Dream Girls: Part Five

I find myself in a small, familiar room.

It’s a sacred place.

It was a place of pure imagination.

It was a place where you could view paradise.

It was a place of relaxation.

It was a place where I could be lost but not afraid.

I wish this room was more than a room again,

Why did those days ever have to go?

I wonder.

 

This small room hasn’t changed at all.

There’s still an unnecessary amount of white papers

With beautiful, black musical notes on it,

Stacked and spread around like skyscrapers in a city.

But wait, there’s something different about this room.

Something’s not right.

In this confined, yet marvelous city,

I see a pool of blood in the middle of the floor.

A crime was committed in here.

 

I’m frightened now, and I don’t know what’s going on.

I desperately look around for clues.

I don’t see the golden saxophone.

I don’t see the purple guitar.

Where did those sacred items go?

How could they no longer be here?

 

I rush to the window.

It’s dark outside now,

And I struggle to see anything in what seems to be the darkest of nights.

I manage to somehow see the outline of the black cathedral.

I turn to my left and something is missing.

I just see a stack of white papers.

I feel like there should be something on top of the stacked, white papers.

I just don’t remember.

 

I have to leave this place now.

It’s just not same anymore,

Especially with the golden saxophone no longer in its place.

I look for a door,

And I see a woman in a black dress smiling at me.

She has some glass in her hand for some odd reason,

And she’s in front of the only brown, wooded door in this room.

 

I remember what happened in here.

The woman in the black dress attacked me.

She’s responsible for the blood on the ground.

Did she take the golden saxophone and purple guitar?

I can’t know for sure,

All I know is that I must run away from this place.

 

I can’t go through the brown, wooded door

Because that would mean I would have to go through her.

So, I turn back to the window and break it.

I jump on some stacked, white papers,

And I begin to climb out of the window.

I hear the woman in the black dress start moving towards me.

I’m fearful that she’s gonna stop me.

I turn around and find her kneel down in my pool of blood.

She then starts scooping up the blood in her glass.

Then, she looks at me and smiles with her sharp teeth.

She whispers don’t run away.

Otherwise, I will regret it.

 

I refuse to stay in this room.

She knows this and blows me a kiss.

She whispers see you soon.

I hope I never see her again,

But something tells me that our paths will cross again.

I jump out the window,

And abandon a place I once held dear.

Everything turns black.

 

I wake up from a strange dream.

I can’t really remember it all that well.

I can only remember her.

She was a beautiful, frightening monster.

She was not your typical dream girl.

 

This is the end of part five of the Dream Girls series. Be sure to like, share and comment your thoughts on this poem!

I will be posting and sharing part six of Dream Girls on Monday!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dream Girls: Part Four

I find myself in a small, familiar room.

It’s a sacred place.

It was a place of pure imagination.

It was a place where you could view paradise.

It was a place of relaxation.

It was a place where I could be lost but not afraid.

I wish this room was more than a room again,

Why did those days ever have to go?

I wonder.

 

This small room hasn’t changed at all.

There’s still an unnecessary amount of white papers

With beautiful, black musical notes on it,

Stacked and spread around like skyscrapers in a city.

There’s still no room to explore this confined, yet marvelous city,

Where time had gone mad and jazz was the only thing that made sense.

 

I see the instrument that made this place so special.

I see the golden saxophone.

Beautiful music came from this golden saxophone,

It created such a glorious empire in this small room.

I want to touch the golden saxophone,

But I stop myself.

I cannot touch or move this sacred item

That once belonged to the person that created this once special kingdom.

 

I see another instrument that was part of this majestic, forgotten world.

I see the purple guitar.

I smile at it and pick it up.

I grab the pick and strum the strings on the purple guitar.

I hoped that the sounds of the strings would make this small room a place of pure imagination again,

But it could not do that.

Only the golden saxophone had such a power.

I wish sweet jazz in the golden saxophone would come back once more in this room.

 

I go towards the window,

And see a black, grand cathedral under construction.

It’s intimidating and frightening that it’s reaching unimaginable heights.

I look to my left,

And I see a red Bible placed on top of stacked, white papers.

I reach out to grab it,

When all of a sudden I’m tackled and taken down.

