User talk:Akhristin

Poetry Web Pages:

www.angieb2.com www.akrhistinbrown.com www.akhristin.com

Angela Khristin Brown

Angela Brown was born in Meridian, Mississippi January 5, 1969. Most inspired by Maya Angelou, Angela attributes her poetry to human condition, diversity and self experience. Angela studied Poetry at the Library of Poetry, College of Southern Nevada and the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Angela was awarded to ambasador of poetry from the national authors registry, poet scholar and poet fellow from the library of poetry. Angela studied writing at the University of San Jose and New York University writing program.

An Inspiration

Angela Brown is a student of human condition weilding the written craft to enrapture the mind much like an artist wields a brush. the pages are a blank canvas on which to draw from a talent heralded by many and matched only be an imagination that rises to the task quickly progressing.

God is my Advocate

God is my savior from heaven above angels pray a halo over my mask heavy rain falls down on me God is my savior my love and my freind he motivates history to transend God is my savior my potectorat from sin he forgives all my worries from my foes and my freinds God is my savior chanting psalm and hyms in his name and his glory is where my life ends God is my savior a temperment of peace i lend him my soul to heaven he sees all good over bad God is my savior my heart is yearning for the day where i can say i am sorry and in doubt can be challenged and rise above authority slandering evil bipithamy of evil deeds and doers from the voices in my head for God will be the jugde of my inquiry i trust my soul in God's hand for who else is to judge...God is...

Published Work
Books: Black Voice: Wordclay, The Poetry Journal: Wordclay, JOurnal Writing: Wordclay publishing Published Cites: angelakhristinbrown.weebly.com, angelakbrown.weebly.com, akhristin brown scribd Published Songs: I Beleive, Micselaneous, Profess Your Faith, My Love in Words, Fallen Deeper, Spring: Hill Top Records ebooks: lu lu publishing: akhristin brown Published Cites: mr africa poetry lounge, got poetry, original poetry, poetry slam

Biography

St Christopher drill team, cheer leader, spirit leader, pop warmer cheer leader, high stepper, westernet drill team, las vegas street dancers, st christopher street dancer. Danced with Nevada Ballet, Simba, charlseton hieghts, West Art Center. Basketball and tennis

Angela Brown was born in Meridian, Mississippi. Angela Brown on January 5, 1969. Angela Brown was born African American. Influenced early on by Maya Angelou she kept journals as a young girl, in which she wrote in multiple genres.

She attended College of Southern Nevada and the University of Nevada Las Vegas, in which she received an Associate degree and is currently working on her B.S. degree in education. She has experience in writing all genres to include: poetry, plays, articles, music, short stories, freelance writing and essays. She worked as a reporter for the Sentinel Voice Newspaper.

Since her first collection of poems, Flo’etry, was published by Scribner in 2007, Angela's work has been admired as the first Black to express her of its kind.

She received several awards for her poetic contributions. She was awarded Ambassador of Poetry, National Poetry Registry, Poetry Hall of Fame, Poet Fellow, Poet Scholar, and Poet of Merit, Who’s Who in Poetry, Poet Laureate, and Noble Poet Laureate. Her poem play, Anna’s Conscience, was named a world class poem. She has won a book award for writing her first book, Flo’etry. She publised books titled The Writing Journal and Black Voice.

Angela is a member of the Peace Corp, AFIO and Americorp. Angela is a member of the Southern Poverty Center wall of tolerance inclusion and the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial.

She worked for the Las Vegas Sentinal Voice Newspaper as a reporter. She has published poems under Sentinal Voice Newspaper. She has published poetry in world anthologies, magazines and newspapers. She has published articles through Helium, Newsweek, Las Vegas Sun, LA Times, U. S. News, Time magazine, Seventeen magazine. She was inclusion in Forbes magazine. She has written plays for without a box and received recognition for her plays. She has produced under angieb2.com songs by Kyle Cook. She has produced songs under contract with Hill Top Records and the grammys. Some poems have been published by College of Southern Nevada anthology journal as well as North Carolina writing journal.

Angela is a graduate of the Mirage Resorts Dealing Program.

Angela has owned her publishing company Make a Lasting Impact, Black Women United, Angela Brown Writing Group, Brown Fondation and Brown Enterprise.

Angela is a member of Top Ladies of Distinction, NAACP, The Urban League, National Platform Association, Amnesty International, National Democratic Committee, The Platform Association, National Orgainazation for Women, Ladies of Peter Claver, Black Women in Publishing, The National Press Club, The Grammys.

Angela was inducted in Who's Who of Cambridge, American Biographical Institute, McNairs, USA Honor Society, Magna Cum Laude Honors, Princeton, Academia, National Dean's List, International Biographical Instittute, Mc Millan, West Literary Guild.

She continues to write in hope to win the Pulitzer award or noble peace prize in literature some day.

A Selected Bibliography

Poetry

Poetry Journal (2009)

Black Voice (2009)

Flo’etry (2007)

The Poetry Journal (2008)

Las Vegas Memories (2007)

Anna’s Conscience (2007)

Black Daisy (2008)

Games (2008)

Articles and Essays (2008)

Atonement (2008)

I Believe (2007)

Gangster (2008)

Love Poems (2007)

The Poetry Journal (2009)

Black Voice (2009)

Selected Writing Journal (2009

Music

I Believe

Profess Your Faith, I Believe

Miscellaneous

My Love in Words

Fallen Deeper

Spring

Fallen Deeper

You are the Only Man in my Life

My Favorite Poem, By Angela Khristin Brown

My Favorite Poem, By Angela Khristin Brown

Urban Poetry Movement My Favorite Poem, By Angela Khristin Brown

The world is a quilt and each patch is a nation Bound by a thread since the days of creation Adorned with great color and radiant splendor Though divided by race and religion and gender In some eyes, it is handsome, in others contorted The patches are different, unmatched and unsorted Incongruous in pattern, in shape and in color Not one is much similar to any other So some try to imagine one great design But in truth our uniqueness is really just fine Nations and patches of all kinds and all sorts Customs, religions, languages, sports This is okay if each patch has its space And on the quilt of the world, each nation has its place But the stitches that bind us are easily shed By the wars that are fought and the words that are said We must realize the appearance of no patch is inferior And the ways of no nation can make it superior Divided by oceans, united by a dream The world is a quilt and our love is its seam

Moral Obligation, by Angela K Brown I am an apprentice by faith, And God is the master of wisdom. Our covenant is the fellowship of passage, Redeemed by his holy spirit. I am a journey man by fate, And God is the temperament. Our convocation is through prayer; Humbled by His image.

I Believe, By Angela Khristin Brown Sometimes the greatest struggle Is to find peace of mind Sometimes the mind goes astray Only to find its way back to God Teach me to crawl before I walk Every step to heaven So that I’m born a revived Christian Rising higher and higher to God’s glory I first knew God when troubled Then again when found Now I believe what glorious sight I accept Jesus Now I believe Oh I believe in the mercy of the Lord He delivered me from evil to praise His holy word Oh I believe in the mercy of the Lord I believe that I am saved I believe that I am saved I believe in the healing powers form sin I am humbled by the Lord I am stronger by His ways Oh I believe, Yes, I believe Oh I believe, Yes, I believe God I am thankful for the gift of life You alone have blessed me I thank you for giving me spiritual growth To grow by the ability to love Oh, yes, I believe Michael Jackson, By Angela K Brown We all gather together with one principle in mind God blesses those amongst us and of any kind We celebrate our loss with a notion his soul is saved Generously giving, he paved the way He is in a better place now, he is amongst the best Forever in our memories, let him rest

Haiti, By Angela Brown

God is our creator His gift to us is love. As a community of hope, We can replenish all that is lost.

Mother Nature is always blind to purpose There is a reason outside fault. We must unite to rebuild a nation With an obligation to restore life.

Stood Up The Beginning A sigh of reprisal was an ambivalent cry my aching heart dispels anger of being told no Over and over again – the denial The Middle Longing for your acknowledgement to be accepted into your realm of social life I wait for your arrival to return my soul you took

The End With every word lost in speech I yearn to express the pain my heart feels to not be loved by you

The Cult Locked up Ingrate minds Neglected by their peers Just a matter of time Papa don’t claim him Mamma can’t save him Bargain with his own life Just a matter of time Ill doctrine lessons off the street Idle minds dwindles about their peeps Money laundering swindles of what to keep Just a matter of time Hustling cash on the dime Got to get paid, got to get mine Took another life an innocent child Just a matter of time Battling life’s struggle Gang bangers style Hope I live to see 21 Just a matter of time

Holy Spirit The silent stillness of quiet hems; is a supple grace of the Holy Spirit. As the Holy Ghost is at service to my soul. To consume salvation; to alter death; where angels rise and shadows rest. And as the day ends And gospel fades A prayer inhibits a familiar beginning.

The Negra Saga of a Ghetto Queen Harassment and denial From opposing religions To either flunk her out Or to face rational decisions Drive bys, car bombs, and parents threats The unreachable child Had many regrets Angry crowds knock out car windows Vengeful gangs kicked in doors All against one student from reaching Her educational goals God would not judge her But grant her creed

Cancer Cell Pneumonia first called its name within the walls of a cell. Blinded pneumonia, carrier of disease that roamed an ill virus through various blood cells. Horrific pneumonia, spectra merging through cellular walls. A sickly virus from a destructive cold. Mania pneumonia that marked itself in place a lymph node a cold, ill place where bacteria roams to claim cancer. A pneumonia cell that spreads word to other enzymes cancer has claimed a host called death. Death has no age limit.

