"Going Natural," A Poetry Post

"Going Natural"

I tried to go natural but my
hair wouldn't comb;
it wouldn't comb.

I tried to go natural and
wet my hair with a spritzer so that
I could pick it daily but that
pick wouldn't move;
it hardly moved.

I tried to go natural and
make my hair "black curly" but my
hair didn't curl;
it didn't curl.

Even when I gelled it,
heated it, I only infuriated it;
tried to love it, but
I hated it,
because it wouldn't curl.

I tried to go natural and find my
true self,
but I found out that truly I
wanted my hair to be
more freakin' manageable and
much less unruly so I
went back to the perm.

I don't feel like I fell down to a
colonizer.

I don't feel like I
gave up my
history.

I don't feel like I'm
yielding to a system's
set rules of beauty.

I feel like my hair needs Madame CJ's
press, finesse and moisturizers.

It was a black girl who made the crack that
flattens out my kinky plats.

And I thank God for that.

Cause I wasn't made to wear my hair
so
jacked.

-TJM

"Cracked Man," A Poetry Post

“Cracked Man”

Cracked man,
bring me your lassoed heart and
allow me to soothe your
incessant twitching.

Let the lathering moisture of
eminence smooth the itching of your
soul's ear. Let me
make your year better with
verse and semicolons.

Let me give you love here in
stanza; run with me in
winds of imaging and
rhyme; in
marked time.

Let pentameter relieve your aching.
Let my couplets remove
the hiccup in your groove
and soon,
soon you will know what is
high.

Soon you will know
what is
high.

"Kissing a Man," A Poetry Post

“Kissing a Man”

I never kissed a man and found that
I was better for it; I just
Found myself enticed and thought I’d
Might rather enjoy it so I
Took lust and employed it.

Perhaps the love would last if
I had some kind of connection to the
Neck, lips and erection tritely
Drawing my affections,
But as life would have it I am
Tongue-tied to a passerby.

I tell myself “I
just can’t lie; truth is
he’s taking kisses in his interest but tomorrow he’ll be
interestless.”

“He is merely taken with the
tongue, the teeth, the lips,
not the ‘if’ of his committedness.”

This is not bliss.
This is just a kiss.

And a kiss,
Don’t change a thing at all.

"Criminal," A Poem

When boys and girls are born and grace the earth,
the only thing we see is
if their looks equal their birthing’s worth;
coo-coo-ca-choo.
We seem to think that all they see in us
is a baby spoon with
boiled and mashed peas and
applesauce mixed in for sweetness.

But don’t believe the meekness of scientists’ thesis
that the infant only sees you as a means
to their minced meat and peaches.
You might miss the chance to mold the babe the proper way,
and through actions that unintentional,
you might create a criminal.

Don’t check for the people who declare that
babes bounce back without a scratch.
Sometimes we let our babies see actions they
won’t forget we can’t take back.

I ain’t even trying to say be perfect; you can’t do that.
But thinking twice about the language that you
use when you abuse your boyfriend might deliver the baby
from Hades.

And I ain’t saying we can be devils but I’m
saying we can be libidinal…
When we choose to sex and press the ex instead of
controlling the aspects of our natural and wrathful reflexes,
we might create some criminals.

We can’t constrain the issue to new issues;
plenty dirty tissues linger around
four gallon trash cans for teenage and
half grown men and women who were
expected to beat the statistics.

It’s not just their friends and college influences who
determine who they become physically; it’s you and me.
Me with a pen and paper and a gradebook;
you as their mother, sister, brother, mentor.

We are the Picassoes of their life’s paintings,
their Michaelangeloes.
Imagine what happens to them when
we let go.

When our standards become conditional,
we start creating criminals.

I can’t entirely be surprised that now it feels like someone’s
watching me,
plotting to get the things I work hard for,
when me and my people can’t even give the impression of
solidarity.

That’s right, when I see the madness,
I see me.

It’s not just that "you all" or "all of them" have invited our children into mayhem;
it’s me too if all I do to move the pupil is what’s in the textbook!

Any idiot can read back what the publishers print.
These kids need teachers who teach them sense!

So easy to feel like I must abide by the rules of the curriculum and
hide certain universal truths,
but let me tell you, that when we become provisional,
making lots of room for all kinds of foolishness to look sensible,
then we start making criminals…

And it may be subliminal!
Signs of their defection may be tiny and
eventual.

Maybe your boy used to go to the store and bring your change back,
and now you got to ask.
Maybe your baby girl used to believe that she was a prize and now she
wants to let it all hang out for
every pedophile’s eyes or

Maybe your sister used to be engaged in waiting for the perfect mate but now she’s
hooking up with whoever will take her…

All of this is transitional and will lead to some things criminal.

Maybe your brother used to work because he loved it;
now he’s cussed the day he was born and traded his purpose for his
paycheck.

You might can’t see him break yet,
but if money becomes his worth, he’s become worthless without purpose.

Maybe you used to love your man but
since his circumstance has changed you
seem to think of all the names of
chances that you had with this man and that.

We ain’t gone
hold our hands up now and
put ourselves out there so fast, but
these thoughts are highly seminal.
(Might lead to something criminal.)

Open your eyes to lies we tell ourselves about
the best that we can do and “it is wells” and
try to see the breadth of your true power.

We live in a world where 15,000 babies are born each hour.

Let your imprint in humanity be something original,
specially additional,
refreshingly contrite and rightly self-conceptual, unless
you plan to give your best at
making, pro-creating and perpetrating criminals.