Touchdown.
The team in the dark-colored jerseys
bump into each other gleefully, in that masculine, angry way
as the ball is picked up by the guys in black and white
and the team in the light-colored jerseys
glumly unstraps their helmets and slinks off to the side.
They've lost this round. But they'll come back.
I watch the dark-colored jerseys load up the football on the
little football-holder thingy, ready to kickoff,
and out of the corner of my eye I see
you, in the dark-colored shirt, load up a bowl in the
little colorful holder thingy, ready to light.
The kick comes, and the light-colored jerseys get the ball,
hustling down the field, until they get taken down,
and then they line up, facing their opponents, hut hut, hike!
And you pass the piece to me, in my light-colored shirt,
and I breathe in, and release
and the ball is intercepted by the dark-colored jerseys
as I pass to the dark-colored shirt next to me,
and you breathe in, too,
and then the dark-colored jerseys feel the power,
and they go for
the Hail Mary
And the ball goes up, and we go up, so high above it all,
up and up, and we think for a second maybe we'll all be
in the sky forever
and we'll never, ever
touch down.
1/17/10
Radicals (VIP boot camp exercise)
The first woman who ever said an unkind word to a man
was a radical.
The first woman to take the job of a man
was a radical.
The first woman to wear pants instead of a skirt or a dress
was a radical.
The first woman who thought she could be the best
was a radical.
The first woman who wrote, the ones who wanted to vote
The ones who, without remorse, sowed their wild oats
were radicals.
The first to not take a sabbatical
The first to dialog bilateral
The first to be named infallible
The first to go into sports, to serve on the courts
"Radical" is no longer a retort
It is a mission of progressive persistence
Those interested in the status quo need not apply
Only those insistent on not only toeing the line
But crossing over
Being radical is like playing "Red Rover"
And knowing if you, and you alone, can't break through the chain
Then you become a part of it.
Radicals didn't invent the dream
But they were the ones who started it.
was a radical.
The first woman to take the job of a man
was a radical.
The first woman to wear pants instead of a skirt or a dress
was a radical.
The first woman who thought she could be the best
was a radical.
The first woman who wrote, the ones who wanted to vote
The ones who, without remorse, sowed their wild oats
were radicals.
The first to not take a sabbatical
The first to dialog bilateral
The first to be named infallible
The first to go into sports, to serve on the courts
"Radical" is no longer a retort
It is a mission of progressive persistence
Those interested in the status quo need not apply
Only those insistent on not only toeing the line
But crossing over
Being radical is like playing "Red Rover"
And knowing if you, and you alone, can't break through the chain
Then you become a part of it.
Radicals didn't invent the dream
But they were the ones who started it.
Emotional crime (VIP boot camp exercise)
It was late, I was tired, and we both were perspired
So I felt inspired to take what conspired
And re-imagine it as a higher emotion
I said, "I love you." Wondering if I'm a liar
Or a petty thief hired to take hearts, break hearts
Fake something that started out on fire and slow-burned on desire
And suddenly catapult it without warning
Fake love is only fake in the morning.
So I felt inspired to take what conspired
And re-imagine it as a higher emotion
I said, "I love you." Wondering if I'm a liar
Or a petty thief hired to take hearts, break hearts
Fake something that started out on fire and slow-burned on desire
And suddenly catapult it without warning
Fake love is only fake in the morning.
News from a different point of view (VIP boot camp exercise)
They didn't name her, and that's how I knew.
Her brand-new 2-door was pale blue
Just like the car in the picture
Only this one was crumpled, flipped over in the ditch
Well, ain't that a bitch,
The news always waits to name the deceased
Until all the family members have been reached
But nobody's called me.
So I gotta read
About a girl, just like you, crashing her car, just your blue
Who she is no one knew.
But I know cause I called you
Went to voicemail
Wanted answers to no avail
And the newspaper only gave me just enough
To have me thinking this day was about to get tough.
Her brand-new 2-door was pale blue
Just like the car in the picture
Only this one was crumpled, flipped over in the ditch
Well, ain't that a bitch,
The news always waits to name the deceased
Until all the family members have been reached
But nobody's called me.
So I gotta read
About a girl, just like you, crashing her car, just your blue
Who she is no one knew.