 

I hit the floor hard on my back,

And someone is on top of me.

It’s a woman in a black dress.

I look at her face,

And I can’t seem to recognize her.

This is someone new.

She is beautiful, but she does scare me.

She smiles at me with her sharped, fanged teeth,

And she bites my neck.

 

I scream in pain,

As my blood is pouring on sacred ground.

I can’t breathe now.

She laughs at me and continues biting my neck.

Then, she stabs me in the heart with her sharp, animal-like nails.

I cry as the pain is too real.

 

She suddenly stops and starts kissing my bloody neck.

Then, she comes to my ear,

She whispers don’t run away.

Everything turns black.

 

This is the end of part four of the Dream Girls series. Be sure to like, share and comment your thoughts on this poem!

I will be posting and sharing part five of Dream Girls on Thursday!

Dream Girls: Part Three

I find myself lying on a king-sized bed.

I notice that everything on the bed is black,

The sheets, the pillows and the bed frame.

Every part of this bed is black.

I try to sit up, but it’s a struggle.

It’s not painful in any way,

But it’s like a weight is forcing me to stay down.

It’s like I’m not meant to rise from this bed.

I’m only meant to lie on this bed.

I miraculously manage to sit up,

However, I fear that I have broken some unspoken rule.

 

I look around the room,

And I see that I’m in a room of luxury and comfort.

I think I’m in a hotel room.

There’s a chandelier in the middle of the room.

A dark blue carpet that was comfortable to my bare feet.

It looks like the ocean.

The walls had a nice, maple brown color.

On the walls, there is a painting of some sort.

It’s a painting of some black-sanded beach.

 

All of sudden, a door opens from behind me.

I turn around and see a beautiful woman in a white robe.

I look at her face and instantly recognize her.

There’s no one like her.

She also has a glass of something red in her hands.

It could be juice or possibly wine.

She smiles at me, and I smile back at her.

I’m happy to see her.

The door closes on its own,

And she walks towards me with the glass.

 

When she reaches me, she raises the glass of red liquid to my face.

She wants me to drink the red liquid.

I’m unsure, but she begs me to just trust her.

I trust her with my heart.

I grab the glass and consume every drop of the red liquid.

It’s not necessarily good to me.

It’s a little sweet, but the red liquid is mostly bitter to me.

 

The worst thing happens to me after I’m done drinking the red liquid.

I fall to my knees as pain surges my body.

I start coughing blood,

And my vision starts to blur.

My head starts pounding and pounding,

And I collapse head first on the ocean-like carpet.

I can’t move at all.

I’m scared and worried about what’s going to happen next.

 

I start feeling kisses on my cheek.

It’s from her.

They soothe me and feel wonderful.

Then, she whispers something strange in my ear.

She says that we’ll see each other again.

She hopes that the tide will be in my favor.

Everything turns black.

 

I wake up from a strange dream that I can’t help but remember.

My mind is confused.

I don’t know what to think about her.

I don’t know what to think about the familiar dream girl.

 

This is the end of part three of the Dream Girls series. Be sure to like, share and comment your thoughts on this poem!

I will be posting and sharing part four of Dream Girls on Monday!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dream Girls: Part Two

I’m standing in front of a black cathedral,

It’s a frightening sight

Because this cathedral did the impossible and reached Heaven itself.

Despite its size being scary, it’s a beautiful work of art.

This Gothic work of architecture must be praised and admired.

I hope this pleases God.

 

I’m afraid to enter this place.

I fear that I’m not worthy,

But I must enter the black cathedral.

I have to try for God.

 

I climb the steps and reach the doors.

They’re golden doors,

And they’re beautiful to look at.

I’m mesmerized by the attention to detail,

As well as the artistic genius of these doors.

I believe they shine and glitter more than Heaven’s golden gates.

 

I enter the black cathedral,

And I’m surprised by what I see.

Everything is charred and burned to a crisp.

Destruction and terror has entered this beautiful place.

Then, I notice something that is untouched.

It’s a red Bible.

I slowly pick it up,

And I’m amazed that it didn’t get burned.

I can’t believe this black cathedral.