Vegas Dreams (Spoken Word) Out of Vegas, the city that never sleeps, where anything is possible. That dreams are made of what inspires you. I am from what is honorably known as the West side in Vegas. My hood is home of theCrip. Some know it as the ghetto where many fear to be seen. My hood comes from where you don’t know how to act of the middle class – administrators, senators, educators, athletes, police officers, gang members, peddle pushers, drug addicts, erotica and the sons and daughters of future Crip. The west side is affluently known for black settlement in Vegas of the sixties. It is the home of the Moulin Rouge where only the black stars had facilitation for entertainment and where they were housed in its hotel. Vegas the home of the north town blood. Vegas home of the south side Krip. It is all about zones. What comes from the hood stays in the hood. The west side is a family raised in a village. It is the doctrine of faith and value stood. The west side is a community of faith where everyone knows his place, knows where he comes from, knows how to speak and give back to the place of residence. No relations to drive bys, gang bangers, homicides. It is a unity of peace and love with who you identify with. Home of the high drop out rate because youth can earn as much doing service without a degree. Home of where schools were not desegregated until after 1978. Home of high teenage pregnancy rate, where baby momma drama is a concern. Home where jail bait was 15 years adult. Home where curfew was at 1 AM in the morning. Home of the block parties where kids hung out in the street late nights to roam during the summers. Home where athletes were not educated and could not read after high school. Home where players had to be from another country or mixed to be popular on the team. Home where drug dealers can earn 30 grand selling drugs off the street. Home where prisons hold the abundant youth due to social poverty. Home where there is much fear of disaster. Home where there is much love. Home where a college degree can mean something to the development of the community and must not be taken for granted.

Baby Momma Drama It takes two to make a child in desolate of ignorant minds That led a child to conceive a baby Babies having babies At the age of ten Haltering a child of own Delivered by a paramedic Snapping hips back To console to secrecy Worried about being caught Vowed through deception From an under aged teenager A baby momma drama How old, old enough to conceal child Inadequate mask To growing up too soon From child to adult A forced responsibility Somewhere out there Is a 30 something child? To a 40 then and some mother Whose child does not know who Their mother truly is?

Judgment A fatal cry of deception Morally advised Neglected by each emulated touch Fondling dreams of anger lie inside Hazy, vivid memory Growing young in his possession Disturbing images from abuse Wanting to break through, to recover From an oppressing manifestation

Stereotypes Stereotypes, is that a gesture? Are you entitled to pass judgment based on preconceived thoughts? Is the circulation of thoughts based on rumors? Do you judge because you do not care to understand my position? Is it because you never got to know me and do not care? Can you really tell by first impression that I am different? Is it my outward appearance, you base judgment that I fit those stereo types? Can you tell by looking at me, what you do not like about me? Is it my outward appearance you hesitate to retaliate towards? Must we bargain with a liturgy? Is it something I said that you’re against? Is it over something someone said about me that has got you all fired up? Did I not follow through based on your ideology of reasoning that frustrated you? Is it right to judge, because of how I acted out that you must try to change to your preferences? Shall I admit something is wrong with me? How does one respond to stereotypes? I am who I am.

To Love Oneself To love is to embody emotion to penetrate deep down in your soul. It is the emotion to love oneself; because one must love oneself in order to allow others to love you. Love is feeling of greatness that you place God above oneself; because God it the gatekeeper of your soul. Are you feeling me? Loving one means you are blessed that you feel good about yourself and you are doing right by God. Loving oneself means that you have an attitude of pride. You represent that feeling of revelation that you have reached redemption of the mind, body and soul. The way you carry yourself is how others will judge you. Love God, love life and love oneself.

Faith May your soul be filled with God’s wisdom? To become an apprentice of faith May your heart be touched by nature? To live by God’s words of hope To encourage others to be followers of God May spiritual education open the door to a closed mind? To not be perturbed of evil To become enriched in fate to guide the blind So he to may seek holy spiritual freedom Become a practioner of faith Where hate is abandoned in fear of God To be a protectorate from evil To defend the belief of the Church Where young minds can understand God’s leadership For religious purposes of a spiritual creed That defends the nation against wrongful deeds of hate Where fate in God leadership to promote world peace May God protect the female holy veil for equality? Open her eyes, Open her soul to the covenant of God May men be teachers? May men be leaders? May men be role models? Of the family Of the community Of the church May man think of Church as an audacity of hope of the family? To anticipate the love and guidance of social freedoms God is my Shepard I shall not want As I walk through the valley of fire I shall fear no evil God is my temperament May I profess the faith God gave me I believe he is the deliverer of my fate May God guide me from sin? As I live this journal to heaven.

A Time Remised Confusion Doubt Emotionaly stressed Vounerable inherit Painfuly assist Damper horizon Moderatly senced Mordified solution Dangeraously admissed Tranquil upset Ferverently blessed Inhale jeapardy Externally confessed Imagery, a concept Figuratively obsessed A silent memorium A gesture remised A time remised A time remised A time remised A time remised A time remised (silence) I’m out

Our Love How I love thee As enchanted as time passes You are forever in my memory Through every sentiment sigh of retrieval Compassion expels happiness Valued in each kiss I yearn for your warm caress Missing the sentimental token An epiphany of treasure unspoken In captivated by words of choice That persuades meaning In how I conceive you my heart thrust compassion Consumed in lust In dire need of every mood My soul craves harmony In unity of a companion Who cares for me? Failing to meet your desires You beat me with your fist You curse me with your anger You train my mind to obey I can not handle my fate Before I lie dead in your possession

Forsaken Written by, Angela Khristin Brown I we have been taken as an enemy of all in prison our ability to communicate with God we have mistaken our old tired lies Creating fear within our delicate skin II Drugged addicts holding us back alienating rafters dark steps the ghettos furious life sentence Devious of the calm waters III We entrap our minds in dissolute times An image of a storm perturbs warm waters A roots bough underneath the soils foil A shadows emerges a hallow path IV To taste its breath of poisoness air Hovering silence embrace for peace Time’s client is an admissive stare Ghostly hands deplete death entrapment V Ghastly sign of escape of insanity trying to vacate his unsought welcome The River trails defeat and defile voices behind His huge plow hands hold in singes of dirt VI His back hold gashes of violet sups of blood His heart meditates for a savior The dark night encloses desire to be free Lord, grant me strength VII Perilous dreams deferred Envious puppets emulate denial if tears could speak it speaks of fear VII Align the dark shores to compromise life in deception Hammering light conspiracy to position for failure VIII A quilt made of old tired jeans A sewn patch from each generation A coveted patch woven in gayety A smoldering vintage kept hot VIIII And in the middle of the day we would all exit the storm amongst a clay of dust X And mother will bequeath love and nature will provide fruit and prayer will be inevitable truth and the new born will never speak in silence

Red Nature Red tepid water drains through building blocks of slothful thought. Thrust winds, rain, sleet build red energy from lightning in the sky moldering in deception. A scented red rose with long thickly sharp prongs speak of gayety pride. A red liquid imprint from an old newspaper personal dreary same sex ad. A tornado battled winds blew down the red old country barn in derivity of old tired accusations. Awakening death dreary dark black clouds with tiers of red voices speak of despair, agony and fear. Red sun rays piercing confused signs of life of a lustful inquiry. Chilly air rips through the wear and tear of a red old withered jacket beaten and denied. Flowetry Definition of a Poem A poem is A passion to Utilize word In harmony With what You come into Contact with

Floetry Poetry, the glimmering rhymes Of tomorrows battered beat, an horizon Alarming the quake of day break And the thunder drum’s storm Repeats clichés of an attitude -	Rat a tat, rat a tat, rat a tat, -	Chukka boom… The sounds of music

Unforgotten Race

The unforgotten… Live for tomorrow… Dreams never go away. Peace on Earth… Is the goodwill of all men?

God You Inspire me to Love

I found love while we share our feelings I found love through his moral support I found love through his laughter I found love through cross signals That overlaps the shades of love I found love through his leadership, fellowship and guidance I too have found love I found love in so many ways Spiritually through the grace of God many blessings Mentally through comforting words Physically through the holy ghosts Yes I too have found love Through our friendship through our family I too have found love My Heart Feels Too My hearth feels too, What I cannot see My heart feels… What I crave My heart tastes… To others triumphs and defeats My heart listens… And to the images of Yellow orchids Red roses with petals of lime green leaves Purple oleanders and parsnips The blue violets, white daisies and orange daffodils I feel from the heart.

The Price of Freedom

Freedom... that stole my soul Where it left off. The back woods of Georgia Auctioned on a slave block Sold for the price of a grain of seed The deed to my soul No, no it must’ve began The price of when my uncle was slain by a clan’s man In the back wood of Mississippi, I cry, I cry Who bargained for his life? I pray, I pray for the price of freedom For tee segregated schools… For the freedom of speech… For freedom of slain souls who paved the way… Took the lives of humble people For the sole purpose...freedom Freedom, I cry freedom What does t mean? When you are illiterate and cannot read

Swan

Rockery, lullaby, rockery Swift as a calm sea Gentle as a feather Raise oh rise high O’er and o’er you sway Parched in a hallow raft Dismounted o’er space Distance apart Fleeing o’er air Rockery, lullaby, rockery

Fight Violence with Peace

Why should we ban violent lyrics in rap songs? When they pull our race down, down, down Erasing years of pain painfully, erasing reasons for our struggle Denying our rights as African Americans, who lost their lives? For the struggle to grant us the freedoms we have in store As a country banned from social freedoms?

Why should we ban violent lyrics in rap songs? When they discriminate women by using derogatory names Wrapped in the blood of the union flag Which stood for what we call freedom?

Why should we ban violent lyrics in rap songs? When we know our mothers are the back bone of the family The mother who birthed us, put clothes on our backs A roof over our heads tolerated a sound education And lead us on our way to defend the struggle that can be So easily taken away

Why should we ban violent lyrics in rap songs? While during slavery we were brought from Africa Stolen from our home Unadulterated culture of being slaves While our women today Are disregarded as socially retarded As out cast in the struggle blown away by lyrics Used in rap songs today

Why the Caged Bird Sings

Hinged Rhythm Outbursts Sighs

Angel Follies Hampered Defeat

Beggars Liars Cheats Defile

A Tear Fell From Its eye

Unwarranted Symphony

I Believe

It only takes a spark To get a fire going And soon all those around Will light up when it’s glowing That is how it is with God’s love Once you experience it It is just like spring You want to sing You want to pass it on Pass it on

Pass it on To Dream to be an American

I am an American And a composite of many dreams I am a patron of God’s faith And an antidote of a dream

I am an American Born and reared Brought from different attritubutes of people Who have each bleed or shed a tear

From the battle fields To the highest courts From the past until now Have stood their ground like patriots Bringing hope for all humanity to be found

I am a true American Though how difficult it must seem But I am one proud American Who dares to dream?

