Slain.

Let freedom ring, it reigns supreme.
Liberty's bell solely tolls for thee.
Red, white, and blue but only for you.
For me, red is the blood of my brothers and sisters you've murdered.
White, the ticket of privilege that buys you luxuries my melanin can't afford.
And blue? Blue is the police force that engages in brutality.
Its sole criteria for ending a life is colour.
I pray for the day there is no news of injustice.
No headlines about rapists who are freed whilst teachers are wrongfully killed.
Mama, when can we stop digging graves?
Help me understand when we stop being slaves.
Will we ever be saved?

There seems to be no end in sight to this crusade.

Is it reckless, are the riots in vain?

All that ever changes are the names of the innocents slain.

Spellbound.

You change states 

like a magician.

From fire to water, 

then back again. 

I feel you in the air, 

you ground me,

like the Earth. 

And then you vanish. 

Poof!

In a cloud of smoke 

you disappear 

and leave me reeling. 

That is when 

I started 

searching 

for you. 

Dancing in the moon's shadow, 

I retrace my steps. 

The light from a single black candle 

casts a glow on my intrigued face. 

My breath steadies, 

my mind's eye 

replays pleasant memories of 

us together. 

I would look possessed 

to an outsider,

but you. 

You are inside me. 

Only you see my concentration. 

Devoted like the congregation

of some old, unfamiliar church. 

You become my religion; 

I worship at your altar. 

Prostrate at your feet. 

Suddenly, the smell 

of sage fills the room.

Rejoice. 

I am released.

I float up to the ceiling, 

then higher.

Looking down on stars, 

holy water bursts forth 

from my stony heart 

and I feel my way back to you. 

I am light, 

you are the dark. 

Flesh of my flesh, 

blood of my blood. 

I taste you on my tongue, 

and know it won't be much longer now 

until we return to childlike innocence

and enlightenment. 

Daddy's Double Life.

At half past five each Friday, 
Samuel keyed-in his security
alarm's four-digit code, 
closing his office for the weekend.  

He tightly clutched his 
chestnut leather briefcase, 
before hurrying to catch 
the first train home.

Conceding to the defeat of his 
heavy-framed tortoise-shell 
Armani glasses while they 
cut into the bridge of his nose;

Samuel unlocked his apartment door, 
greeted Madge, his cat, 
and then kicked off 
his alligator shoes.

It was no secret at work that he was gay, 
but their jaws would drop if they ever found out 
he spent his weekends dancing in skin-tight dresses, 
as a British woman named Samantha Fox. 

Samantha had existed just as long as
Samuel had known that he was queer.  
She came to life, one magical day when he 
looked in a mirror but instead of his reflection, 
she appeared. 

He turned up the speakers, 
blasting Aretha and Babs, 
as he sat down to paint. 
Priming his face for cake, 
he glued down his eyebrows, 
then let Samantha take the reins.

She sipped on a gin on tonic, 
as she applied foundation 
then contoured her face.  
Within minutes, Samuel disappeared, 
and Samantha sat in his place.

False eyelashes and acrylic nails 
were the final touches to her look.  
Samantha zipped herself into 
a revealing royal blue dress, 
then let her six-inch stiletto heels 
carry her off into the night.

Father Figure.

Broken down, like cardboard boxes.
You break me down, it's poison; toxic.
No matter what I do I can't get over
you just give me the cold shoulder.

It's freezing. I'm Arctic cold.
You broke my heart of gold.
Shattered it like shards of glass,
had me crawling through crab grass.

The pieces; my pieces are all scattered.
You paint me with the same brush,
as the rest, like I don't matter.

I'm slipping away now,
like a cartoon banana peel.
Your words cut me with their logic,
though you're yet to ask me how I feel.

Granite countertops, and ceramic tiles,
fill our household, devoid of smiles.

They laughed and said 
I'm from a broken home, 
little did they know, I am all alone.

A father? I've only known daddies.
The ignorance hurts me quite badly.

You reached out, a single arm,
like it was a token of your chiseled charm.
This paint is dangerous, 
the asbestos in these walls cause me harm.

Daddy issues now, at nearly thirty,
make me feel defiled; dirty.

If I always had you, I would not rebel,
as though I have no clue.

Broken inside, bent exterior,
these gray walls can't hide my pain. 
Yet, you ebb and flow into my life
like the tide, after heavy rain.

I miss you, dad-you broke me down,
left me so confused.
I had no idea how I would
ever feel like anything but a fool.

I needed you; like the flowers need the sun,
but you shut me out, and broke me down
like I was not your son. 

So it's over now, there will be no refrain;
don't come crawling back again.
I can walk away, without a word,
I refuse to be your flightless bird.