Why is the outside pleasing to the eyes,

Yet the inside is cursed and needs more care?

 

I see a woman kneeling and praying at the altar.

Her head is facing the ground.

I rush over to her,

But she continues to still pray.

Once I make it to her, there’s a rumble in the black cathedral.

Small pieces of the black cathedral start falling from the ceiling.

The black cathedral is about to collapse.

 

Then, the woman grabs my arm.

She still has her head facing the ground.

She cries for me to stay with her.

She promises that we’ll be alright,

As long as I have faith in this place.

Then, I see her face so clearly.

 

Large chunks of the ceiling start falling,

But I’m still in shock with the woman’s face.

It’s beautiful and gorgeous.

She’s an angel that I can’t abandon.

My place has to be with her, right?

 

No, it can’t be in this black cathedral.

I refuse to believe it.

I push the angel away,

Hold the red Bible tightly and rush to the exit.

I make it out of the black cathedral,

And it falls with the angel inside.

 

I can’t believe that the black cathedral is destroyed now,

And I can’t believe I abandoned an angel.

God forgive me.

Everything turns black.

I wake up from a strange dream that I can’t help but remember.

I remember the angel.

How could I abandon an angel that is a dream girl?

 

This is the end of part two of the Dream Girls series. Be sure to like, share and comment your thoughts on this poem!

I will be posting and sharing part three of “Dream Girls” on Thursday!

 

Dream Girls: Part One

I’m in a strange place right now.

I’m laying down, and I can’t move.

I’m not scared, but I long for answers.

I’m in a place of hurt and pain,

Yet my surroundings are the exact opposite.

I look around, and I’m surrounded by black sand.

I look up and the sky is red with pink clouds,

And the sun looks like a big, white light bulb.

It’s bright and intense.

I can hear waves crashing rocks and the black sand.

I naturally assume that I’m on a beach.

 

My vision starts to blur, and I can’t hear the waves anymore.

I can only hear the sound of my heart beat.

Beating faster and faster.

The pain in my chest has intensified,

My throat is swelling up,

Breathing is a struggle,

Death is coming soon.

I know it, but I’m not afraid.

I’m relieved.

Dying on a strange, yet beautiful beach doesn’t sound too bad.

It’s a luxury that not a lot of people have.

Some die in the darkest of places,

Others just die normally in regular places.

We just never know how death will take us.

 

As I have accepted my fate, a woman appears above me.

She kneels down to my level,

And gently touches my face.

There’s something sweet and familiar about her gentle touch.

I wish I could see her clearly.

Her face gets closer to my face.

Our eyes meet, and I think I know who she is.

But I’m not sure.

Our lips are inches away from each other,

She decides to seal them with a kiss.

 

I immediately remember who she is.

She’s the one that got away.

She’s the one that I miss every single day.

She’s the one that had lips like candy.

There’s no one like her.

No one that will ever be like her.

 

After our shared kiss, she gets back up.

She grabs my feet and drags me to the ocean.

I don’t resist.

Once she has me in the ocean, she disappears.

I search for her, but she’s long gone.

The black-sanded beach is nowhere to be found either.

 

I find myself just surrounded by the purple ocean.

I chuckle as I fully submerge myself into the purple ocean.

As I am slowly drowning,

I welcome the calmness of the purple ocean.

I listen to the quietness of the purple ocean.

I can no longer feel the intensity of the sun,

The purple ocean is all I feel now.

The sun fades away from my memory,

Everything turns black.

 

I wake up from a strange dream,

I can’t help but remember.

My mind doesn’t think about the sweet purple ocean,

It doesn’t think about the pure black-sanded beach,

It doesn’t think about the majestic red sky,

Or even the intense white sun,

It only thinks about her.

For she is now a dream girl.

 

This is the end of part one of the Dream Girls series. Be sure to like, share and comment your thoughts on this poem!

I will be posting and sharing part two of “Dream Girls” on Sunday!

 

 

 

 

 

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?

Food For The Dog

A couple named Brian and Lauren are driving home with a car full of groceries.

As they’re driving home, Lauren notices up ahead something unsettling.

It’s at the side of the road.

She tells Brian to pull over.

