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!

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.

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.

Hugs and Kisses

It’s not hard to show you love and affection.

In fact, it’s the easiest thing.

I know it’s because you’ve taught me so much about love.

It’s also because you’re a person that I can’t live without.

I can’t be without your love because it hits different.

It’s been with me since the day I was born.

It’s been with me in times that I was struggling and needing it most.

It’s a love that is unconditional.

Thank you for that love.

I don’t know who I would be without it.

It has shaped and molded me into the person that I am today.

Without it, I would be lost.

Without it, I wouldn’t know how love really felt.

Some people don’t know how to love properly because they were never taught how to.

Thank you for being that teacher for me.

You’ve always taught me that love is patient and kind.

You’ve always taught me that the true beauty of love comes through growth.

It’s consistent and built on the foundations of hard work and trust.

I thank God every day for you showing me that different kind of love.

I wonder how can I thank you for it though?

I don’t think I can even compare to all the time, energy and love you poured into me all my life.

However, I can try every single day for you.

I don’t mind.

In fact, I’m thankful and honored that I can.

I love you so much with all my heart.

I promise to strive and give you that special kind of love.

I promise that it will be an unconditional love.

I promise you a love that is patient and kind.

I promise you an affectionate love that consists of hugs and kisses.

This poem is dedicated to my mama for Mother’s Day Weekend. I love her so much, and I’m thankful and blessed for everything that she has done for me as a mother. She really put in the necessary time, energy and love in me that has helped shape the person that I am today. Mama, I hope you feel loved and cherished today on Mother’s Day. Thank you again for being such an amazing mother to me, and Zaiah Bear loves you berry much!