An Undesirable Gem in America

My people are an undesirable gem in America.

We’re special and priceless,

But worthless in America,

Unless we’re submissive to the rules of America,

No matter how unfair or unreasonable they are to us.

We have to shut up and be grateful.

Shut up and America will treat us right on their own time.

Shut up or America will tear gas us.

Shut up or America will shoot us without hesitation.

Shut up or America will suffocate us,

So that we can’t breathe.

All we have to do is shut up,

Then we’ll be worthy of America’s conditional love.

After all, America is known as the land of the free,

Yet my people have never seen freedom in America.

We have only seen enslavement, torture, persecution and abuse,

That never ends because of the color of our black skin.

Police officers must be happy they can choose when to be blue.

Police officers can be free whenever.

That form of freedom must be nice.

Don’t we have a right to fight for freedom?

Don’t we have a right to want more?

Don’t we have a right to want a better future?

Don’t we have a right to matter?

No, that’s too much in America.

We’re asking for too much in America.

America would like it better if we didn’t ask at all.

Is that too much to ask?

America wonders.

Meanwhile, America’s other gem can do whatever they want,

Thanks to the color of their white skin.

They don’t have to worry about basic human rights.

They don’t have to worry about freedom.

They don’t have to worry about mattering.

America loves them.

They can protest little inconveniences like wearing a mask.

They can even storm and terrorize the Capitol Building,

Simply because an election did not go their way.

No repercussions will come their way.

America will think about them.

America will see the hurt that they’re going through.

America will be patient with them.

America will be kind to them.

America will listen.

America will hope to alleviate the pain and stop the crying,

Because they matter.

I wish for my people to matter to America.

I wish America could see my people’s priceless worth.

I wish my people can have the privileges of the other gem.

I pray my people never forget we are priceless and special.

We are black and proud,

We are worthy of freedom and love in this country.

We have to remember and know our worth and beauty,

Despite being an undesirable gem in America.

Letting You Go

I thought that it would be impossible to let you go.

It’s a miracle that I was able to do so.

You always had me itching and wanting your attention and love.

You were medicine for me.

It’s a fact,

I can’t lie about that.

You were a drug that gave me a special kind of high,

Yet you were also a drug that was detrimental to my mind, body and soul.

You were a goddess in my eyes.

I worshipped you without hesitation.

I believed in you with determination,

When I should’ve known that you were a false idol.

I never had a chance,

I was lost in your trance.

I was hypnotized by your physical beauty.

I fantasized about you,

When I knew that I should’ve kept my distance.

But you would not allow it.

You depended on me.

You told me I was a comfort for you.

You told me I was reassurance for you.

You told me I was an angel to you.

You told me I was the sweetest and kindest to you.

You told me I was somebody that you could count on.

You told me I was so much for you,

Yet you were so little for me.

You were never going to let me go.

You intended to keep me as your prisoner,

But I longed for freedom.

It was tiring and exhausting to be with you.

I had to give you so much,

And you were content in giving me so little.

That was never going to change.

You envisioned a future with me.

You had these big plans and dreams for us,

But they were not meant to be.

Disappointments, heartache and hurt was our future.

You tried to tell me that things would get better between us.

You tried to tell me that you were going to change.

At that point,

I knew that they were just mere words.

I could finally tell.

You did not mean any of those words you spoke to me.

They were just lies to keep me under your spell.

I had a chance at love with you,

But I knew that it was not going to be real love.

It would have been an illusion with you.

I even had this delusion that you loved me in your own way.

Maybe I just needed to take a chance with you

And hope you would change in time.

Sadly, I could not trust in chance and hope.

I had to trust the evidence.

I had to let you go.

Imagine Her Being a Butterfly

It’s hard to imagine a black woman being a butterfly in this world.
Can you imagine that?
I hope that some of you can, but I struggle to imagine it.


I think about a black woman who protested and risked her life every single day for the justice of a black man.
Unfortunately, that black woman would later be sexually assaulted and murdered by a black man.
Can you imagine that?


