Author: Phresh

An up-and-coming poet who loves anything literature, anything psychology related, and true hip-hop! Hit me on my new twitter page @fil2phresh . Peace, love, and poetry!
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Politically Incorrect

They call you a hoe.

You’re known as the round-about chick, the community a$$, the easy lay. A movie and dinner is all it takes, sometimes less, at least that’s what some say. So a young man hears the rumors, “I’m next” is what he tells all his boys; how big of a playa he is, the girls he pulls and all that bullshit noise. He doesn’t even know your name, but knows you’re where to go for a good time…so when he approaches, he’s taken back learning you were raped at age 9. His smile wipes and eyes widen as his mouth drops. You haven’t had sex since it happened, but he does nothing to help the rumors stop. Boys always have to save face so he tells his guys the whole night you were on top of him….a week later, his stomach drops learning you’re now in a coffin. You couldn’t take the image they’ve all made, so you reached for the pills. You smile as your eyes become heavy, your heart beats slow as you think of the rumors finally growing still.

You’re the starting QB….

Everyone knows your name. You’re only in highschool, but you already have TMZ type fame. And your letterman jacket allows you to have the most popular of friends. Then one day they ask what you’ve dreaded and tried to avoid: why you don’t have a girlfriend. You play it off, claiming your focused on the football game and class. Little do your boys know, it’s not only girls that check they ass when they pass. You’ve held this secret since you were 12, and growing up gay was rough. You told your dad about it, and he put you in football thinking you’re just not tough enough. Everytime you set behind center, you have a dilemna, and you don’t know what to do anymore. You wish it didn’t have to be a touchdown with your wide receiver for you to score. No one will ever know your secret, so you just continue doing what you do. But while you’re worried about getting caught, you missed the wink the halfback sent to you…

Bully, A**hole, Jerk…

Just a few of the names people say. But they won’t say it to your face, they tremble seeing you walking down the hallway. You’ll steal lunch money, shoes, if they have dreams, you want those too. When people ask why you do it, you smirk “That’s just life, boo.” On your way home, with your bad ass, stealing candy from the store. You come home, and see nail scratches on the door. You open it slow, and see your mother on the floor. One of your…”uncles”…on top of her screaming. You think you’re sleeping or dreaming seeing her blood streaming. He sees you, bolts out of the house without a bye. She grabs sunglasses off the counter to hide her black eye. You begin to cry in her arms, and ask her “Why do you allow this to happen to you?” She shows you the stack of cash, and says, “That’s just life, boo.”

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I Was Just Wondering

I wonder if when we’re on the phone, about to sleep with it on, instead of falling asleep you stay awake as well and quietly thank God for the person on the other end. I mean, just listening to your harmoniously rhythmical breathing is enough to remind me of more things to thank God for.

I wonder if your exes are blind or have mental handicaps. They must, to allow someone like you go. An angel, created by God, crested by the moon in it’s envious attempts to mimic the light you produce, and the sun whimpers into hiding, because the beam of hope you emit burns brighter than any star could ever fathom.

I wonder if after we fight, you also wish the fight never occurred, and that we can be on the phone laughing, and elaborating on our future together. I wonder if thje day after a fight, you notice the weather seems depressing with thunder clouds seeming to angrily illuminate their frustrations that you and I aren’t together. I wonder if you realize the weather is brighter when you smile, or maybe just my world is. Could be.

I wonder if you’ve come to realize the people you suffered with, the ones that caused heartbreak, and the ones who are no longer there all left to strengthen you. Once pressure is applied to coal, diamonds are the results, and I wonder if you also realize the hottest flames make for the brightest diamond. I wonder if you believe like I do that the reason all of these things happened was so I can be a strong enough companion for you. That God made us partners before we knew, and everything we’ve gone through, was just so I can get to you. I wonder if you find this to be true.

I wonder if you wonder about me, and are able to simply say my name to smile. I wonder if whenever my ringtone plays, your heart skips a mile. I wonder if you laugh out loud about a joke you remember I said three days ago, and you’ll laugh about it no matter the season. I wonder if your day is also made when you get a text saying “I love you” for no particular reason.

I wonder if you realize when I say I got you, that it means more than you’ll ever know. And those three words along with these three words (I love you) should be things I don’t just say, but I also show. I’m sorry for my flaws, and that the length of the day limits the time we spend. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way when I say I could never just be your friend, for if this love was to end, you’ve cursed me to forever settle for someone worse who will never deserve my time to spend.

I wonder these things because I love to wonder about us. I might be alone…but I might not be.

I wonder.

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Set the Mood

I’m in the mood tonight. I got this hunger for you that needs to be silenced. And if you let me satisfy this hunger, I promise that it will be worth it. So let me…talk to you.

Let me get you open. Let me go deeper and be your mind’s fantasy as I tentatively seduce your conscience to release itself. Tonight I’m craving for some conversation, word penetration, so I want the sensation of what I’m saying to get your mind’s juices flowing like the rhythm of our heart beats. Your words like honey stay so sweet to my ears, and don’t you know the way you let those blessed words flow got me open the way I wanted you to be?

Well tonight you’ll see.

Tonight it’s all about you. I’m going to stroke and tease your mind until your mind’s metaphorical leg shakes and gushes sweet facts, thoughts, and opinions which will all be sucked up… by my ears, until eventually you feel drained.