He listens to her and pulls over.

When they stop completely, he sees what Lauren sees.

 

In front of them, a man is lying on the ground curled up like a ball.

The man is starving and struggling to stay alive.

Next to him, he has a cardboard sign that says “Anything will help.”

There’s also a malnourished dog sitting next to the man.

Lauren notices that the dog is wearing a tag.

She squints to look at the tag, and it reads Max.

 

Lauren looks at Brian and pleads that they help him.

He’s starving and struggling to stay alive.

He needs their help Lauren says.

They have an obligation to help him.

His life is precious and matters to them.

Brian agrees and wonders what they can give him.

Lauren says that two bags of dog food should be enough.

 

Lauren gets out the car with the dog food and places it next to Max.

She tears open both bags of dog food.

Max quickly comes over and starts devouring the food.

For a second, Lauren is happy that she’s able to feed Max.

Then, she realizes that it’s not right with what Max is going through.

Max is abandoned and in harsh conditions.

Max deserves to have a proper owner.

Max deserves a better life than this.

 

Lauren runs back to the car, and Brian smiles at her.

He tells her that they did a good thing for that dog.

Lauren says she knows, but she still feels bad for Max.

Brian understands and assures her that the food should help.

 

Brian starts the car.

They drive away with their car full of groceries.

They feel good for what they did for Max.

They’re thankful that they have plenty of food.

Food for themselves, their kids and their dogs.

For they were able to provide food for the dog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Father at His Weakest

A man finds out that his father died in his sleep.

He’s surrounded by his wife and children when he discovers the terrible news.

He’s devastated, and he doesn’t know how to contain himself.

How can his father be gone so suddenly?

How can he imagine a life without his father?

Without thinking, he cries.

His wife quickly comes over and tries to comfort him.

He welcomes her embrace, and he still continues to cry.

His daughters start crying as well.

It hurts them to see their father in pain.

He assures them that he’ll be alright, and he still continues to cry.

His sons didn’t know what to do.

They had never seen their father be so emotional and vulnerable.

They had never seen their father have a moment of weakness.

They wondered what did it mean as their father continues to cry.

 

Those boys would later realize that their father was simply being a man.

A man that had lost a father.

A man that needed to cry and mourn for his father.

A man that needed the comfort of his wife and children.

A man that wasn’t afraid to be weak in front of his family.

A man that has integrity, dignity, honor and love in his heart.

A man that always wants to teach his sons the true meaning of strength and courage can come in times of weakness.

Their father was a man at his weakest.

But most importantly, he was a father at his weakest.

 

This poem is dedicated to my father Shawn McNeil. Thank you for never being afraid to cry, being emotional and being vulnerable. Thank you for always teaching me how to be a true man. I love you so much, dad! Happy Father’s day to you and all the good fathers in this world.

 

 

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?

 

 

A Black Girl’s Dream

Black girls have dreams too.

I wish I could tell you all of their dreams, but I can only tell you one black girl’s dreams.

I hope more black girls’ dreams can be shared.

But for now, it’s just one black girl’s dream I’m sharing.

I promise nothing more and nothing less.

Just one black girl’s dream.

 

This black girl has a dream that she has a choice.

She has a dream that she doesn’t always have to be strong.

She dreams of having moments of being weak and vulnerable because everyone deserves those moments.

She also dreams that she doesn’t always have to be a warrior, a nurturer or an activist.

This black girl dreams of being a dreamer, a lover or even her own woman.

She dreams of not always being in the frontlines of fighting racism and injustice.

She dreams of black men wanting to protect her rather than having her fight as well.

Or fight beside her.

Again, this is not every black girls’ dream.

Just one black girl’s dream.

 

Can a black girl dream?

Can she make her dreams become a reality?

Or is she always expected to face the harsh realities of this cruel world?

I have no idea.

I’m just sharing one black girl’s dream.

Just one black girl’s dream.

 

I would like to give thanks to my little sister Shawna for this poem. She was the inspiration behind this poem.

This poem is also dedicated to Oluwatoyin Salau, Breonna Taylor, black women and black girls. You all matter in this time of protesting, and you all deserve to be treated and protected better by everyone, especially black men.