Time

Time is a period A legacy in tact It lasts throughout age In cycles that are exact You can not out live it It carries on For eons of time It lasts a life long Time is the yesterdays Tomorrows and the out come of dreams Time is our future

When was the Last Time

When was the last time? You held your fist in frustration Wanting something so bad to happen And it did not happen When was the last time? Your heart groped over A dream you had of the future And id did not come true When was the last time? You prayed And God answered your prayers? Keep hope alive…

Snowflake

A snowflake falls; Gently, From the sky Admits Flittering unto The ground Pitter, pat Pitter, pat Pitter, pat Frozen ice.

An Eagle

An eagle flies By, by in enchanted distance; By, by Visible knots Creating ties Aloof its nest By, by an eagle flies A lullaby An eagle flies Such obliteration Such quiet mumble

The Fairest of All

I look in a mirror What do I see? A picture of a lady Who looks just like me? I look in a mirror How could it be? An image I see Is a prism of light? A reflection of my identity I look in a mirror To find hidden truth A reflection of my inner mood I look in the mirror And I see me Of all hope, fate and immortality Reflecting, coming back at me

Schizophrenia

What do you do? With a troubled mind Full of delusions Full of lies My heart trembles With the threat of oppression Taking me over and locking me in prison What do you do under harassment? A threat and a failure When you ask the question Who am I to ask? Do you give up? Or do I hold on

I am Only Human

I am only human When I speak I flaunt When I smile I gesture When I laugh I clown When I pray I profess my fate When I walk I sway When I win I triumph over When I lie I rest

Caged Bird

Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly

Black butterfly sing

Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly

Black butterfly free

Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly

And the butterfly Glides to freedom

Loneliness

Nestled upon a wooden bow Quietly disdain from truth

Seductive stare Beneath the horizon

Fallacy, justifies; Yet, undermines reason

The Black Man

His ebony skin was a smooth as leather His hair locks was as tight as cotton His dark eyes was formed the curves of almonds His stride staggered in quarter notes His intellectual ability intimidated me His personality amused me And his dreams became my dreams Became my dreams Became my dreams…

Voices

A voice once talked to me And told me I world never amount to anything Voices said that I am about nothing The voice replied that I am not good enough A voice said to me I am best not to try I replied saying; I am lonely and seek guidance The voices tire me My being better was only my intention to prove nothing You neglected to listen to my emotions Now I lie still, quiet and alone I heard a voice that said, listen Don’t give up

Ode to When I Die

Someday, I would want to be Acknowledged, Dedicated, Nominated Appraised Accomplished Written down in history… Someday, I will die… And at my funeral, Someone will remember me And go to my funeral…

The Storm

A hale of fog Hovering above the heavens Encountering time.

Haltering day An overcast of shadows Doomed into darkness.

Pellets of humid dew Danced hurdling onto the ground Into somber laughter.

God

I am in and out I am all about I am here and there I am everywhere I am up and down I am all around I am omnipotent I am God.

Oxymoron

There is no racism today But why affirmative action. There is no need for equality; But we suffer invaluable differences. There is no need for a good education; But we need a degree to be successful. There is no need for safety; But there is danger of violence. There is no need for celibacy; But we have abortion. There is no need for protection; But we have aids. There is no need to struggle; But we want peace. There is a need for love; And love surrounds us.

A Metaphor for a Tear

A tear can be gentle as a cotton ball Erasing the bondage of pain A tear can be angelic as prayer With the hope to end all hatred A tear can be a cradle That holds near the soul A tear can release the condolence of war That kills all victims it comes upon A tear can heal anyone who believes in its power

The Script
Blue Black Skies, Written by Angela Khristin Brown

Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

There are various cliques one must achieve to be accepted in college… and when there is a class of ambivalent scholars, the life they lead is a relic of success. American life can be judged instead of a shoulder to cry on. It is of scholarship and rebirth. People yearn to assimilate gift and talent. Making a world of competition a measure to succeed. What fails to mediate understanding groups tend to find their own way. What happened to you? Could have happened to me What I can not touch Blind eyes can see Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

The drifters… There are the drifters who wear black all the time. The drifters are known to be wired. Drifters love to smoke and eat healthy. The drifters will pierce every part of their body. They are known to wear tattoos. The world is consumed with wealth in that sometimes it nurtures its own ability to reason. We are often tied down to material things that are impartial to the code of life. A skittle, a skittle, I saw a dirty black cat With the energy of the sun Who could run, fun, dumb And never skipped a meal And then some… Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

The jocks… There are the jocks and dancers who are in the in crowd…The jocks are the ones who always have the most fun. Last week they trashed a freshman in the locker for walking down senior hall. Everyone knows them. Everyone admires them. Some say they are dumb. Some say they are the most popular. It is the same with the dance teams on campus. The girls have a reputation for being loose. The girls rule the campus. A rose is but a rose when embodied by envy and pride. Sometimes it humiliates the specter from what is desired in life. The security blanket become within its own diverse entity. A ticket a tasket I saw a dirty rasket It went zoom, zoom, zoom On my junket Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

Groupies… There are the bands that are the class groupies…The groupies are the kind that like to have fun. Music is what they speak. Music surrounds them. Music is their passion to rock. Sometimes our world is consumed with differences, in different thoughts and different ways the meaning of unity is engrained amongst activity. What is profound is to relate to a commodity of respect. A shopping spree A scared dollar Not a day gone by Pocket book getting fatter Life goes on Without a day past spent Money replaced by selling since Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

Preppies… There are the honor students that are the preppies…The preppies wear their clothes differently. Preppies dress is oxford collar shirts with plaid pants and doll shoes. The preppies have an attitude and an authority to demand respect. In the mist of a storm, there is a spirit of youthfulness and hope. The spirit only asks to listen to its humility and to accept its courage. My back ache My bra too tight My hips shake From left to right To the left To the right To the left, right and left Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

Class Clowns… There are the misfits that are the class clowns…questions the uncertainty of human spirit. They lack affection in the need of attention. To be mistaken for ignorance, they anticipate progress. They thrive for salvation a quota of humility and happiness. Down, down baby Down by the roller coaster Big, big daddy Don’t let it go Shimmy, shimmy, coa coa pox Shimmy, shimmy wild Shimmy, shimmy coa coa pox Deep down south Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

Losers… There are the drop outs that are the losers…The drop outs are the ones who are smart in school but with no interest for learning. The drop outs are there to party. They are the ones noted for disrupting class activity with intellectual remarks. I been watching them rome by My, my, my one caught my eye The brother had much swagger I had betrayed my brother Taken by honesty To recognize my reflection Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

Valley Girls… There are the wealthy that are the valley girls…The valley girls talk a certain way. The valley girls are known to set dress trends and the direct the dichotomy of the school. The valley girls plead for mercy and demand justice. Their perspective designates truth. Boom, shaka, laka, shaka Bam, wana, anna, anna Met this man Went way down south Hollahed rump shaker Lip, locken, fast talking Man stalker says boom, boom, and boom Blue black skies I am one of you A mistaken identity Pride, trivia or true

Drifters, Jocks, Groupies, Preppies, Clowns, Losers, Valley Girls The presence of depending on one another for help, one must learn how to ask for help and know how to use others for positive gain. Life is measured by convocation of communication or the desire to want change. We must learn to immediate cultural difference to make advances. Our Love

How I love thee As enchanted as time passes You are forever in my memory

Through every sentiment sigh of retrieval Compassion expels happiness Valued in each kiss

I yearn for your warm caress Missing the sentimental token An epiphany of treasure unspoken

In captivated by words of choice That persuade meaning In how I conceive you

My heart thrust compassion Consumed in lust In dire need of every mood

My soul craves harmony In unity of a companion Who cares for me

Failing to meet your desires You beat me with your fist You curse me with your anger You train my mind to obey I can not handle my fate Before I lie dead in your possession

Mourning over a loss of a love one is a traumatic experience and yet it can pull a family closer together. I understand my parents love and care for one another a whole lot. Faith is what brings a family closer. However; I can recall my youth. I remember the troubled times like when my parents always argued over money expenses. Mom always wanted to give the family good things. She always said it did not make since to live in poverty. Dad only wanted to move in a house away from the ghetto. I recall memories of my parents fighting over little things always in arguments that led to harmony and forgiveness. My mother talked with friends about finding notes in my father's pockets from other women. She thought he was cheating on her. Commitment was important for their marriage. It turned out my parents loved each other a whole lot and they stayed married for 43 years. Marriage was also important to my great grandparents who remained married for over 75 years. My parents held down two jobs in my youth to take care of the family. They were always busy with work. We only spent time on weekends. Throughout the week I recall my Dad coming home drunk and my mom was at work until 2 am in the morning. My brother stayed at home to take care of me. Through this ordeal; I feel they did what was right to live comfortably. It was all about making ends meet. My family spent Sundays at church. Church was our foundation in spiritual relief. I would pray for health and happiness. God granted condolence throughout the years for moral support.