But I know cause I called you
Went to voicemail
Wanted answers to no avail
And the newspaper only gave me just enough
To have me thinking this day was about to get tough.
Sounds Erotic! (VIP boot camp exercise)
Soft. He brushes up against me.
He wants it, I can tell.
His green eyes lock my brown ones, pleading.
If I don't answer him right away he continues to rub,
slowly circling me, softer, slower.
Finally, I feel myself beginning to cave,
finding him less of a bothersome nuisance
and more of a loving, caring nuisance,
and I start to want it too.
I bend over, and he comes near,
and my fingers lock in his hairy back
and I pet the cat just the way he likes it.
He wants it, I can tell.
His green eyes lock my brown ones, pleading.
If I don't answer him right away he continues to rub,
slowly circling me, softer, slower.
Finally, I feel myself beginning to cave,
finding him less of a bothersome nuisance
and more of a loving, caring nuisance,
and I start to want it too.
I bend over, and he comes near,
and my fingers lock in his hairy back
and I pet the cat just the way he likes it.
12/1/09
AIDS (2nd revision) (Written for UNI's World AIDS Day event)
Six thousand people died yesterday
Six thousand people died today
I dreamed I tattooed their names
on my body; I committed their life stories
to memory; I learned all their favorite songs
and made a playlist and played it back for you.
I dreamed that I dove into a salty pool
of the tears their relatives had shed
and 6,000 pairs of eyeballs stared back at me
as if to say,
"What can the living do for the dead?"
What can I do
as 6,000 people die today
and 6,000 more will die tomorrow of AIDS?
Six thousand? I cannot even fathom that number.
I don't even have 6,000 Facebook friends.
Six thousand people did not go to my high school
and I do not have, nor will I ever have,
$6,000 in my bank account.
So what the hell is 6,000?
Six thousand is a mother who can
no longer breastfeed her child.
Six thousand is a father who quit his job
because he grows weaker and weaker.
Six thousand is a child who watches
her mother and father slowly die
and realizes she is next.
I am not a scientist
and I can't research a cure
I am not a doctor
and I can't provide treatment
I am not a philanthropist
and I cannot donate millions of dollars
to help fund treatment
But I have a voice.
And I can either use that voice
and remind people that 6,000 people
die every day of AIDS in this world,
or I can stay silent
as I try to fall asleep
because this epidemic is like taking a sedative
Millions are dying, have died, repetitive
We are the critics, the blowhards, the cynics
Ignoring the carnage until we're the victims
We wait, count backwards 100 to 1
Till the drug takes effect, then sleep will come
Dreams aren't for everyone, not if you're poor
Or black, or gay, or your country's at war
The nations of Africa fighting for life
Just like our neighbors next door
While we lie awake at night
Bribing sleep for one hour more
That's what intentions are for
Never you mind all the killing and dying
Never you mind all the orphaned kids crying
Never you mind the people you meet
Growing thinner and older and weaker each week
Just sweep it under the rug and pretend
It's not really happening, it will all end
We can't know the cost and we can't comprehend
So we take a pill, no time to spend
For once in our lives we should take a stand
For once, be humble and lend a hand
Don't say, "I can't; it's too much to do."
What if the crisis mattered to you?
Six thousand people died today
I dreamed I tattooed their names
on my body; I committed their life stories
to memory; I learned all their favorite songs
and made a playlist and played it back for you.
I dreamed that I dove into a salty pool
of the tears their relatives had shed
and 6,000 pairs of eyeballs stared back at me
as if to say,
"What can the living do for the dead?"
What can I do
as 6,000 people die today
and 6,000 more will die tomorrow of AIDS?
Six thousand? I cannot even fathom that number.
I don't even have 6,000 Facebook friends.
Six thousand people did not go to my high school
and I do not have, nor will I ever have,
$6,000 in my bank account.
So what the hell is 6,000?
Six thousand is a mother who can
no longer breastfeed her child.
Six thousand is a father who quit his job
because he grows weaker and weaker.
Six thousand is a child who watches
her mother and father slowly die
and realizes she is next.
I am not a scientist
and I can't research a cure
I am not a doctor
and I can't provide treatment
I am not a philanthropist
and I cannot donate millions of dollars
to help fund treatment
But I have a voice.
