Too Much of Enough

Scars To Prove It

does healing look like progress a quiet home inside voices children who do not flinch when their name is called perhaps it does but healing is strange because sometimes it doesn’t erase pain sustained under a legal system where the laws were unwritten but somehow universally understood like a constitution that began with "because I said so" that was the gospel according to mother's mine used to say "I’m gon’ beat the black off of you" and though she did not succeed I got the scars to prove she tried to it thundered inside and rained too that threat traveled from the field to the porch from survival to discipline from history to a struggling household environment every black child knew the warnings that need no explanation like the look that look that had ancestry written all over its face the serious look that didn't mess around that looks that put a child in a child's place passed down hand to hand like cast iron skillets recipes traditional Sunday dinners and stories to...

Straight To The Point

loose strands growing side by side twisting into one tangled vine strengthen by time grows together into one loc locked up forming a strong bond every coil remembers pot liquor folklore and language older than snapping purple hull peas on the front porch strands wrapped around each other and matted together in recognition time took its own time and patience on the journey to teach each one how to stay in place
stuck together like our mamas taught us something that should've stuck with us before the shift separated the timeline and severed the blood tie
weakening the hands on the clock with no regard for the scrubbing labor that parted and greased what started out to be a crocheted craft difficult to pull apart straight don’t always mean it’s found its true form straight don’t always mean it knows where it belongs
straight don’t always mean better straight don’t always mean beauty straight don’t always mean growth
str...

Emotional Pivot

"Please"

when I say "please" am I asking or begging am I being respectful or begging for a chance to be heard what does “please” mean what does “please” get me besides practiced patience and almost things is "please" really a thing or a way to slap a pretty bow on a package of desperation a polite way to address hunger when did I learn to put please after every stomach ache growl and grumble as if wanting and needing requires permission like if I say "please" the world might finally say yes to me as if wanting is something to apologize for maybe that’s how come so many of us starve with full plates in front of us some things are not prizes some things are not payment some things were meant to meet our needs not meant to be begged for healing begins the moment we no longer have to  to say "please" can I breathe

The Spillage

broke homegrown curses writing verses backwards in cursive each sentence a surgical precise incision a poet with a purpose not just spitting for attention a descendant of a lyrical ascension vivid vision like antenas straightens the lines on the television a mind moving mountains a voice of a thousand echoes resounding paint clouds on the ceiling make it sound like it's raining inside mindset created from electrified pressure and pain too shocked to feel a thing California born and raised in Texas missing those sunny days sitting underneath palm trees allow me me to explain I don't just write lines I redefine things I am The Poet Wize the name is subject to change like multiple identities I am not the Poet the poet pretends to be me can't report the identity theft don't talk to police poetic justice deployed to avoid a insanity plea didn't come for fame strike a match make a flame light a cigar take a toke and choke I guess you can say I came for the smoke draw a circle I be t...

Earth Core

In The Wake Of Sleep

I see a broken pencil

 I have a impulse to fix it

I look at it then start to

see it differently

maybe it's meant to be as it is

 if I try to fix it'll change the structure

disturb its condition and existence

I wouldn't be any different

from the one who broke it

Pie

there was a time when you wanted your voice to be heard all you had to do is scream the noise wasn't as loud as it is now you need more than a bullhorn to speak over a crowd shots fired the world's too tired to run fatigue syndrome no matter how deep the hurt is it's too painful to cry when is the last time you seen the sky I mean where is the sky what happened to the sky do you remember the sky I heard a woman complain she can't buy pie I asked my mind why can't this woman purchase pie my mind stood still for a moment then said nevermind it's no business of mine but damn she really want that pie there was a time I would ask how much is the pie then pay for the pie I can't lie the first time in life I did not empathize I figured maybe she didn't need the pie she turned to me telepathically it's not hard to read begging eyes mine eyes said lady you're holding up the line I think she picked up on the thought I had in mind then started counting dollars in dimes to make a long wait ...

Watermark (04292026)

I think about the good times "the good times" there were good times not to say all the good times have passed away life is a song to those who love to sing along history taught me ABC was easy as 123 letters were written in cursive lines love didn't hurt when I had no idea it could it felt too good but time did what time does it grew up into something difficult to recognize bright smiles started to smudge deep whispers inside these legends don't die it's a flame that defies the flow the bend and the reshape of the current wave not every scream is asking to be saved some things were never meant for the grave what remains was never meant to be grieved loss is meant to mourn tho otherwise what are tears for though happiness is tearful not pretending to not hurt but refusing to let pain have the final word silence is a frequency stillness is a motion "was it all so simple then" is a lyrical question asking about memories had and good times shared that won't erase the joy we had nor w...

Ink and Intention (04282026)

Be the spark

Not in fire
Not in flame

But in memory
of your name

Let your craft open
gates wide

Let the hidden path
be known

Draw the bridge
Raise the tide

Through the surface
Through the veil

Trace the moment
libate the trail

We do not command
a sign to appear

We reflect and it replies
"here I am, I am here"

Rise below and fall
above bind the depth
to truth we love

by the bond that does
not break

By the path the waters
make

By the balance in which
we stand

Until the quill fall from
our hand

Everything almost said
nothing said is enough

Breath breaks before
it breathes

Weigh the cost to believe

too expensive to achieve

Trust does not follow
broken dreams