Accident Prone

Convulsing
…..again
Struggling to let go....

There is no pretty to how my back spasms from the wreck
How it wishes to not feel anything like an accident
Memories slither up and down my spine
up and down
down and up
all ocean smashing the beach
all non stop roller coaster
Finally, it decides to scale up my back and settle in shoulders
Made a house in my neck; I feel it in the cricks
In the wrenches and pulls
Yesterday, I picked another piece of glass out my hair
I’m used to this, it’s just like flossing!
Getting meat out teeth! Getting glass out hair!
….getting windshield and windows out bed
These days, I punish my gut at erratic times
It knows what to expect, anticipates it even
I’ve thought it how to speak alcohol
How to bear it all,
How to soak my brain, and sultry swirl the pain away
Everything is crack
Everything is flash backs
Everything is January 31st

The night, and all it has

When the night is as cloudy as my, rough
Bloated and bulging heart,
And the skyline is a dirty black pool, the color of subconscious
you should ask of me,
In all likelihood you'll be told that I was last seen
On main street
They'll say I had a look that screamed determination,
They'll say I was a giant gargoyle
Only able to came alive in the night time,
they'll remember how I walked into this packed house, 4 cornered room full of beautiful souls,
Fluttering too fast for the eyes to see
shining too free to be caged by any sort of manmade wall,
these people are gorgeous fireflies tonight,
And I see them how I've always wanted to be seen.
Conscious and smart, prickly pizzazz partly off point
Like a badly healed joint or a crooked rolled joint but swagged all the way out.
Tonight's just like them,
Young, not yet reeking of alcohol, or sex or crimes,
And we? We’re at the word, and I? I’ve missed four poems driving here
And one more trying to park my car so,
Excuse me for my lateness,
I know that coming in an hour late isn’t right
And I do have a watch that ticks millisecond exact, but art,
Just like greatness can never be rushed,
And I'm a bit of both so I'm just in time,
Ready to take standing stance in front of a cheap Mic stand
ready to go in,
As if I'm better than anyone
As if I'm the only one,
who has the ability, to plant poems
Between the cracks and crevices of your heart and soul.
On nights like this not even my reflection is mirror enough to be my competition
And so it begins with a breath to wet the drum set I have for lungs
I approach the Mic,
The Mic is like my pops and he pops like the fourth of July
My Legs twitch like a spaz
Robotic in its movements
Look hard enough, when emotion rips breath from my lungs
you can see my gut and my guts spilling out my mouth
And my voice is made of five heavy metal nails scratching my sycamore voice box
The effect is of an anxious vinyl rewinding the growth of my manliness
How it breaks the days I’ve lived,
And goes back to before puberty ever scoured this body
I look nothing like my 22 years of age and sound free of regret and pain
And while all this is going on,
My body sweats slippery slivers down my shirt
so while I gesture and move my hands like I'm tied to a marionettes string,
With a voodoo priestess yanking in glee, know
That it's not because I'm animated its cause I'm trying to air dry myself.
Most nights,
just like this one, when the stars treat the moon like a campfire and dance all around it
you can find me, with a faded black book in hand
Filled with half finished,
Most times worthless pieces of scribbles,
Writing so jumbled, messy, and tumbled, even I can't make sense of it.
This jig saw puzzle of a book is the key,
To everything that is me,
Everything locked within
Everything my father told me I could be
And everything the world stole from me
So if you don’t mind how spit drips from my lips when I spit
Then I got a thousand truths to tell
How I drape social identity crisis over my body like a Kevlar vest
How I keep two hearts in my back pockets, in case the one in chest stops beating
How I miss my father and brothers, love my sisters and mother
How I wish, I wish that sometimes we never left home
On days like this, when the night’s as cloudy as my, rough
Bloated and bulging heart,
And the skyline’s a dirty black pool, the color of subconscious
Receive my poetry; take it out the door with you
And let it marinate, like a wildfire in California

Unbearable

I'm ashamed to admit that
From the moment my eyeballs
Began to follow your swaying curves
I’ve been whipped, smitten.
I think its lust,
But I’m holding onto hope like a rope
Or a sweaty hand that this “lust” can somehow turn to love
But this rope, this sweaty hand is too sleek and I’m slowly slipping.

You’re like a bear trap,
The moment I stepped into these doors
You sprang shut on my heart
And now I’m stuck,
Damn near lost without you
And you don’t even know….