And I can either use that voice
and remind people that 6,000 people
die every day of AIDS in this world,
or I can stay silent
as I try to fall asleep
because this epidemic is like taking a sedative
Millions are dying, have died, repetitive
We are the critics, the blowhards, the cynics
Ignoring the carnage until we're the victims
We wait, count backwards 100 to 1
Till the drug takes effect, then sleep will come
Dreams aren't for everyone, not if you're poor
Or black, or gay, or your country's at war
The nations of Africa fighting for life
Just like our neighbors next door
While we lie awake at night
Bribing sleep for one hour more
That's what intentions are for
Never you mind all the killing and dying
Never you mind all the orphaned kids crying
Never you mind the people you meet
Growing thinner and older and weaker each week
Just sweep it under the rug and pretend
It's not really happening, it will all end
We can't know the cost and we can't comprehend
So we take a pill, no time to spend
For once in our lives we should take a stand
For once, be humble and lend a hand
Don't say, "I can't; it's too much to do."
What if the crisis mattered to you?
11/19/09
Woman Seeking Baby Daddy: A Craigslist Ad
Well, I've never used this service before,
but for something as sensitive and personal as this,
I knew there was only one thing to do:
put this on Craigslist.
Woman seeking baby daddy.
But not just any baby daddy, oh no.
This baby daddy has to ride slow
in his mama's dark green Toyota Corolla
and see me walking on the street and roll up
and honk his horn two times until I turn around annoyed
and then he'll hand-crank the window down
and say, "Wuz up, beautiful? You're so beautiful. Come here, girl."
This baby daddy must hit me with as many creepy compliments
as he does uncomfortable personal questions.
For example: "Girl, your skin is so smooth, and your eyes are
so dark and soulful. ... Are you Mexican?"
Must be freaky.
Suggest, about halfway through dinner, and by dinner I mean
after I bought us two beers at AJ's
That we should get my sexy ass back to your mama's house,
cuz she's at work right now,
and when I hesitate, you protest, "What? I didn't mean it like that!"
I would prefer it
if you at least tell me something like
"Ooh, let's not use a condom. I'll pull out before, don't worry."
But it's OK
if you just feed me some line, like you're allergic,
or you've had a vasectomy when you really haven't,
and I'll even settle for you pretending to put on a condom
and never actually having any condoms at all.
I'm looking for a baby daddy
who has it all:
he lets me take a shower at his place and use his old, damp towel;
he drives me to Burger Kind on Tuesdays and Thursdays before his shift;
he occasionally waves to me when I see him at the mall with someone
he will later tell me was his cousin.
I want you
to slowly let it filter into your conversations
that you have other children, possibly as old as 12 years old,
but it would be better if you don't tell me at all,
and I wake up at your mama's house one day
to some crazy woman yelling at you with a baby in one hand
and a knife in the other
and you're telling her to shush so she doesn't wake your mother
Ooh, baby daddy, you'd be the greatest
if you leave the room immediately when I tell you I'm the latest
and you never come back.
So baby daddy, if you're out there,
please respond ASAP.
but for something as sensitive and personal as this,
I knew there was only one thing to do:
put this on Craigslist.
Woman seeking baby daddy.
But not just any baby daddy, oh no.
This baby daddy has to ride slow
in his mama's dark green Toyota Corolla
and see me walking on the street and roll up
and honk his horn two times until I turn around annoyed
and then he'll hand-crank the window down
and say, "Wuz up, beautiful? You're so beautiful. Come here, girl."
This baby daddy must hit me with as many creepy compliments
as he does uncomfortable personal questions.
For example: "Girl, your skin is so smooth, and your eyes are
so dark and soulful. ... Are you Mexican?"
Must be freaky.
Suggest, about halfway through dinner, and by dinner I mean
after I bought us two beers at AJ's
That we should get my sexy ass back to your mama's house,
cuz she's at work right now,
and when I hesitate, you protest, "What? I didn't mean it like that!"
I would prefer it
if you at least tell me something like
"Ooh, let's not use a condom. I'll pull out before, don't worry."
But it's OK
if you just feed me some line, like you're allergic,
or you've had a vasectomy when you really haven't,
and I'll even settle for you pretending to put on a condom
and never actually having any condoms at all.
