Live for the chase, write for the soul.
Queer. Black. Haiku artist. Something like a poet-slash-entreprenuer.
This is my poetry. Get lost in love with me.
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You make me feel all of the things that I cannot find the words for.

— A writer to their true lover

baby, you stay restin’ on my mind like a sunday morning..

fall weather got me on fleek

fall weather got me on fleek

She didn’t care for

the differences

between

your

and

you’re.

All that

mattered to her

was that you were there.

'rolling stone'

i come and i go

never stay- why’s that?- you say,

i don’t even know.

guess i’ve always been

a rolling stone.. i don’t know,

i just come and go.

We were like
two bookshelves
that never touched
because there was
too much history
between us.

— Pavana पवन (via maza-dohta)

i got galaxies

on my skin for scars

you think your commentary

holds weight with me?

your ignorance i find petite,

and i’ve never been one

for skimpy words

or women.

them barber shop boys

cuttin’ hair on they friday afternoons

watchin’ all the pretty ladies stroll by

talkin’ bout

'damn, that ass was fat like a full moon!'

'ooha, sorry brotha

lemme interrupt yo’ haircut

to step out and holla at these

four fine ladies’

'maaaaaaan, these forty-year old hoes

makin’ these twenty-one year old 

bitches look busted’

'these twenty-one year old

bitches with they baby cub stripes’

'yo, why can't black women get rid

of they tiger stripes,

i seen this one white woman,

ooooooooh 

she ain’t look no type of busted

after she have her baby

'ha,

that’s why she could have my baby!’

Babyyy.

there’s a reason we’re tigers

and you’s just a deadbeat nigga

cuttin’ hair at the barber shop 

or should i say rat hole in the wall

givin’ out $10 sloppy shape ups

wishin’ you could afford 

to cut my mans hair

and lay your greasy fingers 

on my striped thighs.

Honey, yes, i’m a tiger

and you just carcass, baby boy.

what made you give up

on the dream, after getting

a taste of freedom?

haikuology:

my heart aches for heartbreak

heart aches for lovers

heart aches for weeping mothers

and incarcerated brothers

my heart aches for justice

heart aches for peace

heart aches for an ego

that’s got the best of me

my heart aches for freedom

but what is really free?

my heart aches for knowledge

but then what will it all mean?

my heart aches for truth

my heart aches to scream

my heart aches for courage

my heart aches to beat

cause a beating heart

wrapped in black skin

is just heartache to breathe

my heart aches at that thought,

if this heartache could cease,

somebody call the police,

no, wait don’t sho-! too late

tried to cure my heartache

but got three bullets to the heart, 

and once to the face

cause a black body with a beating heart

is just a waste of space.

reblogging after post-midnight edits.