Please see the video for my recent poem, “Astray Beauty” above! The poem is reminding everyone that there is no such thing as, “knowing the exact path you are supposed to be on in life”. We are all lost. We all wake up to a day without having any ideas of what it has in store for us. But, in a way, that makes life a little beautiful. That makes you beautiful.
You are one gorgeous person Physically. And you are just as beautiful On the inside, too.
You’re just a little, “not straight” in the head But, that’s okay. I’m not too sure of my path in life Either. And that’s okay.
I guess I can go ahead and say Someone has to have a Dangerous level of pride To stand up and claim: “I know exactly what path I am to be on In this life!”
The thing about life is There is no “straight path” to follow. They just put you in this life With an infinite amount of paths to pursue While, since the beginning of it, Everything is, in a way, persuading you To follow a path different from the other.
Which never made it easy to choose.
So, don’t be surprised. You’re lost. But so am I. So is all of us.
There’s no way someone can claim They’ve found themselves In this vast Earth they’ve been littered into. But I think that’s okay.
That’s what makes it beautiful, In a way. That’s what makes you beautiful.
This poem is saying black people need to stop looking to God/religion to save them from racism. God is not going to save black people from the oppressive society and world they live in. Black people need to stop waiting on God to save them. Instead, black folks have to figure out their own ways to save themselves from this racist world. Therefore, black people have got to stop spending so much time and money in the church.
God works on a different time than humans. If we want change, we need to stop giving ourselves momentary gratification by praying and paying the church (then going back to our old ways). Invest in yourselves, invest in your black communities, invest in your black friends and family, not the church.
Heaven is a beautiful place, ain’t it? Every time I realize I am still on this dark foggy road to Heaven I give up on God. Summon an anger from Hades’ footrest To make my pleading clearer Reminder of some promises that, I’m sure, Are outdated; I’ve never heard; were not made to me, regardless.
Would it be fair if Heaven took consideration to my pleading?
Earth is a pesky place, now I can Really see. The Angle’s view sees everything below Heaven With a past connecting to a future Their blindness is horrific. For we have rules here, as they’re bounded by, there. I know why 500 years of sufferance has to be maintained But I have to watch it unravel to a thousand years of pain. So it’s been about a day, and there’s no word about the Everlasting’s return on The Promise.
I watch the decaying of Earth—hell masked with glamour Seeing the sin Burning with pain Knowing it’ll never rain
Elijah Jovan McClain (February 25, 1996 – August 30, 2019) was a 23-year-old black massage therapist from Aurora, Colorado, who died after being placed in a chokehold by police and being sedated by paramedics. On August 24, 2019, an Aurora citizen reported to police that McClain was wearing a ski mask and looked “sketchy”, although the caller also indicated that he did not believe anyone was in danger, and that he believed McClain was unarmed. The three police officers who were involved in the incident, Nathan Woodyard, Jason Rosenblatt and Randy Roedema, said that their body cameras were knocked off during a struggle with McClain. McClain was forcibly held to the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back, after which an officer applied a chokehold and paramedics administered ketamine to McClain to sedate him. While being transported to the hospital McClain went into cardiac arrest. Three days after arriving at the hospital, he was declared brain dead, and was removed from life support on August 30. McClain’s autopsy was inconclusive.
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 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 Human.
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 Louder 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
You’re a flower. Connecting to your past is your roots extending Touching different parts of this lovely garden, Perhaps your life is a forest.
Embracing areas unexplored, sometimes ignored To learn of the pieces and droplets of sunlight left behind Brought back to the present
It happens, at times, in an assembly of plants Some from old gardens left behind Struggling but striving. Enlightening.
As you bloom to the new moon, Surrounded by petals plucked, fallen free For purposes of growth and advancement, Connect to your past.
Revisit the dews—turned yellow—on these petals That used to fertilize you. But now glistened with dirt.
You’re a flower. And we need to bloom. Sometimes involving leaving that soil behind That we were once rooted to.
I like to Extend my newfound vines to my old roots. Feel the uncertainty that clouded the atmosphere But the tranquility that came with it. These old, grown branches—now withered That used to lay at the foundation; Stagnant. The stakes in place to support my growth I once thought Were only burdened with staking my youth
I like to Recline to that old sweet sun, back there Embrace it tighter. Realize its prime necessity to my evolution.