My Colors in Baltimore

Like a stone cast

Across a river in cascading

Blues and yellows, I shine

And reflect the eloquence

Of the world around me.

With each skip, pop, and skate

My eyes radiate in your tender

Turquoise and reflect your gentle

Trees that furrow under my feet.

In faded greens that are the veins

Carrying my heartbeat, my fingers

Intertwine and lashes dance.

The fluidity of blonde and peach

In an array of sunbeams.

A simplistic dream

As a girl in the city sleeps.

 

There is no solace

Found under the night

Sun of streetlamps.

The abundance of metal

And concrete is not

The result of human nature,

But is the nature

Of a species that

Can never stop, think.

The air that moves does not

Flow like the river in their bodies.

The madness of their minds

Only reflects on their walk home,

Through blood ridden alleys, drug

Induced slumbers, slouching slanted

Sinister sidewalks, dressed like

Your last midnight battle.

 

She is the one who daydreams

Deep into the night, carrying

Her life in a backpack, holding herself

Together with duct tape and iron

On patches. Cracked skin, re-stitched

Seams, and abandoned apartments.

Summer in her eyes, autumn in her hair,

Spring in her smile, winter on her breath.

A momentous serenade of a mosaic life

When all the broken pieces come together

Beautifully.

City Street’s Symphony

Listen:

If I wanted to be called

Beautiful from your roaring,

Pouring mouth I would have

Carried a canoe and a paddle

As I walked along the street.

The words forming between

Your cracked, bristle hovering lips

Are not enticing to me.

I do not swim in your

Lake of lackluster;

Conversations begin with hello

Not “What’s up, sexy”.

Don’t look at me with

That smirk and those twisted

Eyes, this slab of meat is

Too rare and ready to poison.

Fuck your crossed lines

That bring you to graze your fingers

Along my jean back-pockets.

I do not desire the touch of a stranger,

Neither on the street or in the bar.

Your willingness to invade me

Is revolting. Respect is a jagged line

That you tiptoe over without hesitation.

I, for one, wish that line

To be repaired and thickened

So people like you can clearly see

The trails of their mistakes.

My Equality Anthem

 

He, she, they, them,

We, were, walking

Between the beginning and end;

The many pieces of myself

Following the sound of the misshapen

Drum the world beats.

Thump and pound

Until our lives are obstructed

And bruises leave scars;

Cotton candy skin deeper

Than the bags under your eyes.

Lead me to the town

Where looks don’t matter and dialect

Is a feeling of understanding

Between the badum of the drum

And hum of our voices.

Vibrate through your throat

And release all desires

Because today we walk

Along a road of gunfire.

My hair is too loud to hear you.

We don’t sing the tunes that you do.

We tisk and wop as our bare feet step

Following the path in our naked bodies

While you hold assault rifles.

Guns, shoot, us, down

Within my spirit I am

The color of marigolds and lemon meringue.

A sensation so sweet your mind will water.

Drown in the river of peace

And walk among the sky’s changing colors.

I am them. They are we. He and she.

An anthem of nothing

And everything that matters.

Newspaper

Stained, dirty, incorrect.

Wooden balance in a weaker form.

Wrong directions reaching in right directions.

Coffee tables.

Wicker furniture.

Musty smells in plastic carriers.

Society’s muse.

Beauty in its folds as corners crinkle.

Hands, feet, fingers tapping.

Glass tipping, nose wiggling.

A stranger in a collared shirt with the crinkled fold between fingers.

Fingers tapping, feet kicking, nose wiggling.

Suit and tie, ink and stains.

Metal frame glasses examining a weaker form.

If scissors beats paper, and paper beats rock, what about metal frames?

About glaring eyes?

About Slight smiles and heavy sighs?

The Book of Endless Possibilities

I come from a quiet family where our thoughts are just that. What we express to one another is something that is well thought out and scrubbed clean to eliminate any bumps or questionable statements. If there is something that I wish to express that may be seen as too far out of the bubble of their traditional thoughts, I will quickly diminish the luster of that statement until it is something more dull and easily accepted.

But this isn’t something that my mind wants to do. Inside my curly topped head my mind flows and shifts and glows more colors than most humans are able to notice. I like to think while sitting watching the evening news with my family; mom and dad both sitting on the loveseat in the corner of our sunroom where the moonlight glow shines through the freshly clean pains, their hands sitting ever so lightly in their laps, legs crossed, and eyes focused forward on their changing tv screen, their minds replaying the images shown on the news station while my mind can’t even pay attention long enough to notice what channel were watching.

They keep things simple and remain silent until the topic changes to something even more surprising where a single “hmm” would build from their chest. I envision their minds taking in the facts as their eyes scan back and forth, up and down, only focusing on the plain black and white facts about life that are given through these shows, limiting them on the many other possibilities of the world.

Meanwhile, I sit silently too. My hands lay gently in my lap with my legs crossed and eyes focused forward. I take in the plain facts and absorb the content to keep up with today’s news for tomorrow’s family conversations. But as I sit my mind races and paints a different image.

Maybe I won’t remember what I just watched, maybe I accidently switched one name and face for another, or I completely misunderstood the entire point of that story.

My parents come up to me often after they get up for a quick bathroom break or to get a snack and ask me “what did I miss” which I would reluctantly reply “I’m not too sure, I haven’t been paying attention.” They never were angered by my response and honestly expect nothing less.

A creative mind can never sit still. It’s constantly painting new images, creating new stories, and exploring new possibilities beyond what is presented on a tv screen. There are no limitations for what we are allowed to explore. Our minds flow so smoothly into unknown and near-impossible territory that just focusing on the true and plain facts is not enough. I need exploration. I need a blank canvas. I need freedom to think and to simply be.

I release my mind to the open book of endless possibilities as many have done before, and allow my own stories to build and shape my new perspectives. Not many things are for certain, but there is always one thing that is: we have the ability to create, change, explore, and receive. Take in these joys of life and let them take you on a fluent ride where everything changes and our lives truly flourish.