As I grew older, My family began to become more distant. Our values began to change. My mom let a male friend come between family. I always resented her for this. After my brother died I realized that family mattered the most. My mom is my fathers neck in the family. She convinced us that family is important no matter what happens that family should bind. Today; I find my family sharing more and more time together. Dad talks to his mother 4 times a week. Mom calls her only sister 5 times a week. Weekends remain family oriented. Family meals are important. It is a time to consolidate and council one another. I would never think I would marry. I want to marry and have kids now more than ever, because, with family I will find spirituality in life through God. Confusion Doubt Emotionaly stressed Vounerable inherit Painfuly assist Damper horizon Moderatly senced Mordified solution Dangeraously admissed Tranquil upset Ferverently blessed Inhale jeapardy Externally confessed An imagery, a concept Figuratively obessed A silent memorium A gesture remissed A time remissed A time remissed A time remissed A time remissed A time remissed (silence) I’m out Infatuation is where one person out of spite does not have the same feelings of the other person. It is where it appears to be true love to some; but to others it is a fatal attraction. I met someone in junior high school who was infatuated over me. Every since meeting him, my life has been a disaster. I could not breath without his permission. I could not lead a life unless he approved it was alright. Since high school, I lost all friendships with everyone I knew. I was sent to a therapist to talk about my feelings. Family thought I had a difficult time expressing my love for someone I could care less about. It is psychotic to not have relationships with anyone. My parents insist that I have one friend who is his sister and I not date or even conceive thought about marriage and kids unless it is with him. And so I live a life as a basket case. I do not want to go back to him because it is a fatal attraction. I can not allow his family to control me and yet they control me and he is not around. I live a life of paranoia because everyone tries to remind me of him. Everywhere I go I am called immature because I am not in love with this man and I refuse to encounter any contact with his family. My real wish is for him to leave me alone. I am not able to enjoy my life because of the paranoia surrounds me. I escape into a world where I am isolated, so isolated my screams do not matter. I wonder am I treating him wrong? If I got pregnant by someone else, am I in such psychosis they want to steal my child so I can raise his child. I wonder, is he stocking me? Can I call the police on him and order a restraining order, while I know he is never around and it is my imagination he is? If you ever loved someone and they do not feel the same, please let it go. There is nothing like having a baby with someone you love. I can only imagine having a baby. What would natural child bearing be like? It would be special feeling in that you know you care for what is inside you. There is a special attachment to having a baby form inside of you, grow inside of you, touch you deeply. Every time you eat the baby is tugging on your cord, kicking inside of you. You can not say anything bad about the baby's father. If you do you will begin to imbalance your walk as your foot skips across the floor. If you think bad things about the baby's father, you will begin to drop things out of your hands, breaking glasses, throwing papers. An instant reflex. Every morning you will awake to morning sickness, gagging your throat like you want to throw up and nausea will come too. Every time you think of the baby's father you will begin to smile as the baby smiles too inside. Your every action is affecting the baby inside of you. The baby will miss his siblings, to a prior abortion and you will feel sad, to start to cry, as the baby cries inside of you. When you are ready for an ultra sound, you can not hold water. You can not hold water through the entire pregnancy. Often you go to the bathroom. Let us time your reaction to going to the bathroom to every 30 minutes. A sign of labor pains apart timed to every 30 minutes. You look on the ultra sound screen and you smile when you see their is a human on the ex-rays. You begin to contemplate do I want my baby. Shall I start a family. Your life is on hold. I lost one baby through abortion. Abortion kills. It is unethical to kill human life. The baby will transform my life from a child to become a women. You begin to shop at the mall looking a baby clothes. You start to cry. You want children. You begin to walk at the park where there are children. You start to cry. You want children. Your niece comes by every weekend and you set up projects like the baby you want to have. No one realizes what is going on. You wanted a child of your own. You can not take the thought of your baby through e suction sucked out of you like a vacuum cleaner to kill your child. God anticipates your next move. You decide, papa don't preach - I am keeping my baby. My biggest struggle Was getting over you While you controlled my life I lie in death Longing for your return To be fooled our love Meant something To both of us My biggest struggle Was letting go I wanted to believe You needed me In your life To make life complete You left me destitute Like a prostitute My biggest struggle Is to carry on Like we had no meaning Missing you Getting over you My biggest struggle Was replacing you When it seems there is No better than you My biggest struggle was Getting over you Struggle, la, la ,la Struggle getting over you La, la, la Getting over you The most enjoyable part of life is your youth. No one shall take away fund memories created from you as a kid. I recall memories of playing in the street kick ball and stick ball. The fun of the games were to see how fast you can run and how hard you can make a home run. I recall memories of the pap cycle man or rushing down the street to stop the truck to get the ice cream of your choice. And I remit the candy lady. Every hood had a candy lady who sold your choice of anything imaginable. I recall memories of the curfew allowed you to stay out side until 1 a.m. Where there would be block parties held late at night on the street or at the park blasting music and everyone you knew and did not know was there. I recall memories of playing doctor because everyone knew they wanted to be either a doctor or a lawyer. I recall learning the newest dance moves and then making new ones that steps would be shared around the nation. I recall memories of having slam books to share dreams with your friends. You would have to know everything about your friends in the slam book to include who you were going to marry, how many kids you will have, what car you will drive, where you will live and where you will work. I recall memories about the cube that had many combinations with your desire to solve the cube. And playing table tennis and pac man on the television. Also playing football on a miniature score board. And also ping pong was a sport and a challenge. I recall memories like swimming in the park with church groups and friends while dunking each other in the pool and diving board stunts. I recall memories of watching sports like boxing when Mahamad Ali was the champ and the movie Rocky, Sharks, Star Wars and Saturday Night live was the in thing to see. I recall memories like wearing knickerbockers, halter tops and died designer jeans was fashionable. I recall memories in school where type writers were obsolete and the computer was viably new where we used floppy disk and computer paper with holes on its side were popular. Every thing was hand written in so you may rewrite your paper without eror many times before you got it right. I recall memories like Jackson 5, Motown and Madonna were number one artist in music All in all memories are relished today as a relic. It is a family tradition to celebrate a family meal on special holidays and throughout the year. No meal is prepared with hope like the one celebrated Christmas and Easter. This is a time to invite friends and family for this joyous occasion. The table is prepared with the fine china and napkin holders in brilliant colors of red, gold and green. Before dinner a special prayer is dedicated in honor of the occasion thanking God for his many blessings and gifts of having family and friends and food. Dinner is served in a buffet style. People begin to engage on stuffed turkey roast, corn pudding, candied yams with marshmallows, turnip greens with turnips, home made rolls and your choice of ice cream and homemade lemon cake or apple pie made from scratch. It is a pleasure to see everyone indulge in good company and good conversation with enough food to last the next few days. Even new year is celebrated with good intentions. Everyone has to have a new year revelation. For new years, a special dish is made of black eyed peas for good luck, greens for money and cabbage for good spirits. It is a African American tradition which is all in good spirits wishing well for the upcoming new year. I vaguely trace your apearance A distorted figureen from the past Blotches of ink splotches accross the canvass Splotches of oil dances life to an unknown postilant Imagery emerges a distant path of discovery Fading fast True love is not something you can come across easily. True love is reserved for someone who stands out and is special. I fell in love with my old classmate when I was 15. We were said to be a match made in heaven. We had so many qualities in common. He swept me off my feet. I did not know love hit me until many years later. He was a good man. He spent time walking me home after school. We spent endless hours on the phone courting. Even if we had nothing to say to each other we enjoyed one another's company. We studied together and went places together. He always supported me even if I was too busy studying and could not find the time for him, he swore I got his heart. Through good times and bad, he remained in my memory. I still think of him sometimes about what we had together. He is now married with kids and will never know I still have feeling for him. Newer Old School Dance, By Angela Khristin Brown Foundation

Everybody Rock 8 times Feel the beat snake 3 times Rock 4 times Snake 3 times Do the lacasta steps 5 times Now 2 step 4 times Rock 2 times Now butterfly roll Butterfly one leg The other leg butterfly And roll it out 5 times Now 2 step Pac man those feet 6 times Electric dog 4 times And shake it off 5 times Feel the beat and wave each arm 2 times Rock 5 times Roll 5 times and slide each side 2 times Hold each time Do the pee wee herman And spin Worm 4 times Pop lock that spin 4 times And now double dutch 3 times And walk it off forward and backward And slide each side 2 times And tootsie roll 6 times Moon walk to the back Lacasta walk to the front And jerk and jerk and jerk Pause, bump bump Do that but, that but do that but And bounce that rock 8 times Do the freak, pause to the freak And jump back and forth 2 times Loli pop Jump back and forth 3 times Now cha cha 8 times Everybody freeze Now robot, Freeze Robot and break dance Dive and surf, dive and surf And strike a pose Do the splits and rock, rock, rock

Confessions

They say, millions have had some type of abuse in their life time. For me, i have a dark past. I too was abused in my life time. I vision the abuse. Sometimes the voices are louder than other times. Flash back. I could have been yet one year old placed in bed with my neighbor. The abuse can happen with anyone. This time, i was too young to know how my body was made. I had to have been shown by someone i barely knew. Doctors say my body had been made that way since child birth. I never heard of having a body like a whore and being born into it. I had not been five years old in the hood when some stupid boy wanted to play house. I did not know how to play house. It seemed to be a fun game, at first. I was misleading into being the mom and he dad in bed. By the time i was nine years old, my parents were being sued because i was immature. To prove their law suit wrong i had been mislead by my brother. It was a critical mistake that would burn my life away. The neighbors asked to rape me. I did not know how lass Vegas were. I thought all girls were whores in this city. When i found out none of them wanted to be a whore, i found my place in the church. Funny, how my mother thought i brought it upon myself to be treated that way. I was eve that gave Adam the apple, mom always thought. I asked boys to rape me. I asked girls to call me a slut. It could have been provoked. I needed more time to reclaim my childhood. I did not ask to be picked out. It was a curse that stool with me. It is a mistake that could have been adverted, so critical in my life. A difficult decision that cursed me with the scarlet letter. What had been done was neglect. People want to now know if i am gay. Why I am not married and have kids. I never knew a boy who did not want a serious relationship. I had been afraid of boys. I had been ten years old when the boy wanted to play doctor. Like house; there is no difference. It was a matter of time before he seduced me and was caught at it. I was in junior high, when the boys started asking me out. The boys in the hood only wanted sex. Boys only were about one thing and that was sex. It was a conversion. He forced open the door and backed me on the couch, kissing me all over. I thought at first it felt good under stress, only to ask him to back off. It was not right. My first kiss was my darkest. He spit down my back. It was infatuation. Mom would tell me that i was about nothing and unless i led on to those boys i would never amount to anything. The church supports marriage and having a family. I was always afraid of boys and relationships. My family encouraged me, only with me, i felt insecure to their threats. I would avoid briefings with boys behind closed doors with no solutions. It was beyond what appeared to lead on attentions and appreciations to mislead intentions. It was a lack of communication. I wanted a relationship with a man, where we would talk and be friends. I needed to trust him before i gave it to him. I wanted to know i was loved intentionally. That the relationship was not controlling. I felt mom never taught me how to love. All the abuse, led to my insecurity. It was something i never knew how to act because mom never taught me to love. I thought he was after the money. He only wanted to use me. I felt all he was about was neglect and abuse. I needed him to make me secure. I needed to grow up and fit this profile of maturation and stability that it was going to be alright. I was always afraid of being alone. I never was able to move on from my family on my own. I do not know what it feels like to take care of myself without my mom telling me how to live. She never taught me the basis of surviving on my own. That i need to be reminded by god and his religion practices to learn how to separate our difference and forgive that that concedes my past to assume the danger and challenges and encounter opposition. And until i learn to do this, i will be a liberal single. Is there anyone out there for me? I wonder...it is a metaphorical dispute