I'm looking for a baby daddy
who has it all:
he lets me take a shower at his place and use his old, damp towel;
he drives me to Burger Kind on Tuesdays and Thursdays before his shift;
he occasionally waves to me when I see him at the mall with someone
he will later tell me was his cousin.
I want you
to slowly let it filter into your conversations
that you have other children, possibly as old as 12 years old,
but it would be better if you don't tell me at all,
and I wake up at your mama's house one day
to some crazy woman yelling at you with a baby in one hand
and a knife in the other
and you're telling her to shush so she doesn't wake your mother
Ooh, baby daddy, you'd be the greatest
if you leave the room immediately when I tell you I'm the latest
and you never come back.
So baby daddy, if you're out there,
please respond ASAP.
11/8/09
Voices
My voice
is like a sponge
soaking up the spilled milk
to stop you from crying.
My voice
is a detective
asking probing questions
to prevent you from lying.
My voice
is a shield
deflecting others' bullets
to stop you from dying
and I'm trying all the while to collect these voices
My voice
is a Trojan horse
wrapped up in this harmless package
you wouldn't think inside held a warrior
My voice
is a Trojan condom
letting myself relax and have fun
but still putting up a barrier
My voice
is a live virus
infecting you so deeply that you'll be the carrier
and I'm warier all the while of these voices
My voice
is the day you were born
learning with each new step
that you are incredibly capable
My voice
is the day you died
relinquishing family secrets
and putting everything on the table
My voice
is life itself
messy, unpredictable
often crude and mentally unstable
and I'm able all the while to collect these voices
I hear her voice, and his voice
and my voice grows stronger
I hear their voice, and your voice
and my speech gets longer
and that he-said, she-said
becomes the you-said, we-said
and I said someone should collect these voices
even if they're actually all in my head....
is like a sponge
soaking up the spilled milk
to stop you from crying.
My voice
is a detective
asking probing questions
to prevent you from lying.
My voice
is a shield
deflecting others' bullets
to stop you from dying
and I'm trying all the while to collect these voices
My voice
is a Trojan horse
wrapped up in this harmless package
you wouldn't think inside held a warrior
My voice
is a Trojan condom
letting myself relax and have fun
but still putting up a barrier
My voice
is a live virus
infecting you so deeply that you'll be the carrier
and I'm warier all the while of these voices
My voice
is the day you were born
learning with each new step
that you are incredibly capable
My voice
is the day you died
relinquishing family secrets
and putting everything on the table
My voice
is life itself
messy, unpredictable
often crude and mentally unstable
and I'm able all the while to collect these voices
I hear her voice, and his voice
and my voice grows stronger
I hear their voice, and your voice
and my speech gets longer
and that he-said, she-said
becomes the you-said, we-said
and I said someone should collect these voices
even if they're actually all in my head....
10/24/09
I B That Poet (3rd revision) (Written for The Original Man CD release party)
I B That
undeniable voice
that gets stuck in your head
I B That
girl who gets boisterous
forgetting she's shy instead
I B That
poet intoxicated
forgetting the words
I B That
white girl assimilated
becoming a nerd
I B That
student of phonics
discovering new vocabulary
I B That
prostitute to turns of phrase
who's ready to pop ur cherry
I B That
solicitor of soliloquies
living in Ophelia's reign
I B That
type-A positive blood pumping
so the haters can die in vain
I B That
uncontrollable need
to speak only in metaphor
I B That
black-eyed survivor
after ignorance slammed a door
I B That
irrepressible spirit
in no need of salvation
I B That
flared nose, gritted teeth
clenched fists, fire-eyed determination
I B That
insatiable desire deep in
the marrow of your bones
I B That
only goddamned rational thing
that you have ever known
I B That
flutter in your stomach,
that spring in your step
I B That
sinking feeling
that this is all u have left
I B That
light-bulb idea
brightening up your morning
I B That
200-miles-per-hour wind
without an emergency warning
I B That
multiple personality
who only shows face on the mic
I B That
5-year-old on the monkey bars
who never learned to play nice
I B That
rulebreaking miscreant
never doing what she should
I B That Poet
... and the rest is understood.