See, most guys don’t understand that making love and making conversation are almost identical. First off, I’m going to use my words and the bass of my voice to render your mind helpless. Then, I’ll slowly take each layer off…your walls defending your heart and mind are coming down as soon as I whisper, “Talk to your man” into your ear. Then I’ll slowly slide up behind you and as you stand there naked of insecurities, doubts, and worries, and as you indulge in the feeling of my arms around your waist holding you the way you’ve always wanted to be held…I put it in. Understand the difference between love making and what I’m doing is what I put in won’t ever be able to come out, because trust, respect, and a new outlook on what a man should be lasts longer than the hour or two we would have shared otherwise.

I want to know everything that you’ve always wanted to share with someone, but no one deemed worthy of such treasure. Your words, priceless. Our time, endless. The time I have to listen to you talk… limitless, like your level of thought. I want to swim in the juices of your reflections, so every question I ask is a stroke to get you flowing, get you soaking, and not a drop will be wasted on me…guess you could say I’m drinking it all in. And as you lie, thoroughly drained, I’ll remind you that everything that just happened stays between you and I, and no one needs to know. I want you to know that the only time I’d lie to you is if I’m lying next to you, so fall asleep on your king’s chest, and listen as your heart beat matches mine. You were made for me as I was made for you…and that rib under your heart proves that to be true.

I have every night to be your lover. And tonight I’m loving your mind, and until every drop of your conscious cries are accounted for, I’m remaining hungry.

Come over here and give me something to eat Queen.

*Dedicated to my queen, Sherryce*

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My Ambition

My life means more than my cans and can’ts, more than money and fame, more than the names stitched on my shirt or pants, worn by people all the same.

My life means more to me than yours does to you, not to say mine is worth more, but if you loved your existence as I do mine, then why do you allow what happens to you?

Young man, these people will take everything you have. Even your so called brothers will take the last piece of bread out of your hand, then throw you on the ground, laugh at your embarrassment and inequities while eating your last. Your back scarred with thousands of years of Egyptian and Caucasian whips, your mind tainted with delusional illusions of grandeur when a negro male making it past 35 and not in jail is as rare as a white man that gives a damn. Young man, you are not free from slavery. You may not have the chains, picking cotton in the fields but what are the clothes you tirelessly work, grind, and hustle for made of? Young man, your mind is not free. Listen to me! They tell you that you can be anything, then tell you few are chosen, then tell you be all that you can be. Young man, they want you to work for them, that’s why the military are the only ones saying those facetious encouraging affirmations. Don’t lose yourself in the tyranny that is pop culture, because when you die you’re just another body, and even your Mavado watch can’t stop the time of your judgment day. So go…break your scarred back for your fancy things, but know, when God asks what you’ve done in His name, the Armani suit you were buried in won’t mean a damn thing!

Young lady…my heart bleeds for you. You’ve been tossed around like a rag doll for too long. Your father was never there to show you the difference between a man of God and a man of the world, so you’re tricked by his sparkling smile, fancy garments, and a ride as smooth as his slicked hair. His words melodies to your senses chimes while he whispers what seems to be sweet nothings but are daggers disguised as friendlies. You hesitate allowing him access to your beloved temple, and as he enters your sacred place, you realize how wrong this is but it’s too late…every stroke is unbearable, and his panting irrevocably is deafening. His eyes are no longer the soft hazel they were before. Young lady, you’ve been tricked for too long. You stay jumping from male to male desperately seeking approval from them, to replace the male that was never there. He left you…that’s why when your partner has climaxed you cry tears of abandonment, tears of years wasted on men that are similar to the father you never had in that they all leave you…they never loved you. Young lady, you’ve settled for dissatisfaction for too long…you don’t need anyone when you love yourself.

My people are dying in front of my eyes. My life means more to me than yours does to you…and I’m praying to God to find out what I can say or do for this to no longer be true.

I’m praying for you.

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Different

I’m homesick, my bodies a tent. Heavens supposed to be where home is. I guess it’s safe to say God’s people are homeless. And I don’t know what happened to my former world. I can no longer approach a beautiful girl and tell her, “You seem very classy. And if your personality was anything like the way you look, then we should at least be friends.” without her thinking 5000 steps ahead to an imaginary time where I’ll cheat on her, causing nothing but heartbreak. So she sucks her teeth at me, smirks, and walks off, thinking all men are dogs.

And I wanna catch up to her to say, I’m sorry to burst this bubble for you love, but not all men are dogs. While most are scheming of ways on how they can gaze at only the TOP of your head…I’d rather find a way to get you to open the keys to your mind up even though your name is all you said. We’re not all dogs. But if, and only if, we were all dogs, then I’m sorry love, you would unfortunately be considered a female dog…and I’ll leave it at that.

I’m tired of this constant battle between us men at my age trying to prove we’re not all the same while most women at the same age dressing like they crave AIDS continue calling each other bitches, sluts, or hoes like it’s a synonym for their real names. Us good men have minds that stay wondering of ways to improve your days on this world that is slowly passing away so what’s left to say other than…

We are not all the same. But don’t get me wrong, some men are monogamously challenged, and your attempts to domesticate a wild dog is as pointless as telling two deaf kids to play Marco Polo. So this poem might go to deaf ears, but hopefully the one’s able to hear will take heed to Morpheus’ line to free your mind, and stop wasting time to bitch and whine and understand us real men are out here on our grind, so who are you to say we are all the same?

This isn’t the world I was meant to be in.

So I’m homesick, my bodies a tent, Heavens supposed to be where home is. I guess it’s safe to say God’s people and us good men are homeless.