Peer Pressure

Diary Journal

I have an anxiety problem. It started at a young age. My teacher will call on me and my heart beat would pound in fear of answering wrong. I was always afraid of people. I was afraid of speaking out because of the fear of consequences. Elementary, I spent most my time against the building wall. No one was willing to be my friend. It is crazy how children can abuse other children. I wanted to play with them, only, they ignored me and so I sat alone. When they did pay attention to me, it was to copy my papers. This was by junior high. They would get good grades if I let them copy mine. This is how I made friends with them, by sharing my work. I would often cheat for them. I would change their answers so I made friends. By high school, it got rough. The students made fun of the poor clothes I wore. I was humiliated so I stole my mom clothes to wear to school. I was admired for it. I was from the ghetto and my teachers thought my grades should be like my neighbors. My grades dropped. I had low self esteem for being poor and stupid. It is hard when my councilors suggested I made friends and everyone ignored me. I sat in the library before school, lunch, after school and school assemblies to do work. Dad told me I did not have to study for poor grades. I realized he was right. Students poured water in my chair. One student pulled my desk to the front of class. Students would hit me in my back as I passed by to go to class. Students would like let me turn in my assignments to the teacher. They were planning on me failing school with low grades like that. The most a drop out girl could be is a stripper or with children on welfare. I was determined to graduate out of the ghetto. College was different. Delusional that I was honors in high school, I worked harder for my grades and it improved. The voices were still there calling me a loser and questioning whether I deserved to be a college student. They made comments about my poor dress. I paid for college with my disability check. I was told I was a loser and I made it that far because of my parents. I always felt I made those grades because I worked hard for them. I was not someone they just passed up from special Ed each year. I was the person who went the extra mile that made the difference. I read the book and did the homework on my own. I did not want to become an individual; homeless and a loser. I wanted to make a difference in my life and with the lives of others. I wanted to become a teacher. I have been harassed. I had food thrown at me. I have gotten beat on. I never wanted to be a quitter.

Street Sconce

Diary Journal

Growing up in the ghetto street of Vegas can be rough. A friend told me to watch my back. I was walking to a friend’s house when gangs pulled up beside me and wanted to take me for a ride. I told them I had a jealous boyfriend. I was too young to have a boy friend at the time. Girls stared with having boy friends at the early age of three. I could not walk the street were not safe, a boy threw his toy train at me and scabbed my head. I ignored it. It was just a boy. My brother and I had been learning to shoot a bee gun, when the neighbors from the back started throwing rocks at me teasing sounds. My mom sent him back outside until he won the fight. With those neighbors, you never know. One day a kid went to retrieve her ball from the same neighbor’s back yard and I heard gun shots with the women screaming that anyone dare come to her back yard. She was known as the crazy lady. A friend warned me of the boys that just want you for that thing. She said that the boys will ask you for a cup or sugar or water while mowing your lawn or washing your car just to get inside your house to get next with you. Boys were ringing my door bell like crazy by the time of puberty. I wanted it to all stop. Boys would buy my friends and me ice cream for favors. My friend always warned me of strange men wanting give me rides that are my daddy’s friends. She said they can not be trusted either. Good thing she told me this. There were grown married men that are my friends that wanted give old pappy daddy some. The streets are worse feared of prostitution and gang violence. Just last week people were shot by a drive by at the school. The boys would practice basketball at the school during the summer. Today, it seems no one meets there. The streets are not safe. The other day I witnessed a couple of friend’s die of gang violence in their front yard. Drugs are bad habit in the ghetto. Family’s are generation welfare or drug addict. Friends told me when you grow up you have a choice to either be a hair dresser, a stepper, on welfare with kids, a made, or a cashier. A garage dump and engineering building was built providing hope to some of the boys who were in prison to get a job. It is hard to survive out fourth generation poverty. We are decedents of slaves. Many of us attend church to pray and ask for forgiveness of our sins. Prayer is a light at the end of the tunnel to hold us together. It is rough growing up in the ghetto. It is hard to leave.

Thought You Had It Bad

Journal

I have never been in love with Chris. Chris was a memory from my past that I always regretted. It seems to me we were never Involved In a relationship. He and I were friends. I made a pact with my brother that I would never date his friends, my girlfriend’s brothers or my girlfriends ex boy friends. Chris was off limits.

I am not in love with Chris. I have mistaken him form a memory of someone from my Imagination of a make believe love from my dark past.

I had been delusion about my past. I am confused. I remember playing with him and doing other things. It is all in m mind and not said to be reality.

I feel I have no one in my life. I have my family. At times, my niece is more grown than I am.

I like to listen to hip hop videos. I like their words and musical back ground. Listening to hip hop music reminds me of having friends I grew up with. My friends and I would always dance to music while we were together. I miss all my old friends. We all moved on.

I like to listen to music. I write music and paint oils. Through my poems I reach out to others. When I listen to slow music, I have fantasy relationships spending time with older men.

I blame Chris for destroying my life. Chris did not do anything to hurt me. I need to stop blaming others for my own mistakes. I am the blame my life is like this. If only we never met.

I dream of the noble peace prize in writing or getting a Grammy some day. This too is a fantasy of mine.

I do not remember Chris In a close relationship. I guess Chris wonders where we went wrong from me keeping from him so long.

I miss Chris. I felt I could really trust him. I had faith in him. I could talk to him about anything and he was a quiet listener.

I dream of being a celebrity. I want to feel Important. I want to be admired. I feel more criticism from people against me helping others like Jesus. I hear a lot of people condoning me for what I write. I am afraid of getting hurt.

It would be nice If Chris did not jack his pennies off every morning. I feel said when he does this. I catch Chris In action all the time.

I used to masturbate myself until I realized how sick this was. I have changed to a child of God.

I admit people are right. I used to shop lift. I would steal clothes by changing the price tag to pay a lower price. I never got caught doing this. This too stopped. I am a child of God.

I woke up once with Chris lying in my bed. It scares me. The thought of someone kissing my cheek while I sleep and running away. I imagine a prostitution ring in my sleep people kissing me and running away and Chris my pomp getting paid for it.

I thought I got pregnant. I do not know who my baby’s daddy is. Maybe its father came from my sleep. I never visibly saw anyone having sex while I lie awake.

My neighbors would ask me to be a hooker. I thought it was from being In Vegas life. It was not. Chris told them I would be a good hooker selling my body. The church saved me from behaving this way. My friends would ask If they could be my pomp and for me to stand on the corner while they get paid. I just cried and went home. I would only want to surround me around positive people. I see them no more.

I have a choice as an adult to either live with my parents or be homeless on the street. I chose to live with family. It can be harder living on the streets alone.

I would like to be active in school, only, I get nervous around people. I begin to hear voices in my head. I am not mentally aright to hear the voices. I rather stay at home in quiet reading or writing poetry.

At one point in my life I thought I wanted to commit suicide. I could never do this though. I could never overdose on pills. I like living too much. I get sad at times living my life this way. I like being around people I can change lives.

Chris had a way on turning the heat on my feat in the car that would make me excited. He could unzip his pants while eating dinner or spiting in my drink that made me thinks of Chris.

Sometime I would go to the store and look down and my zipper was undone. Men can be Hippocrates whistling at young people.

There were no records of signs of abuse growing up.

Chris wanted to raise my child as a step child into prostitution. I could not let this happen. He wanted to raise his children on my Inheritance and not do anything for my child. Chris gave all my children an abortion. He did not want me to have children of my own. I would be a base case raising his brother’s kids In and out of prison getting raped and beat up by his kids and him not care. I could not let this happen. Mom only liked Chris because he had money.

Mom was crazy about Chris. She would beat me with a belt until my skin had red web marks all over. She always said it was for my own good and she was doing this because she loved me. She would slap me in the face and beat me if I did not clean right. I was beaten for bringing home low grades. I was beaten for not seeing Chris. If I cried, I was beaten for feeling sorry for myself.

I was a good child. I did whatever mom asked because of my religion. I love my family and I would do what ever to keep us as a family.

The doctor found a lymph node in my chest. It does not have cancer In It now. It has to be monitored.

I could not hate Chris for his Intentions. I could only pray for him…

Fiction
It was imaginable. It was that thing. The notion of remarkable imagery. It was a mark like no other mark that has an imprint on my mind. It is a mark that has traveled through out history. A mark of burdens. It represents character. It describes a movement. It was no ordinary mark. No. It was a mark that was passed down from generation to generation. It was a mark of indignation. It was a ridicule of hatred. People have been spit on, cursed at and beaten and that mark represented a movement. It was a mark of persecution. Where witches have gone on trial for neglecting social standards. The mark stood obsolete from the pen marks. A spider’s web draped from the wall. A cob web dangled from the wall unnoticed. But this mark; represented all the pain my ancestors faced throughout history to be recognized through this mark. The mark was someone disturbing because I could not figure it out. It was different. A wall did not disserve to be so distinguished. It was different than anything I had ever come across. It bothered me to discover something that represented a right of passage. It was a journey in time. It described the evolution of man slowly making its mark in history. How a mark could alluded me so much pleasure. I was pleased to see something different that reminded me of my past that I could not quite understand the truth behind it. The imagery alluded my imagination. I stared at the mark on the wall and it had moved me. It made me feel welcome. No other wall in the house had been so privileged to having this mark. The mark had a favorable impression to me. I saw my personality and years of undulation that made me cry, made me angry which resulted in laughter. The mark on the wall represented the conflict between race and gender. I know it represented indignation and denial to conformity. To get excited; it represented the right to protest because it granted me the right to do so. The mark actually made me fearful. I was scared to reveal this mark to the world. It would have to be kept a secret. If anyone knew this secret, man would destroy the purpose behind it. I decided to cover the mark with year of frustration. I would imagine it never existed. The more and more I wanted to hide it, the power behind the mark was noticeable. I could not hide it. No. It was to relevant to hide. Other people have seen the mark. It was prevalent it existed. No one figured it out like I did. It is amazing how so many people passed this wall and never noticed how beautiful a mark in history had changed man. No one could relate to it. It never crossed their minds that such a mark reflected their fate. The mark on the wall will leave its mark in history and historians will make gestures without psychiatrist really studying the beauty of it.

It was a hazy day. It was no ordinary day. A fog overcast down on a small town in Mississippi. It was predicted the uncertainty of a storm to come. Iycia was in no mistaken mood of discovery. She was hot. She was together and had it made. Her hair was always right. Her dress was well cultured. Her attitude was preppie. Iycia was no ordinary girl. She indeed was special. Today would make a difference in her life.

