD TOLD ME TO BUILD THAT ARC but i didn't now i know for certain its hopeless I watch my people flee in a mass exodus with no sign of Moses WHO WILL SPLIT THE SEA? WHO WILL DECIDE WHO WILL BE CHOSEN? don't leave it up to me my words are mere echoes LET MY PEOPLE GO! but nobody is listening

It figures the rich in this city don't give a dam ABOUT THOUSANDS OF SCREAMING NIGGAS

THE WATERS ARE RISING and so are the number of victims we cant call on God because he is the one who did this along with tampered-with levee systems GRANDMA SAY GOT DON’T GIVE YOU MORE THAN YOU CAN TAKE AND DADDY SAY GOD DON’T MAKE NO MISTAKES but i know government officials do and i know what happens when THOUSANDS OF SCREAMING NIGGAS ARENT LISTENED TO

What a sight for sore eyes to witness such a painful changing of the seasons the magic curtain has been pulled away now that the waters are receding

and the crowd gasps as they watch the stranded struggle for purpose how government officials really feel about the black social class has finally surfaced

It figures the rich in this city don't give a damn about thousands of dead niggas

Refugees in the same country we pay taxes to live in

THE WATERS ARE RECEDING the cleansing is fleeting the christening is one genuflection away from being completed.

Do you smell that? smells like thousands of dead niggas a city flooded by the same rivers that were used to carry slave ships and forced to swallow dead niggas

You should have know that overboard thrown slaves would not be digested well now the old man river has taken his revenge and he’s making sure you hear the story he has to tell

The slaves kept turning and turning under the sea due to their restless souls until they picked up enough winds to blow them back on the ones who stole them is how the story was told

The winds that blew off the coast of Africa across the Atlantic followed that same middle passage to remind these southern states of their damage

They blew apart those same ports that were used to auction off families on and blew down those same trees that were used to hang niggas on

And as the waters recede back into the river we see government officials still don't give a damn about thousands of dead niggas.

I finally bought that two story house in the neighborhood you liked just so I could use the return address on the letter I sent you. I drive by and check the mailbox every day waiting on your reply. I've never been inside.

We love the beauty of flowers so much that we rip them from the ground take them out the sun put them in a vase and then watch them die. Such an ostentatious display of decadence and decay for one to think they can plant a garden inside. But whatever it takes to reaffirm us that we possess just a little bit of light to make tulips bloom in a dimly lit living room for just long enough to give us a glimpse of all the wonder the world has to hide. For just a brief moment we kept something alive. Even if we knew that it would eventually fall apart, we tried and we held out hope because for that short amount of time it was beautiful and we thought we had something to do with it. We felt we were the reason why when those petals finally opened up despite all the darkness we provide.

In an alternate universe Nefertiti has a tattoo of 2pac on her chest. 👑

Where Do You Think Our Souls Go When We Die?

Her: “What are your dreams? What city are you currently in love with? What is your favorite cheese? What are you afraid of? Who do want to be when you’re old? Where do you think our souls go when we die?”

Me: “To look back on my life and smile. Montreal. Brie. Losing my ability to see, hear or taste by way of some freak accident or old age. Dr. Nikolaus Richard the first. I don’t think I believe in death”

Her: “…but your soul, where do you think it goes?”

Me: “I don’t think our souls go anywhere when we die. I think as we live we leave a little piece of it in people along the way. Every time we love we lose a part of ourselves. Or every time we create. Or procreate. If we are lucky, by the time we die we wont have any soul left to go anywhere and our lives will be complete and our bodies empty. We will have given it all away.” 

Her: “So you don’t believe in Heaven?”

Me: “Sure I do. We’re here right now. You must have missed the sign when we walked in.”