Young Niggas

The saying, “only the good die young”, always filled me a euphoric depression. I felt crazy, with passion believing It was the only way to be remembered, even for a period, short as a young taken life. I just wanted to experience the type of love that hurt and broke you, made you pray it was over, then to survive for revenge. But sometimes, in a lust filled trans; I felt obligated to be receiving a gut-wrenching pain because it meant someone cared enough to make me feel something. Then, when I got over being pussy whipped, I knew I had to go screw any life I could sink my eyes, teeth, tongue, mind, fingers and dick into. That’s what a young man’s dreams are made of.

Then I face my mirror, walking through my neighborhood seeing the poison of my thoughts. Wanting to take, take, take, repeating, plagiarizing the fable of blacks helping through pain. My smile brighter than the spark that started the run. A meteor, hailing, putting crater holes in bodies cradled.

Why?

Because I thought I saw a reflection of a version who could take my love from me. The fault lines written in blood, thin as the chalk outline and tape holding onlookers and instigators behind my decision. I can still blame the life I took, because mine is gone.

Long Live The Queen

Art by Harmonia Rosales

I have no more tears to shed. I haven’t prayed for death this much since getting beat as a kid.

There is only one solution when violence equals our subtraction.

And it does not involve hope.

Waiting just for a little while longer-makes us the project- where completion means destruction.

If self -respect is wealth-who is really broke? The ones who pretend God could live as, and in the color of a ghost. 

What Men Make

Art by Elliot Robbins

Agony warms tears as they rise. It’s the heartburn of the soul...

Dads, fathers, live on a different type of time. They tell and read it depending on how flexible legs are when they spread for air. Arlo, tried to play straight, unlike his pops who switched on women like a sexy walk.

 “I’ll get there when I arrive, and stay, until I get tired, which is soon as I finish, long after I you're ready”, is what Arlo's dad used to tell his partners in heartbreak. Rare as it was for Arlo to see his father, and the excitement of gifts bribing affection and loyalty, to dismiss the women and noises Arlo heard echoing from back rooms where his father made a “quick stop”, which always made him feel his father was growing tired of him. The kids are rarely wrong.

 As Arlo grew, he was motivated from what made people monsters.

“Love makes you lazy. I gotta get up and get it. Don’t have time to be laying and listening to a woman’s plans to make a man less than what conquered her.”

Memorizing and repeating his father’s blueprint, Arlo found a way of life that suited him; in and out- of women, banks, jewelry stores and prison. Until he settled down behind ten years of service.

“How have my longest relationships always involved damaged, dangerous men?" Is what he constantly asked himself

“Do not poison your thoughts-anger and hate is not an antidote.”

Arlo’s celly told him that, after Arlo found out he had a son, by a good girl he liked, but on the inside, good girls and bad minds aint compatible. Until then, Arlo only dreamed of ways to become a legitimate criminal and prison was his final class before graduating and wearing the collar of prestige. Taking courage made him feared by society and civilians.

But the news of his son, made him want to be the man, and the father his never was, a war, hard fought for a black child idolizing their neighbor's hood. For that goal, he needed to do what he had never done, have a positive plan, that didn’t involve manifesting violence.

When Arlo got out, he was twenty-six and his son was thirteen. That good girl was dealing with a good man, he had willed into her life, which made him believe she wasn’t a real one from the beginning.

Arlo’s parole officer gave him a watch and told him-“Take care of your business and I’ll mind my own.”

 Arlo examined the watch, turned his wrist like a child discovering. Every inch, he felt was a step in a new direction- freedom. Arlo made the moves towards improving; secured employment, resisted con - activities except easy women. He reached out to his ex to meet his son. Arlo found a job, hustled up enough money for a whole apartment, away from the halfway house the state committed him to.

On a night when the seasons gave feelings of change, Arlo left work, and cut through a private road. He saw a young man with a familiar face. His stare was strange and held a moment too long- a sign of trouble where he was from. Arlo frowned; a tell, meaning it was time to move on. But instead, the kid stepped towards. Arlo reacted, slowing the youngins clock to a stop.

Arlo stripped him and ran home. His door was next to receive wrath, another issue he needed to fix. This and sex were his release after years of steeling himself and watching men get ironed out simply for showing a smile. He lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. After the repairs, his parole officer popped up for a visit.

 "Your son, the one you wished for a relationship with?"

  Arlo nodded impatiently.  “His body was found on the road."

 -When you see people and judge, you can miss love-

Witchcraft

Sometimes I search for my anger. It's a true friend. I can say and think what I really feel. It never abandons me. It holds and warms whenever I need comfort.

On My Grizzly

I want someone to lead. To the bottom, where they see me as the top.

I want someone to lead me.

My dream is to dick them, direct them without words. Destruction will be self-committed. It’s sort of my religion, the only real one ah “MERICA” believes in.

What is Love to a Man?

Once young, I took on love blindly, unafraid of consequence. I aged and so did it. Although blinding, I was given sight through the hurt of its stench.

I aged more but love ran free, promiscuous with young, middle-aged, and old, souls that dance to Marvin Gaye, Usher, Chris Brown and Burner Boy. Sing to Janet, Mary J.Beyonce, Jorja Smith, and Rhianna. Grown and sexy types, boys want to… Ahhh, help them come up as men.

Tired from chasing and planning an escape, I embrace sleep. Settling into its absence like the affection of a hug.

Other days, Love is trusting the wind to catch you, it makes the fall deeper.

A Gentleman

My smile means business. A kind, tense aggression, encouraging forgiveness. People claim they "only fear gods wrath", but if you force mine, palms grip your life tighter than a tired cramped hand holding a bible, damage deadly as white silence.

Raised by free men, who never left prison behind, my decisions were grave, depending on which women or friend you ask. But I remain, still a root holding life. Running since childbirth, an addict before I could form habits. Before inhaling demons that fogged inhibitions.

With a junkies loyalty, I watch my children grow, understanding less than me at their tender age, and how impressions fix you backwards. But they know which smoke to avoid. And they know love, thankfully not of shedding it through blood, or the unblemished concealer-distance- should never be the healer.

My children never fought anyone except me, each other and themselves. I mostly stay, out of those battles, because they need to help themselves outlast the war.

I do however, kiss, hold hands and hug. Showing grown man affection. Careful to explain how people, fools and cowards mistake tenderness as attraction, a purpose keeping us separated.