Poetry – Diva Over-Night

Jaded

You said all of the right things, me absorbing them like oil seething through my skin

It was you who inquired into my sphere, asking for directions that only a few will ever know

I blush soaking in the charm, small kisses, firm embrace folded into your arms, that scent drifts me over the top, oh you like my mind huh? The places it goes, my eyes sneer admiring this man who holds his own.

You advance, I think, halt, contemplate; what is it you seek from me? My desire isolated yet burning, my eyes searching for reassurance, your grasp-so reassuring.

My mind curious, my legs drip like coffee in the pot ever so slowly, my heart debating, my nipples reaching, you taste them and tell me sweet nothings- I hear you – I embrace your balcony, my body pleads will you catch me?

Damn, I got my answer, no-not from you who didn’t bother to answer, but from my pride as my fingers marinated on the plastic screen searching for the right emoji, my mind in a trance navigating my emotions through emotionless text

I breathe slowly and the hours pass, fooling myself with the preoccupation of another task, but that shit ain’t working, just like the warmth between my legs that you deserted. I should’ve worked my hips harder in that circular motion, pulsed my pelvis to meet your thrust more urgently, was I too late to accommodate your pleasure? Too irrelevant to occupy your mind?

I’m just sitting here trying not to be jaded but your smile, unmarked by my hostility, unfazed by my confusion, unbothered by my desperation. What would your answer tell me that I don’t already know? My sacred place was my secret to keep, not yours, my vulnerability was mine to protect, not yours.

How can I be jaded when I gave you the knife and welcomed your incision, my mind padded the imagery I hoped to be true, clouded by blind spots, allowing you to crash, carefully curating and preying on the perfect spot to enter, strike, bang, degrade than leave, leave me jaded.

Fools Gold

My gold travels far beyond the continent of my ancestors,

through my eyes lies eternal life.
I know you fear me, but I am no longer afraid.

No longer will I allow your insecurities to penetrate beyond the layers of this temporary suit.
I see the fire in your soul as it transfers from your pen into your print, your photography, politics, laws and media.

My body ache yet my soul simply remembers;

My melanin is a constant marker of my status in which your social hierarchy goes through great measure to collapse.

You rip me apart, dragging pieces of me across each new conquest as my blood continues to plant the soil in your new-found world.

Your gluttony is no match for the universe; it is she who carries me.

Watering the trails of blood dispersed with the souls of the dark bodies you destroy, recreating her form stronger as her ancestors remember through her.

With every export of her minerals she watches you,

her soul remember what her new suit cannot. This cyclical spirit is one with the minerals of her land.

Like her body you rape and murder to fuel your temporary comforts.

As eternal life her eyes binds the past and present,

A mother’s weary gaze witnessing the demise of her son; ignorant of his cannibalistic quest to destroy her.

Readers insight

I understand that my thoughts can be perceived as somewhat abstract to some. For this reason I decided to explain the path Fools Gold took me to invite others along with me in this journey. My first visit to South Africa inspired the spirit of this passage. For a month I observed the beauty of the landscape from the mountains, rivers, oceans, wildlife, people and the multiplicity of language and culture. For the first time I was in a country whose population was dominated by people who look like me. Who carried similar chuckles of my uncles, jaw lines of my grandfathers, hips of my grandmothers, and hair weaves and demeanors similar to mine. Before my foreign American accent gave away my westernized identity, I was perceived to belong somewhere along the complex social hierarchy of South Africa. In many ways my social status was materialize in the many interactions I encountered with each distinct group having their privilege and/or invisibility intact.
These encounters provoked thoughts that expanded my view of the African diaspora. Although my experience in one country expanding over two of its largest cities does not in any way warrant a analysis of the African continent and its vast diversity & complexity; I was inspired to pay homage. To acknowledge the rich environment conducive to hold the pieces of the oldest skeletal matter of human existence on earth. With such a distinct notability it is easy to understand why it is also argued to boost the largest abundance of natural minerals. Fools Gold attempts to capture this connection between the environment that is believed to cradle humanity and her diaspora of resources. These resources travel far beyond the colonial greed of minerals. They also connect the vast displacement and theft of language and culture metamorphosed into new beginnings. Even further, her legacy runs into the essence of life around the world. This is my acknowledgement of that lineage.

Red Dress

20 dresses and none of them fit,
Not the right color, look, texture, or silhouette. One didn’t compliment my makeup in nude, the other convinced me I was trying too hard, just trying to be beautiful without trying.

I tried on 20 dresses to find one perfect for you, but you weren’t impressed by either, because time didn’t allow for our leisure.

Finally, I decided on the grandest of all; soft, silky, red. It glazed my sheer sheets as I lay thinking of you.

I wondered what you would have thought of the chosen one. I thought about the irony of me choosing her for you, and you not being that impressed by either of us.

I wonder which dress did your chosen one choose?