You have a boyfriend
He reminds me of Brad Pitt
In the rendition of Helen of Troy
The way he looks at you with love
But is ready to kill with skill any who happens on his path
You make love and hate waltz in his fragile heart
Fill the void in his soul,
Your hugs, a human wine cork,
after his drank enough of your kisses.
I’ve witnessed darkness disappear when you’re near
Seen him leaking light as colorful as a Nigerian afternoon

The same man as hard as Gatling gun becomes as giddy as a giggling girl
But it’s not that rattling…..
Cause he loves you, and it shows
He loves you, and I hate it

I wish; I wish he was one of those boyfriends
that exist everywhere these days
Those boyfriends who never love
Who fashion cloaks of masculinity in which they wrap themselves in
as if it was the mother they never had
Who sag their pants, on their way to get an ice cream cone or a butterfly tattooed on their face
Who didn’t believe in putting all their eggs in one basket
valentines, chivalry or the art of wine and dine
I wish he didn’t know how to love a woman
I for one could have lived without knowing
His got an ak-47 for equipment
And enough artillery in his gallery to quench any fire
God forgive me for coveting my neighbors girl,
but they aren’t even married yet
So I wish his mother wasn’t a woman
That his father was married a transvestite man
i.e I wish he was never born

I wish he wasn’t so got damned beautiful
perfect fuck!
I wish you were a tool

I wish, you didn’t wipe her tears when they fell, heavy and long
I wish you never gave her your heart and body,
i wish....

But wishes aren’t airplanes
no matter what the song says

I’m not a hater, It’s just that,
I see the beauty of love, and how it was made to be
And I want that, I want that affection, that care.
So dear boyfriend,
If you ever make a mistake,
If you ever break, fumble, or misplace her
I’ll pick it her up like a cellphone
And she would be one package I’ll never return back to sender

For your Valentine

Late Last night, I started to write about us
It took me, a thousand forgotten minutes
A lot of ink and enough loose leafed paper to recreate a young maple tree,
to come to the conclusion, that coming up with the perfect opening
ro this poem isn’t damn near impossible, it’s just not likely
So I said forget that, instead,
I’ll take my time and work on the body of this poem
Construct its bones into a place of worship, a temple,
Where I can sacrifice my words without fear of being crucified
This temple, shall sometimes be my bed,
at other times a stage somewhere in California
Either way, it shall be Strong and steady,
Unaffected by the willful passage of time
But flexible enough,
To let me carve out, what I want this poem to eventually be

I want this poem to make an attempt
To try, and show, to sketch, and narrate,
Outline, and portray, to depict
Make clear, make vivid, make out, and expound on what it is we are
We are this poem,
And I want it, to be honest in its telling
Let it speak on how we met,
Two quasi complete halves merging like the sun and the moon
You half empty, I half full
When we met in the middle,
I became as observable as the blistering blooming blush dancing festivals in my cheeks
A parade of devilish flames made to blaze when I gaze at you,
See how I gaze at you
See how the flames tinge my hue
Let them burn me to cremation if they must
Turn me crimson if they can, but I won’t take my eyes from you
For red is the color of valentine casted like a net,
Its iron grip, pulling the strings of my heart
Makes hanging look like fun
Red is the color of ripe love ready to fall from a back bent herculean flower
When it hits the ground, it heals wounds, balms scars, fixes scowls and much more
Red is the pedestal I stand on, brave and consciously making a fool of myself to keep you smiling
So red I’m rosy so rosy I’m rouge, so rouge even bleach couldn’t fade me
Wear red like a scarlet beacon,
A miniature lighthouse so I can always find my way to back to you
But also, let it be my brand so no other man thinks you single

So I hope, No, I do more than hope, I pray that I won’t ever be able
To call this poem complete; won’t be able to lay my pen in rest filled peaceful sleep so close to death it’s comatose,
I hope this poem transforms into a never ending piece of literature
Conceiving back stories, and miniseries, so raw its cut from t.v
So watered down kids think we’re cool
Tell me if it’s cool, if I nail and hammer the days I’ve shared with you on my tongue
So that when I speak, it would only be of moments I spent with you
My taste buds are tiny time capsules where I retain the memory of your kisses
In the carven of my mouth,
So if one day, I lose my phone and all the pictures it contains of you
If one day, time, robs me of my touch, and amnesia takes our love
I would still be able to lick my lips,
and bring back the first time we met,
and the last time you left
Ps.
Your should know, your love is a second chance for me to breathe again

2-8-11 5:07am

Got a heart like a battery

In place of your decrepit heart
Have me instead
Put me where your life blood coursed in rush
Where love played tambourine

The birth place of your joys laughter

Yesterday,
I heard you cry
And I asked God for a second chance
And he remade me in the image of your heart

Won’t you have me?

