Under The Sea


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Some people would rather sink than swim.

To slowly descend
Legs moving patiently
Hands grasping diligently.

There’s no need to fight
You can stop fighting
And give in

I can escape the rush
The brutality of civilization that everyone
Has grown accustomed to,

That I’ve grown accustomed to.

Some people would rather sink than swim

We all speak the same language under water
No one makes sense—so maybe, that’s better?

What you say is not stupidity
His words are not too wise.

I don’t have a,
“where are you from? You got an accent!”

The way I speak doesn’t decide my salary
The way I sound doesn’t decide my ethnicity

Some people would rather sink than swim

If all around is blue
We could all get lost in the skies,
That is very true

We don’t have to fight
Because we are all defeated,
Or we all have won.

It’s okay to swim.
But, I think it’s also very fine,
If you choose to drown



It’s okay to just relax, and not give in to the chase.

Hymn Of The Sinner


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Alas I sin
With this joy I sing—
The whispering in my Shadow’s inn

These “facts” and deeds, my constant yearn
Lay inside my veins, intensely earned:
A space to fill, instill with vain

Liquid so sweet, salt with brute
Lips of mango, among tropical fruit
Such pleasure often, I dabble in

I sing my hymn
Twas sung to Him:
The High of Seas, Thee sees all scenes

What if Jesus had called a legion of Angels to remove Him from the cross?

I lift and shout
With glories sprout.
I nod and praise, though raised with doubt

Perhaps, I’m a fool
The Satan’s tool—
The more, I wonder: am I of sin, am I A sin?

My flesh; such smell of swine’s curse
While in this casc’t, I land first…
Thy giveth me hope, but I tighten the rope

I stretch my mouth
I fist my chest—
Fighting the beast; upon the self, I feast

My whole is weak…
I ask not for strength.


Finding Home


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Home is a place where you don’t have to be___
But you can just be.
It’s peace. Safety. It’s acceptance.
Home is closed eyes inhaling an atmosphere
Tainted with that distinct recipe.
Stern face—illuminated in a golden cloud
The music—a tragedy of natural composition;
The rawness of life in explosion.
Many have left, some returned
An osculation of the ocean that takes, sometimes gives.

Very often, home is within these walls
Captivity. Prison. Even when you’re free.
But I’ve made homes outside this world
Some, I carry no word nor trace to relive the place
Some, I’ve started tsunamis, lullabies
That echo my name to the end of earth.
I made a home when it was taken from me—
A place to be-long
Safe, open, peaceful.
Right here. Inside of me.


May you find home within. ❤

Of Stars And Men (Video)


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Two things:
Thing 1 – I pronounce “inquiries” with an English accent because I real life hate the way it sounds with the American accent
Thing 2 – no, no, no, I do not blink a million times every 5 seconds. Watchu talking about? 🧐

Thank you for watching. I would love to know what you think ❤


March 22nd, 2014


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Let me tell you a story I have never told anyone, anyone, ever in my life before. About a year after my car accident, my bestest friend in the whole wide world at that time got hit by a speeding car. Him, a few other friends, and I were skateboarding down a street going to wherever the wind takes us. I was halfway down the block, and he was ahead of me–crossing to the next block already. The light had just turned green for him, but as he was crossing, a taxi driver sped through the intersection and hit him dead on. All I saw was him tumbling on top of the car until he fell to the ground. We all immediately rushed to him. He was alive. It was difficult for him to get up, but he did. With shaky legs and our support, he walked to the sidewalk, and waited there until the ambulance came. He spent one night in the ER and was back in full motion the next day.

Some time after that incident, him and I discussed the difference between our outcomes: him, one night in the ER vs. me, 11 days in a coma, with 7 months in and out of the hospital. He looked at me, and told me that he saw the car right before it hit him. In the fraction of a second before the car hit him, he told me he did a quick hop! That hop, plus him being on a skateboard, gave him some elevation–which (he concluded) was enough to put him at a height where he just tumbled up the windshield to the top of the car. As opposed to me, who was on foot, probably didn’t even see the car coming, and was hit dead on. Just a few inches in height; 48% chance of living vs 100% chance of walking out the hospital the next day. Snake Eyes.

Just a few inches in height; 48% chance of living vs 100% chance of walking out the hospital the next day. Snake Eyes.


I’m a few days late :). It’s been a very busy week.

Of Stars And Men


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Sometimes I look at the skies and I wonder if the stars think they can do better
If they only bother with matters beyond human comprehension, beyond imagination.
Inquiries that are of such value and divinity
That the smartest beings on Earth must bend back their necks in an un natural way to look, estimate, peek, deduct, intake
All of the lights.

And yet still not scratching the surface.

I wonder if they’ve already forgotten
That they too
Used to be a part of Earth.
A slave of this planet ruled by societies that swear

As if possibilities were really at their fingertips.
As if they know.
As if they could know.
As if their dreams are not really nothing
But dreams.

I wonder if the stars have forgotten
That they too
Used to be

The only proof of imperfection.

Have they evolved this far?
Where the existence of other creatures are irrelevant?
Merely a commodity in supporting their existence;
Replaceable. Plentiful.

I wonder if they surveil down from their stools and pedestals
Then cast judgements.
Laugh with one another
Discuss theory with thunder
While forgetting
That they too
Used to be me:

Starring up. Pondering. Wondering

If the stars laugh out loud
At us.
To compress the guilt of leaving behind nothing
To teach us better.

So, in a way, they oil this cycle
As our sins come from the same Bible
Passed on to children. Grand children.
Generations. Civilizations.
Time periods.

