NO WORMS, NO APPLES AND PLEASE, NO PEAS

They say, “It’s not easy being green.
That it’s always better to be nice than to be mean,”
But try being four feet tall,
With a lot of curiosity and no power at all.

If you love me so much,
Then why can’t I go, and why say, don’t touch?
While I’m asking these questions, can we discuss sweet peas?
As in, please don’t put any peas on my plate,
Sweet peas are a vegetable I truly hate.

You give me sweet peas and demand a happy face?
Do you want to see a happy face?
Give me chicken nuggets, barbeque sauce, and a few orange slices!
Chocolate cake for dessert always hits the nicest.
Giving me apples that turn brown in the air,
That ain’t even fair!

Those brown lines transform into worms,
When I swallow those pieces, the worms are born and skate down my veins,
I can’t get the image of those worms wearing baseball caps and gym shoes out of my brain.
No worms, no apples, and please, no peas,
I repeat that prayer every night on my knees!

Oh, and I want to paint my room red.
If this is my room, it should look like the image in my head,
Red walls with big words that read “Boom” and “Pow,”
With my name printed in yellow and a blue rabbit in the corner,
Who is that boy you read to me about, Little Jack Horner?

He can be a jackrabbit that leads me through nap time.
Specifically, to interrupt your quiet time,
Parents just don’t understand,
They try to be really smart with their plans.
All the little tales they make up,
The real truth is parents can’t keep up.

I have to walk slowly, or else I will fall.
Following every rule is no fun at all.
But I know the rules,
Be good, be polite, listen in school,
Be especially nice to the frogs because it’s not easy being green,
Always be kind and never be mean.

I love school!
It is an excellent place to learn even more rules,
So, I brought this green frog to place in my teacher’s bag.
A perfect present for a mean old hag,
Excuse me, I meant teacher.

I See God

Some say the words I write make them feel like a God.

I find that rather odd.

I just speak to the King I see.

Sometimes he’s asleep, resting in his manly being.

So I approach and caress his ears with my words.

Sometimes I tease him with tantalizing verbs.

Massaging the tension from his neck, with stories of what he does the best.

I tell him I’m pleased that he is a King!

Speaking to the spirit of his inner being!

Breathing life into his destiny!

Isn’t rather odd to look upon a man and not see God?

For God shaped man in the image of His deity.

Then breathed the breath of life and gave him a choice of divinity.

Set him in a place called the world and created enmity,

Between Man, and the ruler of this world, Beelzebub, The Devil, The Enemy.

Now Man is trapped in the matrix, unable to see the God within.

Involved in life and given to fleshly sin.

Forgotten the promises of purpose and destiny.

I just whisper in his ears the words that I hear, remind him what I see.

I’m not seducing, or special or given to charity.

I just recognize The Queen in me.

The New Child Abuse

Dipped in sugar, laid in sweat, poured into the ink pen, 

Drama keeps it wet.

Thirsty for a plot, bobbing to stop the bleed, 

Head swinging left to right, to interpret  what you read. 

Three found dead, rocks on the scene.

Change the font, adjust the format. 

Nope! Same old scene. 

Script has been rewritten. 

But the play stays the same. 

Just because you on the set, 

The game hasn’t changed! 

No eraser on the tip. 

No rubbers on your uhmm… feet. 

Nine months later, new little treats.

Dressed real cute, 

Let them watch you blow,

Your money, smoke circles and oh yeah, your neighbor, Joe.

Our children have turned to kids,

Baby goats with demonic souls. 

Drinking from the ink of the rewritten rules.

Dressed in their best to cover the bruise. 

History, a repeating chapter of book never read.

Grandma is leading the funeral cause, the preachers been dead.

No daddy, No mama, No spiritual truth. 

Queen Bey and Kanye raise our youth! 

Without a doubt, The New Child Abuse! 

My Poetry

My poetry
I have words that open the door to my sexy.
But if my sex is all u want to see,
I have verbs that represent my set!
See,
I like the art of seduction, whispering fantasies,
That transition into reality,
If you have the vision to see.
Building pyramids with my nouns,
Two stepping mountains, naked,
As the pronouns hide the privacy,
Of the adjectively delicious part of my lips,
As they pucker up and spit,
The next syllable of my words of seduction,
Also known as poetry.