It had been mid-noon and a heavy overcast of dark sky set the mood. Iycia greeted her friends to coffee with a bagel at Starbucks. Diane presently pretended to be Iycia’s friend. She was on a mission. They had the kind of friendship driven by competition of who could out speak who, only Iycia could bark the loudest and Diane could had small talk with a little bite. Each of Iycia’s friends had much play. They had many boyfriends and believed in playing the field. Iycia never believed in playing games. Iycia had the same boyfriend since college. “What’s up, chicks?” exclaimed Iycia. They all replied, “Me!” and they laughed. Kim kept quiet. Iycia wondered, “What is wrong with you, girl? Why so quiet?” Kim proclaimed with a long face that she lost her best friend. Iycia knew she acted differently lately and had to go deeper to find out what was going on. Doris padded Kim’s back, “It’ll be all right girl. Just wait.” As if she knew something.

Late that evening, rainfall trickled from the sky. Doris found something in Kim’s journal giving secret information about a bad relationship with Kim’s XO. Doris found she wrote letters in her journal as if she was talking to (him)? The journal talked about how Diane crept with Iycia man of 5 years and how she hoped it would work out and that she did not want to hurt Iycia. She took the pregnancy stick and was pregnant. Doris called up one of her friends dreaming up a scheme to set the record straight of events to happen. Her best friend David was gay and acted as if he knew had to dream of vengeful devious schemes. Everyone knew this about him.

Thunder escaped passes a dust of wind as if rain met its mate. Doris and David planned to reveal the secret to Iycia that her best friends, Chris, went on the down low with Kim and were expecting a child. They planned for confessions to be made at the house party on Iycia anniversary. Dian felt if she had to find out the juice had to explode at the right time. They planned to show diary and all that happened that led up to breaking them up hoping she would leave this cheater and ending her friendship.

Iycia was so in love she said she had planned to marry Chris. Kim was always jealous of Iycia. Iycia had everything she wanted including a good man. Kim would embellish attitude at times. Iycia would give Kim the clothes off her back to help her cousin out. Kim knew this. Kim always felt pretentious. She wanted more. She wanted what Iycia had and so she stole her man with a baby. How naïve a scam to get ahead.

Iycia’s friends planned the works, as usual, for Iycia anniversary party. Everyone would be her guest. It had been cold and snow fell from the heavens above. It was winter and the day planed had as much doubt and confusion. Champaign was poured by the host to give a toast to the glorious occasion. To their surprise; Chris got on one knee when Doris came up with the diary questions to propose the toast. David exploded with the truth before any more details were let out. Doris got her face slapped by Kim as she ran outside. Iycia started to cry and told everyone to leave. “It is not the time for this,” thought Doris. “Well, well,” thought Iycia. “How could you, of all people do this to me?” Iycia asked Chris, “When I expected more out of you. I thought you were special?” “And now leave me destitute with an incubine by your cousin?” By the look of Chris stoic face expression, it looked like he had some explaining to do. Doris and David scheme was a cold game to play on family. They knew this now. It was not the right time; but something had to be said. A cry of silence dispersed energy of the moment to gesture innocence had broken ties to bitterness. Iycia just did not get it. She knew how much she loved Chris and had to let him make a decision or the right choice and until he had made a decision she must wait.

Chris told Iycia that he was sorry. While Iycia was keeping busy, she lacked keeping company in her man. Chris needed someone there for him and only Kim could keep him company as a close friend.

Amber planned a baby shower for Kim. Iycia picked up pink and blue clothes she thought would look right on her great grand niece or nephew. The dark past of deception left the aria with hope and faith. It was important that joy would overcome hate in spite what happened. Chris and Kim were making the relationship work due to the baby.

Many tearful years had passed sine Iysha could be herself again. She kept a keenful eye on her friends for now on. She had to watch her back from devious friends. It became hard to trust. Iycia knew she was different and because of that she made enemies fast. It was this that Iycia found why her friends played the field. They were waiting to chose from the first real thing to come and then they would have found true happiness. Relationships Pink The heaven reflected the sea’s hue of azure blue through the suns gentle rays. Gaseous clouds creep throughout the hallow from above in hues of grey and black lending a smell of purple dew below. Each season meets its nest of temperature that predicts its hornets upon the ground beneath of rain, sleet or snow. Thunder pounds loud sounds of drama. Lightning engages into the sky to strike its victims. A rainbow reminds man God promise to restore life.

Purple The ground lays species erupting life below. Life inherits the ground surface reproducing life. Mammals feed off live prey. The survival of the fittest is of who rules, beast or man. Nature is the regenerating factor for life’s destitution. Nature’s course is a deadly game detrimental to time.

Hiesman Profile, By Akhristin The N-Word has been passed down from generations as an inflamatory word that some find comforting. Webster’s dictionary defines the N-Word its meaning refers to a dumb uneducated black man. History defines the N-Word as a country in Africa. In Spanish the word Negro means black. I would define the word as an insult to my intelligence. Others say it is defined by the black race. A girl would use the N-Word to proclaim ownership of her man. Passed throughout history the N-Word has distinciton. Blacks are defined through slavery decent. Negroes would proclaim it through slavery. African Americans refer it pertains to belong to America. Colored race is usualy refering to mixed culture. The N-Word refers to race. Its meaning has evolved around time. It refers to highest rank in the military. It inhibits the status quo at human resources. I have never used the word growing up because it is a negative word. I had an experience with a Hispanic friend neigborhood. Our neighbors neglected me or her when I was around. I can hear it used by boys as a playful word than being used by any women at any time. My parents never used the word. For the first time, at a resturant my mom called dad the N-Word and he retorted that his mom never used this word. The N-Word is a curse word in my family. My family never believed in using the word. I did not participate in using the N-Word until I came to college. Then; the N-Word was used by a student to gesture denoting class as a poor student from the getto. I am an educator and it is surprising to find my best friend is a half white and I find him attractive.

Floetry
Flowetry Definition of a Poem A poem is A passion to Utilize word In harmony With what You come into Contact with

Floetry Poetry, the glimmering rhymes Of tomorrows battered beat, an horizon Alarming the quake of day break And the thunder drum’s storm Repeats cliches of an attitude -	Rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat, rat a tat tat, -	Chucka boom… The sounds of music Unforgotton Race The unforgotton… Live for tomorrow… Dreams never go away. Peace on Earth… Is the goodwill of all men? God You Inspire me to Love I found love while we share our feelings I found love through his moral support I found love through his laughter I found love through cross signals That overlap the shades of love I foun dlove through his leadership, fellowship and guidance I too have found love I found love in so many ways Spiritually through the grace of God many blessings Mentally through conmforting words Phyisically through the holy ghosts Yes I too have found love Through our freindship through our family I too have found love My Heart Feels Too My hearth feels too, What I cannot see My heart feels… What I crave My heart tastes… To others triumphs and defeats My heart listens And to the images of Yellow orchids Red roses with petals of lime green leaves Purple orleanders and parsnips The blue violets, white daisies and orange daffodils I feel from the heart. The Price of Freedom Freedom.. that stole my sould Where it left off. The back woods of georgia Autrioned on a slave block Sold for the price of a grain of seed The deed to my soul No, no it must’ve began The price of when my uncile was slain by a clans man In the back wood of mississippi, I cry, I cry Who bargained for his life I pray, I pray for the price of freedom For te segregated schools… For the freedom of speech… For freedom of slain souls who paved the way… Took the lives of humble people For the sole purpose..freedom Freedom, I cry freedom What does t mean? When you are illiterate and cannot read Swan Rockery, lolliby, rockery Swift as a calm sea Gentle as a feather Raise oh rise high O’er and o’er you sway Parched in a hallow raft Dismounte o’er space Distance apart Fleeing o’er air Rockery, lullaby, roackery Fight Violence with Peace Why should e ban violent lyrics in rap songs? When they pull our race down, down, down Earasing years of painpainfully, erasing reasons for our struggle Denying our rights as african americans, who lost their lives For the struggle to grant us The freedoms we have in store toda As a country banned from social freedoms

Why should we ban violent lyrics in rap songs? When they discriminate women by using derogatory names Wrapped in the blood of the union flag Which stood for what we call freedom?

Why should we ban violent lyrics in rap songs? When we know our mothers are the back bone of the family The mother who birthed us, put clothes on our backs A roof over our heads tolerated a sound education And lead us on our way to defend the struggle that can be So easily taken away

Why should we ban violent lyrics in rap songs? While during slavery we were brought from Africa Stolen from our home Undluterated culture of being slaves While our women today are disregarded as socialy retarded as out cast in the struggle blown away by lyrics used in rap songs today

Why the Caged Bird Sings Hinged Rhythem Outbursts Sighs

Ange Follies Hampered Defeat

Beggers Liars Cheats Defile

A Tear Fell From Its eye

Unwarented Symphony

I Believe It only takes a spark To get a fire going And soon all those around Will light up when its glowing That is how it is with God’s love Once you experience it It is just like spring You want to sing You want to pass it on Pass it on Pass it on To Dream to be an American I am an American And a composite of many dreams I am a patron of God’s faith And an antidote of a dream

I am an American Born and reared Brought from different attritubutes of people Who have each blead or shed a tear

From the battle fields To the highest courts From the past until now Have stood their ground like patriots Bringing hope for all humanity to be found

I am a true American Though how difficult it must seem But I am one proud American Who dares to dream

Time Time is a period A legace in tact It lasts throughout age In cycles that are exact You can not out live it It carries on For eaons of time It lasts a life long Time is the yesturdays Tommorows and the out come of dreams Time is our future

When was the Last Time When was the last time? You held your fist in frustration Wanting something so bad to happen And it did not happen When was the last time? Your heart groped over A dream you had of the future And id did not come true When was the last time? You prayed And God answered your prayers? Keep hope alive…

Snowflake A snowflake falls; Gently, From the sky Admist Flittering unto The ground Pitter, pat Pitter, pat Pitter, pat Frozen ice.

