Faith

I’ve got a lion in my chest.
It feels like fire.
Its claws have sunken deep into the flesh of my cage
and curled up under inside the bone.
Its mouth opens wide to let out a roar
but the teeth of its jaw got caught on the rib
beneath its left paw.

Its tail slithers languidly down my abdominal wall
and the lower pit of my stomach
has become his constant drum.
its hind feet rest nicely tucked up under its muscular bum
its claws, hawk like, perch right beneath my two breasts
where its body lay crushing through to the spine
where there is intertwined
pussing boils, red-stained tears,
and sweat
from the years
of running this race
called Faith.

I’ve got a lion in my chest.
It feels like fire
and it’s hard to breathe
and at times I feel like I’m lost at sea
although I heard Him distinctly
saying,
“come and follow me.”
My faith is tried and tested, and at times I fail the test
‘cuz I know what is pleasing
is walking without seeing
and coming to the end of my effort’s best.
But I’ve got a lion in my chest
that feels quite stuck
and now
has started to buck.
Jerking viciously to free its claws
and shaking violently to release his jaw.
No longer satisfied within this space
it wants to break free
to occupy its place
with those that roam ‘round.
And the morbid sound
of his constant pound
and writhing around and around
shimmy up and down,
my fist hard and round
from electric anxieties that I can’t ground
and hungers that are hard to bound.
My pile of dreams is a growing mound
and heavenly promises nowhere to be found
with tormenting doubts pecking at my crown.

I’ve got a lion in my chest.
It feels like fire
and like I’m walking on wire
ready to explode
and finish this episode
of my life in hidden code
and take up a new abode
elsewhere
with a different air
without one care
or traps and snares
so I can finally
live in the destiny
He created in me,
before the earth took shape and form,
uninhibitedly.

I’ve got a lion in my chest-
Heavenly Father
help,
please.

Mr. X

I call him Mr. X
Not that he was my ex
but a could-have-been
that never was.

A long, hard cold wish upon an unrealistic star
a door barred (not left ajar)
a card not in my deck to hold
a unique love story that didn’t unfold.

A dream that I could not create
a fantasy I could not manipulate
a white slate from which I never ate
a choice never offered me to make
a possible blessing clothed as a probable mistake
a painstaking ache
the butter-white icing on my brown-sugared cake
a lifelong playmate

A prayer unanswered or unheard
a thrill in my voice never unfurled
a loving sigh never exhaled
a desire unexpressed and a giddiness suppressed
a gleam in my eye that never sparkled
a pair of arms that never cuddled
a skip of my heart that never played
endless smiles that were never staged
kisses unchoreographed and dances unsung
a love letter never begun
and on my back there remains
a slight sadness stain--
‘My Mr. X’

Confusion

“She kissed me”, he said

But that wasn’t true.

“What the fuck?!” she said,
“I don’t know,” I said
“well he’s a free spirit,” she said, “everybody feels safe with him.”

Safe is not the word that comes to mind but
something more loathsome that bends the mind,
something more seething that clouds the mind, and
something more deceiving that blocks the mind.

What I heard her to say was,
“everyone feels confused with him,”
at least I did.

No, he kissed me.

He taunted me/He excited me
He offended me/He exalted me
He withheld from me / He fed me
He ignored me/He said he dreamed of me
He rejected me/He wanted me
He played busy when around me/He secretly gave flowers to me
He was blind to me/He opened his eyes me
He mocked me/He admired me
He silenced me/He wrote a song for me to sing
He towered over me/He felt intimidated by me
He was restless about me/He felt a calmness when he looked at me
He pushed me/He pulled me
He ran from me/He gravitated towards me
He punched me/He embraced me.
He stripped identity from me/He said he was a Black woman like me
He hid from me/He came in search of me
He tried to extinguish me/He fantasized a life with me
He shattered his mirror of me/He created a woman that was me
He tried to eclipse me/He saw his reflection in me
He personified light to me/He displayed his darkness to me.

“I’m gay,” he said to me.
“He now likes women,” she said to me.
Huh?

To Be

To be
this
or
that
is
the
human plight.

To
choose, rather,
to be
This
and
That
and the
Other
is
the
human fight.