You should’ve known better
You should’ve taught us better!
Leave behind a map. A letter
A blueprint


Why I Don’t Wanna Go To Heaven


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What you saw in my eyes was fear. I don’t think I’ve put the first word on paper yet, but for a long time I’ve been writing a poem (in my head) titled, “why I don’t wanna go to heaven”. A small part of me swears I’ve written that poem already, but the bigger part of me knows that’s not true–especially because I’ve searched for it but have yet to find anything. The poem’s title is “Why I Don’t Wanna Go to Heaven”. It’s a poem about how I don’t want to be happy because, with happiness in my arm, each time the seconds tic I will be afraid of losing that happiness. My happiness will be in endless fear as I anticipate it all to be taken away. I don’t want to go to heaven because I’d live in fear all my days there, anticipating it all to be taken from me. So I’d rather stay on Earth, or elsewhere, where I know happiness won’t last long because pain is promised. Where I can walk through the pain because a potential happy ending is my motivation.

Every time you looked into my eyes, I was one inch away from breaking down, probably disintegrating. But who knows?

You were so perfect. You are perfect. I loved you so much. You were nearly everything I could have ever imagined, everything I didn’t even know I needed–I didn’t even know existed. The art. Your beauty. Your imperfections. The way you loved me. The way you smile. The way you touched me. The way we made love. The [silly] words you would say (“honey bub” lol). The way you would drop your walls and boundaries and just fold into my arms, under my wings. The way you trusted me. The conversations we’d have–intellectual and goofy. The art that runs through your veins. Your smell. The moments we spent together, cooking, dancing. You were my first introduction to raw beauty. And I’m talking nature no longer just being natural stuff but the Earth’s decorations, Jewelry. I’m talking the naked body no longer being a well of lust but a pool of beauty, a work of art to be praised. The bliss that poured out of you. The innocence. You were never just happy. You were blissful and it was an exploding fountain of joy. Nothing I could do could ever merit your joy. So, I cowered. For many reasons.

One of them being that I have a long history of things that make me very happy being taken away from me. As I am writing this right now, there is nothing–nothing on this Earth that makes me purely, deeply happy. Not even nearly as happy as you once made me. That’s because I know it will be taken away from me, so I don’t give anything the chance. So I’ve detached myself from everything, don’t let myself be that close to anything. So when it’s time to go our separate ways, letting go is easier.

I knew you would be taken away from me. But the thoughts of you and I were so perfect. But then I was dealing with my past–passed relationships that I was still working through. I was still healing. I loved you. My love for you started growing since that night in December 2015. But it was a push and pull because I was just coming from a terrible heartbreak (plus I had a brain injury so my emotions were actually imbalanced). I wanted to protect myself so I could heal (from the heartbreak). But I wanted to love you too. So the whole time with you had that push and pull going on. But then came him. Idk if he has any connections to the person you are with now–if so, then I say this with all due respect–but I knew he wasn’t good for you. I knew he wasn’t. He doesn’t deserve you in whatever way the story is written or played out. But I also knew that I had my chance to take you away from him, but I let it slip. But I was dealing with my own stuff so I couldn’t blame myself too much. I was scared. I knew you loved him. It was out of control, to the point where you lost track of how much you loved him. Since the beginning, I knew you would be taken away from me simply because that is what happens in my life. Then he came and I realized that was what was gonna take my happiness away. I was scared. I was hurting. When I was willing to fight for you, a voice told me you would never really be mine–he has a piece of you. Fear. Then watching that fear take shape in front of my eyes.

There is also dreams, destiny and other goals that I wanted to accomplish (i.e. become really big with poetry) and I was never certain if giving you my life would be the end of these goals–I was already telling myself these goals would never happen lol. So pursuing them was a dare I gave myself. It still is. I also just simply knew that I didn’t know how to love you to the fullest extent that I knew you deserved to be loved. It was a lot. Fear was most of it. I found myself having to be super strong while all this treasure brought to me might just be taken away. As it was being taken away. It was a lot.

Thank you for reading.


International Women’s Day with a Black Woman


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International Women’s Day with a Black Woman
Across the table from me.

Her lips marinate words and emotions that
On the surface is nervous
But a Million Women March under her skin
I mean the power is truly from within

A whole queen-dom

To see how her smile is a bit timid
Lips move side to side
And before I say something stupid, she

Spit a whole sky out of her mouth.
Each time. In each universe.

It makes me wonder
What is this black woman thinking, a few seats over
It makes me ponder
About all the black women who have mortalized ideas of a God
And yet, men still make them suffer. I’ve made them suffer.

I once drugged myself in an attempt at
Reaching awakening, enlightenment, elevation.
The white girl across from me
Just as high as I could be
Smirked and said

I never thought I’d see a poet passed out on a couch across from me.

I laughed.
I always knew that moment meant something.

Right now, sitting across a Black Woman
It makes me think of all the moments I was across the table
Across the couch
A few seats over from a Black Woman
Yet, I didn’t need drugs or anything
To reach an awakening, enlightenment, elevation

Because, you see, Black women are a mortal’s proof
That God exists
That humans have God in them

The way they awake, enlighten, and elevate a whole society
You would think they were the ones who
Put heaven where it needed to be
They orchestrated the creation of the universe
They are the pendulum that keeps the world balanced

No matter how much men aim to tilt it.
They did
And they are

And each time I sit across from this girl
A Black Woman
See the timid light that echoes out of the corners of her cheeks
Sincere passion materializing from her lips
And heavenly symphony mortalizing from her thoughts
I am struck with the always present realization:
The lowest denomination that she
A Black Woman
Could possibly be, is Deity.