An Eagle An eagle flies By, by in enchanted distance; By, by Visible knots Creating ties Aloof its nest By, by an eagle flies A lulliby An eagle flies Such obliteration Such quiet mumble

The Fairest of All I look in a mirror What do I see? A picture of a lady Who looks just like me I look in a mirror How could it be An image I see Is a prism of light A reflection of my identity I look in a mirror To find hidden truth A reflection of my inner mood I look in the mirror And I see me Of all hope, fate and imortality Reflecting, coming back at me

Schizophrenia What do you do With a troubled mind Full of delusions Full of lies My heart tremble With the threat of oppression Taking me over and locking me in prison What do you do under harrassment A threat and a failure When you ask the question Who am I to ask Do you give up Or do I hold on

I am Only Human I am only human Whan I speak I flaunt When I smile I gesture When I laugh I clown When I pray I profess my fate When I walk I sway Hen I win I triumph over When I lie I rest

Caged Bird Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly

Black butterfly sing

Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly

Black butterfly free Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly Black butterfly fly

And the butterfly Glides to freedom

Loneliness Nestled upon a wooden bow Quietly disdain from truth

Seductive stare Beneath the horizon

Fallacy, justifies; Yet, undermines reason

The Black Man His ebony skin was a smooth as leather His hair locks was as tight as cotton His dark eyes was formed the curves of almonds His stride stagged in quarter notes His intellectual abily imtimiated me His personality amused me And his dreams became my dreams Became my dreams Became my dreams…

Voices A voice once talked to me And told me I wold never amount to anything Voics said that I am about nothing The voice replied that I am not good enough A voice said to me I am best not to try I replied saying, I am loney and seek guidance The voices tire me My being better was only my intention to prove nothing You neglected to listen to my emotions Now I lie still, quiet and alone I heard a voice that said, listen Don’t give up

Ode to When I Die Someday, I would want to be Acknowleded, Dedicated, Nominated Appraised Accompleshed Written down in history… Someday, I will die… And at my funeral, Someone will remember me And go to my funeral…

The Storm A hale of fog Hovering above the heavens Encountering time.

Haltering day An overcast of shadows Doomed into darkness.

Pellets of humid dew Danced hurdling onto the ground Into somber laughter.

God I am in and out I am all about I am here and there I am everywhere I am up and down I am all around I am omnipotent I am God.

Oxymoron There is no racism today But why affirmative action. There is no need for equlity; But we suffer invaluable differences. There is no need for a good education; But we need a degree to be successful. There is no need for safety; But there is dangeer of ciolence. There is no need for celibacy; But we have abortion. There is no need for protection; But we have aids. There is no need to struggle; But we want peace. There is a need for love; And love surrounds.

A Metaphore for a Tear A tear can be gentle as a cotton ball Erasing the bondage of pain A tear can be angelic as prayer With the hope to end all hatred A tear can be a cradle That holds near the soul A tear can release the condolence of war That kills all vitims it comes upon A tear can heal anyone who believes in its power

Culture Fiction Poems
Player, Spoken Word

I thought I had a man. A BMW. Ooops; but he fooled me into believing he was a good man. You see, I was not good to myself. I was not true to myself when I trusted my body to be used for free, for good conversation, for lust. I had been living a lie. I dreamt of the fairy tale wedding, having kids, a house, a good car and good job if I met the perfect mate. I thought worldly on him but you see he played me with his mind control act, that I believed it. I was his slut. You see, the player was a class act. He had it going on. He was all that. When I thought I had him wrapped around me pinky, I turned out to be a freak under neath the sheets. Brother had it going on. He was fine to me. He had a bank roll that he loved to spend on me. His personality was smooth. His conversation was intellectual. He had class. If he asked me to jump, I would say how high. For this man I was willing to go the distance. Sex was so good, I aint lying, I thought he was the one. You see, each moment of ecstasy was a lie. I was fooled into believing sex would make him special. Sex would make him all mine. Sex was the foundation of our relationship. Sex would keep him coming back to me. I had to have it. It did not matter where I did it. We could have sex in the jeep, sex at the crib, sex on the counter, sex at work, sex at school. I had an addiction to giving this man what he wanted, wherever he wanted whenever he wanted it. He wanted it so much; sex was the mind game we played. He tricked me into believing he needed me. He needed my loving as a token of chastity. With that said, I found the truth about sex after each child. He left me bare foot and pregnant year after year. That all those years of commitment, I was played. That I was a warm hole to pee in. that I was the kick on the side with a concubine to raise alone, no but by his cousin or maybe he said to give our child to his girlfriend or wife to raise. He said I was about nothing. I felt like nothing. There are 3 sorts of women to a man, his loyal wife, his loyal friend and his loyal freak. I was the freak he came too when his wife was not there to submit to him. Men are control freaks and if you are foolish enough to believe it, you have been played. I thought I was good enough for him to come back to me. I was a bag of tricks. Now all I speak of are commitments and having just one true love. All the men I knew were like this. I did not ask to be a hutchie mamma playing tricks by a bunch of high rollers. I wanted to be the innocent virgin who was respected and treated like an African queen. All I am saying is do not make the same mistake sleeping from man to man, when you deserve better.

Death

An Autumn Day The frolic leafs' of an autumn day Dense forest Piercing time against the wind Aloft - Silenced - Crushed Murmuring whistle cries death: Rust, Scarlet, Elburn masks of leafs' Lifeless a dry, humid hole.

Color

If a color pertains to a hue How depth of the hue pertains to light While a mixture of hues define a contour How much contour is needed to define beauty If I were black, brown, yellow, white or purple It would make solid black however you define it The beauty in is if opal is in fashion Black goes along with everything.

Reunited

The etching of a Caterpillar steps Paint images of the patience it took teach grace The autistic of spindling of a spiders web Resends a creation of motivation of inspired concepts The beauty of the sun settling beneath the sea And of night parching the end of day Enchants memories emulating peace The gift to breath life, there is love The angility to smile, there is love The spirit of hope, there is love

I Dream Like That, Neo Hip Hop Poem

I be like that. I Think like that. I See like that. I Hope like that. I Dream. I Speak like that. I Pray like that. I Believe like that. I act like that. I Dream. I Do like that. I Be like that. I Am like that. I’m Free like that. I’m Free like that. I’m Free like that. I Dream…

Vegas Bikes, Poem

Imagine how we sported our bikes down Lance Street With polished spokes as wheels spinned As the chrome stood out balanced in the wind Imagine the decor of red and white ribbons pom pomes That decorated the handle bars The plastic horn that beeped pedestrian warnings That you have arrived Imagine the sounds of a hand made engine wheels Sung from the tongue of a card Pinned from a clothes pin to the spoke Humming, humming, humming Imagine your wheel rider was bold red Proclaiming your mark to the streets That everyone fan acknowledged As you performed tricks One wheel and no hands Gaping over the side walk to the street In and out speeding through traffic As you proclaimed your glory In your hand made car, your bike It and I a young road scavenger

Vegas, Prose

Let me introduce you to my small world. I grew up in the seventies, in a poor neighborhood, in the ghetto where poverty prevailed. It is where dreams meant to either be teachers, made or trash men or to be imprisoned or homeless one generation after the next. I attended a parochial school in North Las Vegas. My parentsworked two jobs to make ends meet. I adapted to gang violence in the streets. Where shooting and drive bys were common. Gangs would hang out at the schools drinking 8 balls, throwing broken bottles as I passed by. Young gang members wouldrespect older ones while they hosted neighborhood meetings. The cutest gang member would be the straight A students who would go on to professional athletes whodealt drugs. It is where clubs would be shot up after each week. Some neighbors mentality meant to do roguish things like trashing street signs and writing gang graffiti on walls to mark their territory. Teens hung out in groups to watch thestreets smoking weed until driven off by police officers. It is where there wasa Conner liquor store and church could be found on every corner. Where gangs were not invited in the church and the store owner knew its neighborhood kids thatshopped there often and would not dare rob the store. Throughout the year, boysplayed on the basketball court training future stars as girls watched the boysplay hoping to catch one. There were street drill teams thinking of rebuttal routines for competitions. Prostitution was elevated until they got pregnant to trap a man to marry them. Girls knew who as kids who they would marry, how many children they would have, what kind of car they would drive, what type of house they would live in and knew imagined impoverished career they would work. Block parties would go on every summer where anyone could go to their block neighborhoodparties or hang out at the park block parties. Kids would have water balloon fights at the end of the school year. Neighbors would sit out playing loud music, while playing dominoes and young girls braided hair while talking girl talk. It was a time where everyone would support one another prone to peace when we were all one family.

To my Unborn, Spoken Word

…sorry I disrespected you. All the times I lived longing for your daddy to step up to the plate, longing for your daddy to step up to the plate, longing for your daddy to step up to the plate to claim you. For he did not know of his Godly creation. His own salvation. Instead I saved you from the agony and distress before you were born into poverty, abandonment and denial. I protected you from neglect. It is what I thought I wanted. It is about me. It is what no one understands. And when I inhaled life, I felt the taste of your breath when I aborted you. I feel the selfish pain of guilt that I betrayed you. It has always about me what I wanted to have in life. It has always about me what I wanted to have in life. It has always about me what I wanted to have in life. I could not support you. I thought I wanted us to grow together through fate to face rejection from ignorance and betrayal. I wanted my baby daddy to be a daddy. I wanted your daddy to be a daddy. I wanted your daddy to be a daddy. And so I kept you a secret. Sorry my decision was final with out much thought not knowing the inevitable of one day seeing you achieve. I chose this path, to not be born without reason but with just cause. And if I see purpose through reasoning, wanting to tell your daddy the secret that lies within me, our souls will be redeemed. Many tears, many tears, many tears; I cry.