undeniable voice
that gets stuck in your head
I B That
girl who gets boisterous
forgetting she's shy instead
I B That
poet intoxicated
forgetting the words
I B That
white girl assimilated
becoming a nerd
I B That
student of phonics
discovering new vocabulary
I B That
prostitute to turns of phrase
who's ready to pop ur cherry
I B That
solicitor of soliloquies
living in Ophelia's reign
I B That
type-A positive blood pumping
so the haters can die in vain
I B That
uncontrollable need
to speak only in metaphor
I B That
black-eyed survivor
after ignorance slammed a door
I B That
irrepressible spirit
in no need of salvation
I B That
flared nose, gritted teeth
clenched fists, fire-eyed determination
I B That
insatiable desire deep in
the marrow of your bones
I B That
only goddamned rational thing
that you have ever known
I B That
flutter in your stomach,
that spring in your step
I B That
sinking feeling
that this is all u have left
I B That
light-bulb idea
brightening up your morning
I B That
200-miles-per-hour wind
without an emergency warning
I B That
multiple personality
who only shows face on the mic
I B That
5-year-old on the monkey bars
who never learned to play nice
I B That
rulebreaking miscreant
never doing what she should
I B That Poet
... and the rest is understood.
8/2/09
Take It Back (Written for the North End Arts & Music Fest)
So now I guess I'm supposed to be
scared of the little kids
that run around my block
that have always run around my block
and occasionally yell curse words they think will make them sound
powerful and masculine and tough
because they might have a gun
and they might know how to point it
and they might know how to shoot it
and their bullets haven't hit me yet
but I hear pops in the night and in the daytime
and I can delude myself into thinking they're fireworks this time
but really, I know
that someone else has gotten ahold of a weapon
and decided to point
and I listen to the pops and know someone has snapped
the crackle of gunfire in our neighborhoods where we sleep is our fear
and even though we're supposed to be scared of that
and lock our doors and windows up tight in broad daylight
and never venture outside
and never talk to those kids or look them in the eye
that's ridiculous.
I shouldn't think that a 9-year-old looks suspicious
or a 12-year-old's intent is malicious
any more than I should hide
from a five-year-old on her training wheel bike
I'm only in my 20s, but I'm an elder to them
and I won't walk on the other side of the road
and I won't shy away from calling our your disrespect
Cause I expect kids to run wild
But I don't expect gunshots from a child.
So I'm saying this hot, cause I won't be mild:
Take back Waterloo
Take back the block
Before another victim is shot
Take back these streets
Take back our homes
So violence is not all our children will know
Take back the city
Take back the 'hood
Cause deep down all these people are good
Throw the guns away
Get your life on track
If you love your city, then take it back
Tell your kids what's up
Don't cut em no slack
If you love your city then take it back
We're all compensating for what we lack
If u love ur city, then TAKE IT BACK.
scared of the little kids
that run around my block
that have always run around my block
and occasionally yell curse words they think will make them sound
powerful and masculine and tough
because they might have a gun
and they might know how to point it
and they might know how to shoot it
and their bullets haven't hit me yet
but I hear pops in the night and in the daytime
and I can delude myself into thinking they're fireworks this time
but really, I know
that someone else has gotten ahold of a weapon
and decided to point
and I listen to the pops and know someone has snapped
the crackle of gunfire in our neighborhoods where we sleep is our fear
and even though we're supposed to be scared of that
and lock our doors and windows up tight in broad daylight
and never venture outside
and never talk to those kids or look them in the eye
that's ridiculous.
I shouldn't think that a 9-year-old looks suspicious
or a 12-year-old's intent is malicious
any more than I should hide
from a five-year-old on her training wheel bike
I'm only in my 20s, but I'm an elder to them
and I won't walk on the other side of the road
and I won't shy away from calling our your disrespect
Cause I expect kids to run wild
But I don't expect gunshots from a child.
So I'm saying this hot, cause I won't be mild:
Take back Waterloo
Take back the block
Before another victim is shot
Take back these streets
Take back our homes
So violence is not all our children will know
Take back the city
Take back the 'hood
Cause deep down all these people are good
Throw the guns away
Get your life on track
If you love your city, then take it back
Tell your kids what's up
Don't cut em no slack
If you love your city then take it back
We're all compensating for what we lack
If u love ur city, then TAKE IT BACK.
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