I promise never to break when my limits are bent
Never to shake no matter the quake
All I want is to give you what was once lost

A heartbeat to call yours

A thump you can feel silently crashing in your ears
Like the rain on your window
Sea water on a boats slimy bottom
Like tears of sadness slapping the ground

Love Child (Draft)

I really like this one, twas very easy to write and soooooo unforced! Enjoy if you dare :)

I’ve been….I’ve been trying
Trying not to write about us
Too frightened to give our love a word or more to survive on
Scared
Troubled
Doubtful that it
I mean she
Doubtful that she can exist outside of me if I let her out too early
My heart is a womb, an incubator for our love,
For her, she can grow as much as she wants here
No one can make fun of how big she gets
How long her arms spread, how hot she makes the hair on my arms get
She loves it here, made a home out of my heart,
Where she can be kept safely tucked away in her bassinet
No eyes are needed to watch over her
No cameras, or ADT, I’m all the home security she needs from them
THEM: jealous haters, skeptics and pessimists
Agnostics of our seedling love who make comments like
“Why do you love her, she’s too little for you”
“Why not me I came first and wanted you more”
“Albi, don’t you know I love you…”
No I don’t know how much you love me
I never asked if you loved me, nor do I care!
See, Its ironic babe, causeI hate them as much as they claim to love me
But how could they understand
That adjusting to thought of “us” wasn’t a problem I wanted to solve
Adjusted so much
That I can write poems with words that have “us” in them
Like I spent 8 lifetime mastering the act
You dazzling aquarius
Your voice is a musical orchestra to my every synapse
Bodacious boisterous
Amusingly complex how it plays a one woman percussionist band in my ear
Dexterously twirling like a drum stick in between two fingers
Creating the illusion of a discus
Moving like a fictitious saucer, tickling my ears like dust,
I’m focused solely on the fusion that laboriously fused our paths together with love’s luster
Cause I was exhausted
Damn near sick from looking and not finding,
I began to mistrust my balance, so when I fell for you
I made it a profitable business to make you happy
Each laugh you let repeatedly echo around the cave in your chest is a bonus
I insist that you never stop laughing
Let your laugh pave the roadway to our infinity
And If the world becomes too much for us
And we find ourselves settling for lesser
Becoming devoid of that olympic sun tanned spark we feel inside
Then, will set sail for the bemuda triangle
And see if discovering the unknown brings enough danger to relight our love flame
I am your poet, be my poem my muse
My weed, my liquor, inspirational crack my pen and paper my reason to write with my left hand
While I try to right my wrongs, be my first and only songs
They say when you love something let it go
Well those people must be very lonely people
Cause when our love grows old
I’ll remember how she lived in my heart,
Our baby girl not yet ready for the world
But waiting in youthful excitement

Miss me with that poet shit

Stop.....

What are you doing here?

Why you are here?

You have not a clue

That you mosey across holy ground

But that is not an excuse…..

Mistakes, Pain, Dreams and nightmares

Fattened words

All are keys used to open this gate



But you,

You…do not belong here

This place

Exists not for you or others like you



You are blind;

So take my eyes and see what you are



You play your part well

But you are not deaf,

Hear me impostor

As I call your true name out loud

You traitor!

You liar!

Take the mic out your throat and

Give me back your voice

You deserve to speak only when spoken to



How ignorant can one be, in their blasphemy,

to try to bury their casket here?

Great men have left their echoes and shadows dancing

Lingering, underneath the catacombs

Even in death they planned to be always heard



I’ve seen angels bloom and die here

Seen men tilt their heads back and drink

Cracked words,

broken women slant down their throats

Letting it baste on their tongues

Savoring the taste, learning to love hate



I’ve seen tears be nomadic,

as they claw their way out inflamed eyes

Trying to redefine what it means to be emotional

I hope, that as they travel further south,

They fashion wings from sand

So when they land on the ground

It won’t seem so out of place hanging around



Your mind is too simple to form a thought of your own….



It’s no wonder you have no idea

Of what it means to be a poet



And you won’t have one

Until you’ve seen

A poet spit a poems

as if she knew Hiroshima was tomorrow

and each poem a minute of her live she had yet to live

You have no idea what it means to be a poet

Until you’ve seen

Him, poetic prophet,

prophesy of an earthquake his skin never shook from

Haiti, is a woman,

who made love to his spirit

and left her future floundering in his womb





This mic was not made to stroke your ego;

it was made to be stroked

You dishonor these veteran speakers

I hate the tenor in which you sing your arrogance

This ground is fertile, but not for you to plant your skeleton seeds

Hoping it springs into phone numbers and Facebook friend requests

The only clout you get here,

is earned when your lungs fall into your stomach

because it’s become too heavy to hang in your chest



Here, is the only place

where you are master and slave

This stage is a spoken word cage

where only you have the master key to set your life free

….poetry