18th Century

Take these worn shackles off my feet You are wearing me down With your controlling episodes of remotion You do not own me Let me be free to express myself I felt you hold on to remit a fantasy of yours When I don't feel the same way as kids do I want to feel free from being tied down I am tired of being reminded of you When I don't exist, time does not persist And I must move on, because there is a soul Inside of me peeping out wanting to be free But you won't let me escape from your spirit You are not my soul mate, not the one I want Not the one I dream of and still you wait for my return Your ghost hunts me, stalks me follows my every mood Now, I must go to the pasture to hide For I can not love anyone now that you have broken my heart

Reflection I vaguely trace your appearance A distorted figurine from the past Blotches of ink splotches across the canvass Splotches of oil dances life to an unknown postulant Imagery emerges a distant path of discovery Fading fast

Don’t Ask, Poetry Slam

A haze and a junkie Jiving high Living on the street Inhaling a lie addiction Saving for a raining day To get my stuff together A weefer over college A choice jiving high A cigarette stick and a pregnancy Hustling pool on welfare Meet you at one Meet you at three One day immoral embarrassment A smile be your umbrella Don't ask The games we choose to play

Eyes of a Child

White orchards hallowing In the wind Bopping heads bounce In laughter Prayers of serenity dance In harmonic prayer

Rage, Poetry Slam

State of mind Contrary to what is said A delusional hatred To be mistaken for love Voices. Voices that welcome madness Immoral words that imitate denial and bigotry Words used to break you down Rob you; make you a criminal of self thought Was that what I thought you said? A blind man realize on touch A sane man on logic Delusional voices that make me mad That make me sad, that make me want to fight back To defend my youth, defend my cultural heritage Where prejudice has no warrant Spoken words, only justifies reasons to be misunderstood I will not be judged or profiled or prejudged by fault only credibility For I too am America

Four Colored Girls, Poem Script

I cry many tears of endearment Many sleepless nights

I speak loudly in anger Bitter harsh feelings of denial

Confusion asking for respect When emotions lost its meaning

I cry many tears of rejection Their words speak louder than words

I whisper, I whisper, I whisper words of wisdom A freedom of expression Pondering in fear

I cry many years for forgiveness I have wrongfully sinned

I pray for the strength to protect my soul For my fate to determine my keeper

Woman’s Voice: Happiness… is joy. Being able to share laughter at your faults that are both embarrassing and demeaning. It means to come to realization that God made humans that a couple has the ability to mess up. It means to confront with each others insecurities to admit to your faults when you are wrong and praise glory when you are right. Happiness means to accept each others feelings to trust them. Happiness means to let your fate grow as whole.

Man‘s Conscious: I wanted to confront you. It had been something I held within for some time. I ask why I feel alone when we are a couple. I want you to understand I miss the ways things went. Now, I feel hurt in my heart. You come along with a different personality. My brother died and I feel things are different. We do not hang out the way we use to. We do not talk like we used to and sex is not the same. I feel why we can’t talk this out. If you lost all reason for what we have I must leave.

Woman’s Voice: Sadness… is silence. To allow your feelings to express anger. It is to feel anger is not in control. Where dramatic outburst come from the heart asking to be forgiven. It is the ability to cry out outburst for forgiveness to acknowledge your feelings are heard. To cry is to say words you wanted to say and to feel the things you could not feel alone.

Man’s Conscious: Your ability to not love is my inability to trust you. How can I allow us to grow when we distance ourselves? I feel you do not want me to trust you after your brother died, because, you shut me out when I am trying to cope with him not being around. There is a line between us, between fate and faith. If we are both willing to make this choice, we must both be willing to walk the distance together. The words we choose not to say, is what we fail in this relationship.

Woman’s Voice: If you are the man I thought you were, the man I fell in love with, I need you let me to love you.

Man’s Voice: I want to be a man. I am a man. As I reach this right of passage, I need you to be there cheering me on as my partner in life.

Silence…as the couple held each other and stared in each other eyes in silence.

My Favorite Poem

The world is a quilt and each patch is a nation Bound by a thread since the days of creation Adorned with great color and radiant splendor Though divided by race and religion and gender In some eyes, it is handsome, in others contorted The patches are different, unmatched and unsorted Incongruous in pattern, in shape and in color Not one is much similar to any other So some try to imagine one great design But in truth our uniqueness is really just fine Nations and patches of all kinds and all sorts Customs, religions, languages, sports This is okay if each patch has its space And on the quilt of the world, each nation has its place But the stitches that bind us are easily shed By the wars that are fought and the words that are said We must realize the appearance of no patch is inferior And the ways of no nation can make it superior Divided by oceans, united by a dream The world is a quilt and our love is its seam

Stood Up, Structured Poem

The Beginning A sigh of reprisal was an ambivalent cry My aching heart dispels anger of being told no Over and over again - the denial

The Middle Longing for your acknowledgement To be accepted into your realm of social life I wait for your arrival to return my soul you took

The End With every word lost in speech I yearn to express the pain my heart feels To not be loved by you

The Cult

Locked up Ungrateful minds Neglected by their peers Just a matter of time Papa don’t claim him Mamma can’t save him Bargain with his own life Just a matter of time Ill doctrine lessons off the street Idle minds dwindles about their peeps Money laundering swindles of what to keep Just a matter of time Hustling cash on the dime Got to get paid, got to get mine Took another life an innocent child Just a matter of time Battling life’s struggle Gang bangers style Hope I live to see 21 Just a matter of time

The Negra Saga of a Ghetto Queen

Harassment and denial From opposing religions To either flunk her out Or to face rational decisions Drive bys, car bombs, and parents threats The unreachable child Had many regrets Angry crowds knock out car windows Vengeful gangs kicked in doors All against one student from reaching Her educational goals God would not judge her But grant her creed

Stereotypes, Spoken Word

Stereotypes, is that a gesture? Are you entitled to pass judgment based? On preconceived thoughts? Is the circulation of thoughts based on? Rumors? Do you judge because you do not care to understand my position? Is it because you never got to know me and do not care? Can you really tell by first impression that I am different? Is it my outward appearance, you base judgment that I fit those stereo types? Can you tell by looking at me, what you do not like about me? Is it my outward Appearance you hesitate to retaliate towards? Must we bargain with a Liturgy? Is it something I said that you’re against? Is it over something? Someone said about me that has got you all fired up? Did I not follow? Through based on your ideology of reasoning that frustrated you? Is it Right to judge, because of how I acted out that you must try to change To your preferences? Shall I admit something is wrong with me? How Does one respond to stereotypes? I am who I am.

To Love Oneself, Spoken Word

To love is to embody emotion to penetrate deep down in your soul. It is The emotion to love oneself; because one must love oneself in order to Allow others to love you. Love is feeling of greatness that you place God above oneself; because God it the gatekeeper of your soul. Are you Feeling me? Loving one means you are blessed that you feel good About you and you are doing right by God. Loving one means That you have an attitude of pride. You represent that feeling of Revelation that you have reached redemption of the mind, body and Soul. The way you carry yourself is how others will judge you. Love God, Love life and love one self.

Forsaken, Avant Garde Poem

I We have been taken as an enemy of all In prison our ability to communicate with God We have mistaken our old tired lies Creating fear within our delicate skin

II Drugged addicts holding us back Alienating a rafters dark steps The ghettos furious life sentence Devious of the calm waters

III We entrap our minds in dissolute times An image of a storm perturbs warm waters A roots bough underneath the soils foil A shadows emerges a hallow path

IV To taste its breath of poisoness air Hovering silence embrace for peace Time’s client is an admissive stare Ghostly hands deplete death entrapment

V Ghastly sign of escape of insanity Trying to vacate his unsought welcome The river trails defeat and defile voices behind His huge plow hands hold in singes of dirt

VI His back hold gashes of violet sups of blood His heart meditates for a savior The dark night encloses desire to be free Lord, grant me strength

VII Perilous dreams deferred Envious puppets emulate denial If tears could speak It speaks of fear

VII Align the dark shores To compromise life in deception Hammering light conspiracy To position for failure

VIII A quilt made of old tired jeans A sewn patch from each generation A coveted patch woven in gayety A smoldering vintage kept hot

VIIII And in the middle of the day We would all exit The storm Amongst a clay of dust

X And mother will bequeath love And nature will provide fruit And prayer will be inevitable truth And the new born will never speak in silence

Red Nature, Pictograph

Red tepid water Drains through building Blocks of slothful thought. Thrust winds, rain, sleet build Red energy from lightning in The sky moldering in deception. A scented red rose with Long thickly sharp prongs Speak of gayety pride. A red liquid imprint from An old newspaper personal Dreary same sex ad. A tornado battled winds blew Down the red old country barn In derivity of old tired accusations. Awakening death dreary dark dark dark Black clouds with tiers of Red voices speak of Despair, agony and fear. Red sun rays piercing Confused signs of life of A lustful inquiry. Chilly air rips through The wear and tear Of a red old Withered Jacket Beaten And Denied.

To Dream to be an American

I am an African American And a composite of many dreams I am a patriot of God's faith And an antedate of a black reverie I am an American Born and reared From different attributes of people Who have each bled or shed a tear From the battlefields To the highest court From the past until now Have stood like true patriots With hope a new hope for all humanity to be found I am a true American Though how difficult it must seem But I am one true African American Who dares to dream?

Reflection – Hip Hop Poetry

Yea//Yea//Yea//I am on a mission//it is my pleasure to defeat you//treat you//beat you//with the busta rhymes//so high to greet you//with a voice so high//the streets look ya rhymes do not match the heat that I swear// a voice that adds strength//a popular request I lead this joint higher and higher//right out their seats//bobbin their heads to the hypnotic beats//drill en holes in the concrete//rhymes so real it has sex appeal//it is my intention//a mission//to add flavor to the swizzle that has base and time//it is my pleasure to create words on paper so innovative//let me bust this rhyme//ah ha, ah ha, ah ha//I am on a mission//moving and grooving and moving//like it is supposed to be//adding amazing grace to spirituality//yea, yea, yea//I am on a mission//with rhymes so depth I am making history//a voice in the crowd they want to hear//they like my temperament//they hear my style//having you all jealous and proud//if only you could race a mile//you are in defeat my brother//ill in it feeling it//cranking the upward beats//it is just a matter of time//I defeat you with my depth rhyme//tic tock tic tock//it is about time//A super Women//a black deli ma//Broken hearted female//Lost in addiction//A corner whore//To support an infliction//A single mom//Trying to make ends meet//On welfare selling her body//Just to afford nicer things//Cause child support is never enough//To raise a family//Father is in prison

Notification: changes to "Mark my edits as minor by default" preference
Hello there. This is an automated message to tell you about the gradual phasing out of the preference entitled "Mark all edits minor by default", which you currently have enabled.

On 13 March 2011, this preference was hidden from the user preferences screen as part of efforts to prevent its accidental misuse (consensus discussion). This had the effect of locking users in to their existing preference, which, in your case, was. To complete the process, your preference will automatically be changed to  in the next few days. This does not require any intervention on your part and you will still be able to manually mark your edits as being 'minor'. The only thing that's changed is that you will no longer be able to have them marked as minor by default. For more information on what a minor edit is, see WP:MINOR or feel to get in touch.

Thank you for your understanding and happy editing :) Editing on behalf of User:Jarry1250, LivingBot (talk) 23:43, 13 March 2011 (UTC)