Slow-Burning

Slow-Burning

I lay beside the anger like a fire that won’t die down, embers whispering what the flames were too loud to say.

It warms and wounds in the same breath, curling around my ribs like smoke that refuses to rise.

But morning always comes, soft as a hand on my back, and I decide again whether to feed the fire or finally let it cool.

Brick by Brick

Brick by brick,

the wall I built

to survive what hurt me.

Every piece I lift away

lets in one more breath,

one more truth,

one more version of myself

that isn’t hiding anymore.

Brick by brick,

I tear down the fortress

I once mistook for safety.

My hands are dusty,

my heart is loud,

and every crumble

is a victory.

I’m not afraid

of what stands behind the wall—

I’m afraid of staying trapped

inside it.

Removing brick by brick was

the weight I carried

for far too long.

Some walls fall loudly,

mine falls in whispers—

a gentle undoing,

a quiet return,

to who I was before the heaviness.

Turn Your Back

Turn your back— not in anger, but in arrival. Some roads don’t deserve your footsteps anymore, and walking away is the loudest truth you’ll ever speak.

Bending Not to Break

Like a branch shaped by seasons, I curve with the weather of my life— sun?warmed, storm?tested, softened at the edges by time.

I don’t stand rigid against the world; I move with it, letting each challenge carve a gentler strength.

This is how I endure— not by resisting, but by bending just enough.

If Brothers Could Sing the Blues

If brothers could sing the blues,

their voices would rise like smoke at dawn—

soft at first, then aching, curling around the truth they never learned to name.

   They’d hum the weight of promises broken,

the echo of footsteps leaving, the quiet battles 

fought behind steady eyes.

And in that song,

you’d hear the strength it takes

to carry a world that never learned

how to carry them.

If brothers could sing the blues,

the sound would be river?deep—

a slow current of memory,

a tide of grit and grace.

Their notes would fall like worn stones,

polished by years of holding too much.

A harmony carved from struggle,

but warm as a hand on your shoulder

when the night gets long.

A song, rooted, raw, the beat would hit hard—

bass like a heartbeat, ly...

Air in My Blues

I felt the weight lifting, a shift in the air,

Like color returning where shadows once lived.

A fracture of brightness, a fearless debut —

Hope stepping forward in a shade I once hid.

 Call it a comeback, a spark, or a truce —

But something inside me

Put Air in my blues.

The Elimination

The systematic elimination of a Race through modern day lynching’s:

Again done from behind the badge, perpetrated through and by the legal system without repercussion:

White sheets replaced by suits and ties and blue uniforms; Grand juries replace burnings, police revolvers replace the noose …

Without hesitation;  they’re killing the bearers and planters of our next generation:

Death is instantaneous, increasingly questionable circumstances, unarmed black men and women continue deadly encounters with police that is a sure death sentence without a conviction.

A threat, inequality, death follows as history repeats itself: lynching’s of African Americans became increasingly common. no one  is ever prosecuted ; Legalization of routine police killings, practices now normal features of American life –

The Elimination

The systematic elimination of a Race through modern day lynching’s:

Again done from behind the badge, perpetrated through and by the legal system without repercussion:

White sheets replaced by suits and ties and blue uniforms; Grand juries replace burnings, police revolvers replace the noose that choked the life out of our men…

Without hesitation;  They’re Killing the bearers of our next generation:

Death is instantaneous, increasingly questionable circumstances, unarmed black men and women continue deadly encounters with police that is a sure death sentence without a conviction.

A threat, inequality, death follows as history repeats itself: lynching’s of African Americans ...

If I Remember

Good morning, come on before you miss your bus (Mom is waving bye and have a good day)…

I remember, the chatter and noise of the other kids in the hall, the teachers ushering everyone into their classroom, I remember the beginning of todays lessons and the teacher saying “Okay Class Settle Down”, then I remember the screeching sound of the alarms. I think a smoke alarm, I remember the strange look on my teachers face and the frightened looks of my classmates.  I remember that the hallway was smoky, and then the sudden screaming, I remember the “Pop, Pop, Pop in rapid session. I remember, my classmates beginning to huddle in a corner of the classroom, I remember my teacher running towards us, I remember, I remember him falling, I remember that rushing, I didn’t say Goodbye to my Mom and Dad this morning…I remember that I won’t ever get a chance too.

Nightmare Vision of Reality

Tomorrow I will stand here in the middle of this same street with the chaos and strife mounting around me. The cops are killing my men, the system is killing our women, the jails are killing our kids.  The images are so real that I can feel the heat and smell the burning of the souls out of existence.  The shadows come into the light and show their smiling faces of satisfaction of the systematic extinction of a race, our race, your race, their race, all races that are not ….  

Here in the middle of the street, I stand, again, and again, and again..spinning out of control, the visions are touchable, grabbing me, pulling me in multiple directions, pulling me apart. I no longer can tell the reality from the visions,

CAN IT STOP, WILL IT STOP..HELP ME CONTROL, HELP ME CHANGE THE FUTURE OF THIS NIGHTMARE VISION...