Then, I think about a black woman who was sleeping in the privacy and safety of her own home.
Her own home would be mistakenly invaded by the police.
She would then be brutally murdered by the police.
Can you imagine that?


I think about how a black woman’s protection is conditional.
For some black men, a black woman has to meet certain criteria points in order to have their protection and love.
At the same time, she must still be strong.
Never weak, always strong.
A black woman must listen and submit themselves to these black men in order to have some of their protection.
Can you imagine that?

I think about these things and wonder if a black woman can truly be a butterfly.
Can she fly, flutter and be free?
Or will she always be a caterpillar trapped in a unbreakable cocoon?
I would love to see a black woman be a butterfly.
It would be beautiful and glorious, but I struggle to imagine it.


She always has to meet certain standards.
She’s always expected to stand, fight, protest, protect and march.
She’s always getting attacked for doing too little or too much.
I often wonder does she even have the time and opportunity to be a butterfly?
I’m genuinely asking because I have no idea.


Can you be positive about the future of a black woman?
Can you see a black woman be free and exceed expectations?
Can you see her fly high in the sky?
Can you imagine a black woman being a butterfly?

Imagine Her Being a Butterfly

It’s hard to imagine a black woman being a butterfly in this world.

Can you imagine that?

I hope that some of you can, but I struggle to imagine it.

I think about a black woman who protested and risked her life every single day for the justice of a black man.

Unfortunately, that black woman would later be sexually assaulted and murdered by a black man.

Can you imagine that?

Then, I think about a black woman who was sleeping in the privacy and safety of her own home.

Her own home would be mistakenly invaded by the police.

She would then be brutally murdered by the police.

Can you imagine that?

I think about how a black woman’s protection is conditional.

For some black men, a black woman has to meet certain criteria points in order to have their protection and love.

At the same time, she must still be strong.

Never weak, always strong.

A black woman must listen and submit themselves to these black men in order to have some of their protection.

Can you imagine that?

 

I think about these things and wonder if a black woman can truly be a butterfly.

Can she fly, flutter and be free?

Or will she always be a caterpillar trapped in a unbreakable cocoon?

I would love to see a black woman be a butterfly.

It would be beautiful and glorious, but I struggle to imagine it.

She always has to meet certain standards.

She’s always expected to stand, fight, protest, protect and march.

She’s always getting attacked for doing too little or too much.

I often wonder does she even have the time and opportunity to be a butterfly?

I’m genuinely asking because I have no idea.

Can you be positive about the future of a black woman?

Can you see a black woman be free and exceed expectations?

Can you see her fly high in the sky?

Can you imagine a black woman being a butterfly?

 

 

Black Queens

Thank you for everything that you have done for us black men.

Without you, we would be lost.

You guide us in the right direction.

You all help us when we need it most.

You support us when we’re struggling to stand up.

You nurture us when we are sick and wounded.

You comfort us in the blackest of nights.

You soothe us when we face our darkest nightmares.

You educate us so that we can be better.

You do so much for us, and you deserve more praise and honor.

You are beautiful beyond measure.

Your melanin is gorgeous in all shades.

How can I resist your pretty brown eyes?

Your pretty brown eyes shine bright with ebony and gold.

Your smile always welcomes love, comfort and kindness.

Your soul is pure and wholesome.

You have a beauty like no other.

 

I love you black women.

Without you, I would not be the black man that I am today.

You are responsible in how I treat and respect all women.

You have taught me so much about loving myself and the color of my skin.

You empower me and help me grow at unimaginable heights.

You have shown me love and how to properly reciprocate it.

Thank you black women for molding and shaping me.

Thank you for being more than just women.

Thank you for being black queens.

 

This poem is dedicated to black women and their beauty. In this time of hardship and struggle to find justice for not only George Floyd, but also other black lives that were lost because of police brutality and racism, it’s important for us as African Americans to know our beauty, especially black women. You are beautiful, and you help uplift us in unimaginable ways. Keep staying strong and beautiful because you are appreciated.

 

 

 

The Old Man at the Bus Stop

I wait patiently for my bus at an abandoned mall.

I remember my times at this abandoned yet familiar mall.

