Without Child

You say I don't need a dick to define me,
but do I need a child?
If women are liberated enough to get along fine without a man,
then why does she still have to have a son
to believe her life has meaning?
I must be dreaming to think I'm saying this in the open
But I'm tired of bottling up this emotion
I'm tired of hearing my best friends, my relatives
and my boyfriends
Ask me why I don't wanna have kids
Like I'm tupperware without a lid,
a catcher without a mitt
a river without a bridge
Like I'm not whole, incomplete, without a baby.
Well, maybe I never considered bearing a child to be
an obligation
Maybe I figured 300 million people already in the
nation was enough.
Or that my life is already pretty tough
Or I'm just afraid of screwing a kid up
And it's hard enough, trying to grow up.
Don't get me wrong, I respect u mothers
But the jobs u undertake, I don't envy:
Gets up at 5 a.m., and then she
Makes breakfast, gets her kids dressed and ready
Goes off to her paying job, maybe classes and then
Cooks dinner, if she's lucky gets to bed by 10
Then gets up the next morning, does it all again
I do respect u mothers, but I can't pretend
That's the kind of life I want to lead, no way.
Maybe it just takes a certain type of DNA,
and I'm genetically deficient
On the maternal test, you had to score an "A"
and I'm not proficient
But if you're listening, I think that's OK.
Maybe someday, they say, I'll change my mind
And if I do, that's fine
But until then, don't grind me for wanting to just be me
I'm not childless, like they say --
I'm child-free.
Cause I'm sorry, but that lady with 16 18 19 kids on TLC?
That couldn't be me.

Cuz U Triflin

What do u mean, what am I doing here so early?
This is my house, right?
Man, what a night. Work was tough
And I don't want to get into a fight right now
So that's enough.
I see the lights are off and some candles lit.
Well, don't try to seduce me, cuz I can't handle it
I just wanna sit and chill.
Ooh, it looks like u had a spill
The couch is wet right here
But I don't see a glass.
Hey, whose bare ass is peeking from behind the stove?
Oh. Hell. No.
Don't tell me that's the skank from the show
The one you said you barely even know
But were chatting up real low
Come here, skank. You're some kind of triflin ho
Meeting up with my man at our place on the down low
Huh uh, you both got to go.
But before you do, let me explain to u
How your lives are gonna be.
See, with me, he had it good.
A devoted girlfriend who paid the bills and would
Always clean up after his mess
And when he was in distress, I was right by his side.
But this ho, who was trying to hide
I looked outside, and she don't have a ride
And sneaking around all hours, she can't have a 9-to-5
Cause she's triflin
Looks like you'll be the one driving
Does paying all the bills sound frightening?
See, she's like lightning
Comes fast and hot, but never in the same place twice
And once she's gone, you'll be feeling cold as ice.
Hope that's nice.
At least I finally know where you got... lice
Cause ur triflin
And you'll never keep this triflin ho around
She'll be cheating on u soon as u leave town
All this lying, and making you wait
You'll end up crying while u masturbate.
Hope that feels great.
And I'll spread ur name around so much, you'll never get
another date
Cause ur triflin.
So pack a bag and leave, I'm not gonna pout
I'm just gonna go play with B.O.B. a while,
so u can let urself out.

We Got Us (part 5 in a SaYes2Poetry series)

Why do u pretend to take me seriously
When in reality u think I'm inferior
See sometimes I act all delirious
When I'm around u
But that doesn't mean I'm the lesser, none the wiser;
Just cause I'm the smoke doesn't mean I won't take u higher,
And where there's smoke, there's fire
And I could be that spark
So why do u leave me alone in the dark?
Cause in reality u think I'm uptight
Well, sometimes ur shit's not right
And I have to bring it to light
I know u think I'm a nag, or annoying
Well, sometimes ur just boring
But I stay.

And why do I stay?
Day after day after day?
Cause we got us.
And I'm always right, and you may be wrong,
But though the road is bumpy and long
And sometimes we don't want to hang on
We'll keep chugging along
Like a train refusing to jump the track
I'll hold onto you like a heart attack.
Your love is like the plaque clogging my arteries
Without warning, you're slowly killing me
But if I diet and exercise, I can live with you.
No, live for you, live in you
Like you in me, maybe.
So whether we yell, fight or cuss,
I try not to make much of a fuss
Cuz I know we got us.

Reporter

Can't believe what I heard today.
Someone spray-painted "KKK" on the walls
of an elementary school
(and another word I refuse to repeat)
and the racist perpetrator is still on the streets.
No, it isn't 1967; it's 40 years later.
And our continuous tolerance of bigots and haters
has brought us no further in time than before.
Look around; is this what the future has in store?
Or do you yearn for much, much more?
I know I do, so I'm being proactive
Telling everyone exactly what happened
It's all part of my job, professionally
But also personally, I never want to see this again
in my community.
And this is my dilemma, you see:
How can I be impartial and tell the story accurately
When all I see is far short of our promised equality?
It bothers me sometimes.
I want to shout out, "No more! We're done with your
hate, your lies, your ignorant diatribes,
So get out of our lives!" But I can only write
The facts; I can't editorialize.
That prize is allowed to those paid more and smarter than I.