MOTION

Can you please tell me why knowing that you love me, moves my mind to a different place in the universe?
Is it actually love or a curse?
I feel hopelessly alone in my space.
Existing in a private bubble until you infiltrate my thoughts on my same weird & exotic rhythm.
Then we vibe!
Like riding a tidal wave that subsides into the ocean!
We just blend in.
Separated in the sea I amount to nothing for infinity.
You are my force, my fire, my motion.
I have looked for it in others but they just don’t move me….

My back ground Music

He is my back ground music!
When I move, it’s to the sounds of his adoration for me!
He is my back ground music!
Peeling me open like a banana, he kisses my bruises!
Yes yes he is my background music.
I rock slowly to his roar and fall a sleep to his purr!
He is my back ground music!
Slaying dragons, calling stars, within my reach, to the rhythm of his instrumental climax!
Dancing in a frenzy to a hypnotic beat!
Inciting, enticing, magnetic grooves.
Moving me to the depths of my inner Queen!
Pulling me to the horizon of my destiny!
My background music in the notes of a high sexy, and intense integrity,
Resting before, the entrance of pretty flute notes singing my creativity,
Saxophone solos whispering Gods favor upon me!
Angels singing praises to the woman I am…
Slave’s hums of what I am to become!
I am captivated by the beat!
I roll my hips, and twerk a bit,
Then pop my fingers to the song,
As the world wonders, how I am so strong?
They can’t hear my background music!

The secrets out!

So many of you trying to keep the secret.

The X-ray vision of life sees through your red dress,

Your eyes lashes our fake and your hair line is a mess of bald patches in distress.

Why do you keep pretending like you got it all together?

You are held in bondage by panty girdles and quick dry glue.

You are so covered up that you lost the meaning of beauty being skin deep.

Yes you are in too deep!

That make-up does not enhance your current situation.

Skin busted, insides feeling disgusted,

Painting on happiness, and praying for seeds of self-destruction to be uprooted.

Promoting false securities with gel tips nails and rhinestones.

None of it is really your own.

Undress! Stand naked and proud!

Displaying truth, highlighted in pink see-through lip gloss

So they all may be lost in the words that you speak.

Shine the light on your inner beauty, so that it may be your halo,

Wear it proud in the middle of the day,

Nakedness glaring like young tits protuding out of a sheer t-shirt.

Close the closet of make believe, and dressed up dreams.

Display your beauty as if you are on reality TV!

In color, out loud, unashamed of the flaws in your life.

Inserting piercings in your scars and tattoo your mistakes.

Let the secrets bare your soul that we might know you.

Yes, Yes, dear bare your truth!

A Grown- Up Conversation with God

My New Project is almost complete! I am so excited! Watch the  studio video and tell me what you think!!!

Colors on my Face

I woke up this morning and painted my eyelids green,
Like a blade of grass on a rainy day, I want my vision to grow.
Like a well-oiled trimmer, my hands outlined my eyes with black.
I wanted my boundaries to stay intact.
Added color to the cheeks as they are the rose garden to my face.
Besides, it is the cheeks that embrace the smile on my face.
I decorated my ears with green earrings so that I might be quick to listen.
Frosted my lips with pink glaze and toned them down with a little brown,
Top them off with a hint of lip glass that they might glisten.
Read a verse from John to remind me where I come from,
Who I belong to, and to quicken the spirit that lives within,
Bow my head and prayed to God that I’d refrain from sin.
Now I am off to start my Monday,
Remembering that it is just one day,
Tomorrow there will be new colors to choose.

Poetry and ME

Okay I am bout to be late,
But I had to take a minute to give an update
Me and poetry, an open display of public intimacy.
I am committed to Poetry like a MIC to an Emcee.
Letters never separate from my thoughts,
I hear the words in my sleep. I feel  them in my heart beat,
When it skips its natural rhythm, That’s a new found adjective striking a nerve.
The headaches, really just runaway verbs,
Stomachaches equal run on sentences flowing in my mind.
Alphabet soup streaming through my blood. It’s the L in my Love, the silent E in my cries.
The sweetness in my tenderness, the song in my lulabye.
Poetry and I are in sync. Really in love,
So my status updates or just an open display of my public affection, The ink pens creates my mind’s erection. A harmonic overflow of the longest orgasm of words.
Me and Poetry like my first and last name,  We just go together.