I remember the sacred moments I had with family, friends and even a girl.

I especially think about the girl and the spot we shared together.

I miss the spot.

I miss the girl.

I think about those two things too much sometimes,

When I’m at the bus stop.

I long to forget about the paradise I once had in my life.

 

A few drops of rain fall from a gray sky.

It adds a little more sadness into my heart.

I wonder why there can’t be more sunshine in the sky or even in my soul?

I miss the sunshine that I once had in life.

I wish for it, but it’s long gone.

It’s somewhere far away, while I’m in a place of darkness.

A place I fear that I will never escape.

Is escape possible?

As usual, I don’t have an answer.

God really does know how to create a depressing situation.

Enters the old man.

 

I look at the old man, and he seems sad and depressed.

He is a white man with a gray beard.

Then, I see a part of his hat that read “Vietnam” on it.

He’s a veteran, I naturally assume.

I start to feel bad for him

Because it seems like he had suppressed one too many things

That I could never imagine.

That weight of suppression has him looking down at not only the world but also himself.

He is lost and abandoned.

 

The old man looks at me, says hi and gives me his best smile.

I did the same thing as well.

I want to keep my distance and not talk anymore.

Nothing against him, but I’m just comfortable with silence and my own thoughts.

There’s just comfort in being alone.

People just complicate your state of mind.

However, he wants to talk some more with me.

I want to politely tell him that I don’t want to have a conversation

But then I stop myself.

I realize that maybe we both really need this conversation.

Maybe our conversation would have a purpose.

Maybe meeting each other was crafted by God.

Maybe I’m stretching, but I need to find out for myself.

 

Five minutes into our conversation, we’re sharing laughter and smiles.

We’re sharing our emotions and feelings.

We’re sharing anything we can.

I never expected to share so much to him.

I share so many secrets and disappointments

How could I admit and open up so much to a stranger,

When I struggle with being honest with others and myself?

 

He looks at me and asks me when was the last time I cried.

I tell him with ease that it’s been a long time.

Then he tells me to not be afraid to do so.

He was a soldier,

He admits that there were times that he had to cry.

Crying really helped him let go.

 

He pleads for me to cry when I get the opportunity.

Before I can respond, my bus arrives.

I look at him and promise that I will try.

He nods his head, smiles and thanks me for having a conversation with him.

I tell him that it was an honor.

I say goodbye to him and get on the bus.

The bus rides away from the abandoned mall.

And I leave the old man at the bus stop.

 

This poem is dedicated to a veteran that I had a conversation with at a bus stop two years ago. It was one of the most realest conversations I ever had with someone, and I’m so thankful and blessed for that conversation.

Happy Memorial Day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Death of You

It’s frightening that I have murder on my mind.

I have to remind myself that I’m justified in killing you.

Please understand that I don’t want to do this.

Killing you is my worst nightmare.

I’ve always loved you and everything you’ve done for me.

You’re the reason for my Shawshank Redemption.

You’re the reason for my motivation to fight.

You’re the reason for my dedication to life.

Nevertheless, I have to end you.

 

I rely on you way too much.

You have failed me countless times.

You’re an ally that I can no longer afford to have by my side.

We’ve lost too many battles together in this great war called life.

The enemy is destroying us at will from all angles, yet you tell me to be patient.

You tell me to stay optimistic for help will be on the way.

You tell me to trust in you, and I trust in you.

 

Years later, we’re still losing the battles that you said we could win.

And you’re still telling me the same things.

How long can I continue this never ending cycle of losing?

How long must I show goodness and mercy to all of my enemies?

How long can I tolerate you?

 

I’m sorry that it had to come to this.

I never expected this day to come.

I thought that we would always be together.

I thought that you would always be my strength.

I thought that you would always be the one to comfort me.

I thought, and I was wrong.

 

The thought of killing you is madness.

I don’t want to lose you.

I didn’t think I could ever lose you.

Like dreams, nightmares do come true, too.

At the same time, circumstances have changed.

Killing you is a necessary evil.

 

I’m sorry that I have to do this.

I’m sorry that I have to betray you.