I B That Poet (1st revision)

I, finally, be that poet.
I be that stubborn, couldn't-pick-a-name poet
who finally decided on her nomenclature
She got through plenty of poetry slams by her first name
But picking her pseudonym was not in her nature
It took her a while to figure it out
And she thought about it for too many days
But suddenly, it's clear
The ways she amz higher with her words,
amz deeper with her message
but never amz below the belt
That's it! Amz. That poet be me.
I'm Amz, and I be that poet.
No longer A-M-I-E, but A-M-Z
Amz for the moon, and I just might land among the stars
Amz at the bulls-eye, and I'll keep on target
Amz to bring the message to the people, and the people to
the message
I be that poet, and Amz be me.

An Ode to the Rich, Famous and Spoiled

I'll admit I don't know much about Brittney, Paris, and
their ilk
But what I do know leaves a taste in my mouth
like spoiled milk
I pick it up, looks sweet and healthy,
so innocent and pure
But take a drink, and now its foul taste
will make you sick for sure
I'll sometimes catch their antics
when I'm watching TV late
Those supposed "hotties" are the types
the boys don't wanna date
Brittney's pregnant once again
by her backup dancer
Whose other baby mammas
swear he's quite the smooth romancer
Now she's doing drugs and partying
Lost custody of her boys
Now her sons don't have any parents
Though they've got plenty of toys
You remember Lindsay Lohan?
The girl who starred in "Parent Trap?"
Now her candy's of the nose kind
No more music sheet, just rap
Paris Hilton could have stayed at home
Or even hired a driver
But instead she got her ass in jail
(Now she's a "survivor.")
Oh, the list goes on and on and on
Their crimes wouldn't matter much
Except these so-called "bad girls" are idolized
By our children and such
They dress and talk and emulate
The bad girls' dumbass ways
And we wonder why society
Has been thrust in such decay
But it's not the rich girls' fault, you see
They're human, just like you
They bathe in Evian, eat caviar
And there's diamonds in their poo.
So when you see a saddened child
Whose favorite star has fell
Console them by saying,
"Now you won't have to deal with the smell."

Materialistic

In our living room, 2007:
Two rats in an aquarium
A beta fish in a different aquarium,
a television set next to a rack of videos and DVDs
my UNI Bachelor of Arts degree
$210 on a coffee table that's really an end table
three blankets from Mexico, 2 from our parents' houses
popcorn on the carpet
photos of family and friends on shelves on the wall
a stack of magazines I've yet to read
a library book I've yet to return
Cubs hats, candles and kleenex
incense, check stubs and an unfinished puzzle of Mt. Rushmore
a square of knitted red yarn, linked to yards of rolled-up
red yarn awaiting to be knitted
a mural of a house by a lake in the mountains we could
never hope to afford
the linen closet door cracked open
my coin collection in a jar
two scarves advertising soccer teams
containers filled with item to be recycled
and a wind chime.
Though, the wind hasn't blown through here for many,
many years. It will again someday.

Slam 3

I have often wondered if the errors of my youth
Transformed the possibilities of who I've become
Or if the fallacies of my past merely allowed me to
succumb to my present failures easier.
These excuses make me more reclusive
Now I'm clueless as to what the bluest skies reveal
Just like his blue eyes conceal a smile borne of bemusement
I pursue fulfillment without amusement
Hoping it will all eventually come to fruition
But he knows it takes more than ammunition to
get a weapon to fire.
I say "I'm tired." Pretend the consequences are dire.
But he understands into the oblivion of my memories is
the place I want to retire.
And those blue eyes smile and allow me
To retreat into the depths of this existential philosophy
God love that man because he loves me enough
To let go when I ask instead of pretend to be tough.

Nod Your Head

Nod your head if you're a poet.
A sea of faces looks back at me
And yes, I'm talking about you, and to you
I'm up here telling you a story
But I'm just boring, at least to me,
It'd be much more interesting if I knew what you see.
And no, you can't tell me mentally,
I don't have telepathy and can't read your mind.
Instead, I urge you to find a little bravery inside,
be it liquid courage, peer pressure or just a desire to share your rhymes.
I've got a little time, I'll wait.

What's that, you say? You came in too late?
Or maybe you brought a date, and you're embarrassed.
But all we care is, you brought something to say.
Well, today's your lucky day
Cuz as long as you have respect for everyone in here,
including yourself, you be that poet.

What's that? You're living your life going through the motions?
Just transform that into emotion
Put pen to paper and tell us what you think
Let the audience be your shrink
We promise not to judge. (Unless there's prize money on the line.)
But even then, you'll still be fine.
Hell, it doesn't even have to rhyme
As long as your soul resonates
It'll sound great to me.

So say this one time, if you please:
"I be that poet, That poet be me."
That wasn't too scary, see?
Even you can recite poetry.

So get your ass up here and spit in this mic,
I'll sit, drink and listen the rest of the night.

Plant

That unobtrusive, overlooked little seed
Tossed into a pot of soil, never expected to become
Anything that would resemble a grown-up
Its forefathers sprouted, but never bore fruit
Never grew much farther than two or three leaves
But grow up it did, this forgotten one
And now it's so tall it's become frighteningly reminiscent
Of a plant not allowed to grow.
But I can't stop it now.
Maybe it's the promise of a harvest,
Maybe it's the adrenaline rush of the forbidden
But I think it's because this living thing
Through my haphazard, yet tender care
Has grown from a tiny seed into something to behold
And cutting it down would cut me down as well.
Like a secret dream in the far reaches of our minds
That has been allowed to take root in reality
So, too, must we always allow it to grow ever taller
Despite all who may want to take it away.