I’m sorry that I have to abandon you.

I’m sorry that I have to crucify you.

I’m sorry that I have to murder you.

Please, forgive me.

Please forgive me for the death of you.

 

 

 

 

 

Pure Imagination, I Wish

This room? Although it was a small, cramped room,
You always managed to make it big and wondrous
Like Wonderland for time was all messed up,
Time had gone mad and jazz was the only thing that made sense.

I remember all the unnecessary papers
Stacked and spread around like skyscrapers in a city,
There was no room to explore this confined, yet marvelous city
That you designed.

As the sound of your saxophone went wild in this world,
I found myself in paradise.
As a young boy, I was exposed to a world of pure imagination,
I was lost, but I was not afraid.

A few years passed, a new sound entered this universe,
It was the sound of percussion.
I thought the loud drums didn’t belong,
It couldn’t compare to your loving saxophone.

When I became a young man, the drums and saxophone were in-sync,
And we were the kings,
Our empire was glorious as we ruled it together,
Sadly, kingdoms don’t last forever.

You got older and forgot this world,
It wasn’t your fault, it was a cruel disease that murdered your sweet mind
A mind that shared love, wisdom and strength to me,
Reduced to confusion and terror.

I wish those days together with you would come back once more,
I wish this room was more than a room again,
I wish we could create sweet music together once more,
Why did those days ever have to go?

This is the end of the poem.

This poem is dedicated to my late Grandpa Jerry. His birthday was on Friday, and I was debating if I really wanted to share this poem that’s personal to me. However, the untimely death of NBA legend Kobe Bryant changed my mind because this is a poem about cherishing the moments and times that we have with our loved ones and to live a life of love and happiness. We can’t press the rewind button on life, and we have to treat every day as if it was our last day on this earth. I had great, loving moments with my grandpa that I’ll never forget. I cherish all the days that we had together because they helped shape who I am. My grandpa showed me the strength of faith, the beauty of writing, the magic of music and so much more. I love my grandpa so much, and I just wish those days with him would come back once.

Please Forgive Me

I’m glad that you’re back in my life again.

I’ve missed you so much.

I hated that there was a division between us.

I hated the wall between us.

I longed for your warm touch.

Ironically, it wasn’t that big of a wall.

It was a little wall that was easy to step over.

It’s crazy that I didn’t have to jump over it.

I just had to will myself to the wall.

Sadly, that was easier said than done.

 

There was something in me that never existed before.

It was doubt about you.

I had doubt about us.

I didn’t know if we could be together.

I thought that maybe it was a mistake to have you in my life.

I thought that I didn’t deserve someone like you.

I thought that I wasn’t worthy of you.

I thought that we couldn’t go the distance.

 

I’m glad that we have each other again.

I’m glad that I could finally will myself over that small wall between us.

Thank you for your patience and kindness with me.

I promise to always keep you close to my heart.

Life may have gotten crazy, but it was no excuse to push you away from me.

You’re a part of who I am, and I love who I am when I’m with you.

I’ll hold on to you as long as I can.

Please forgive me for abandoning you.

Please forgive me.

 

Silence in a Dark Place

I’m alone in the dark with nowhere to go.

I aimlessly run forward further into the darkness.

I long to find an ending.

I hope it’s of comfort and warmth, but I fear it will be an unfamiliar place.

A place of nightmares.

A place of suffering.

A place of terror.

A place of horror.

How could one survive such a place?

I pray for an answer, but I get no response.

God’s silence is deafening.

 

I’m running but to no purpose.

There’s nothing waiting for me but total darkness.

Yet, I still run, but I don’t know why.

I want to stop, but I can’t.

I’m coughing blood, and I start slowing down.

My body wants me to stop, but I can’t.

My spirit just keeps pushing me.

 

I start crying because I know what’s going to happen.

I know how my story’s going to end.

It will end with me not making to my destination.

It will end with me not knowing what I was running towards.

I wonder if I was even close.

Or was I too far away from the light at the end of this never-ending tunnel of darkness?

I pray to God again one last time for answer, but I get no response.

There’s only silence in a dark place.