locked inside a spotted mind

And then something happens that jogs your memory ever so slightly.

And then ever so slightly you begin to remember.

And then you remember.

They were purple.

They were scattered and red and purple at the outskirts.

They started to dissipate to yellow and at the edge they were almost green.

You could count them.

They formed constellations on my skin.

They gathered on groups on either side of the nape and wrapped forward.

There were ten groups in a familiar pattern.

A pattern most recognizable at the bottom of sandboxes and painted on mother’s day presents.

Except these were bigger.

These had more force within them.

Too strong for the naiveté imprinted in sand.

To strong to be of anything other than rage.

They were painful.

They constricted passages.

They disallowed breath.

They strangled.

They strangled and I collapsed.

I collapsed in rage.

I collapsed wearing blue.

I was blue.

I was rage in blue.

It jogs your memory when you see the same marks on someone else’s neck.

backwards

Just thinking I
this is my thinking eye
this is my eye to the sky
this is I
me
thinking my way to the stars
better yet to mars
better yet even far,
further away from here
like the tears
I’ve spent years
Distancing myself from
like now they’re stuck
like they don’t fall
like rough
like a desert
we cant crumble
we are of pieces
like crumble
like cakes
like apple crumble on cakes
like weddings
like cakes
like we’re forever stuck on top of cakes,
like we’re the obedient sugar statues stuck on top of cakes
like stuck
like my mind is stuck
with the rest of the world
with the unimaginative
with the stagnant
with the tangible
like stuck behind bars
I’m scarred
from the inhibition
I’ve been conditioned with
conditioned to believe
I’m less of me
like inhibitions really mean what we think they mean
like they’re really real
like reality
like really how could he
like how could he
cause me to believe
I am but a substandard version of me
of the woman my mother made me to be
like ingrained in me
ingrained like grains of sand
impassioned with time
and hardened
like glass
like crass
like the hardening was inevitable
because she
like we
like we’ll continue to be
are
the backbone of
our
nation
despite what they’ve made us to be
she carried me
like on her back
like in her womb
like working harder than every man I’ve met
like any man
like she
like we
like power
like strength
like perseverance are we
like women we are
like we are women

circles
I have wanted nothing but you
I have wanted you for years.
Since before your smile grew up.
Then i decided i wanted to hide in your heart.
Even when I had you I wanted you.
Even then, It was always like you were just out of reach.
Just as now, you are just out of reach.
I am relentlessly hopeful
Delusioned with the thought of you in front of me
I am hopeful that you know me
I am hopeful you know you can make me happy.
I think you underestimate the courage of your love
I think you underestimate your ability to make me smile
Or do I overestimate?
Is it an overestimation if my heart only understands your eyes?
Am I mistaken that my love can only find its smile while reflecting pieces of yours?
I have wanted nothing but you.
A whole you.
I have wholly wanted nothing but you,
As a whole
Wanted you to be whole enough to give of yourself wholly
Wanted for you to love me relentlessly
Wanted you to show me
Wanted you to know that these tears matter
Wanted to know what matters to you
I have wanted you closer
I have always wanted you closer.
I wish you were closer.
I have wanted nothing but for you to know that I always want you closer
I know this feeling
I have been here before
unbalanced, unpredictable
I have never liked it
You are my balance.

Blank Canvas

Dear Winter:

I for one, am not mad at you.

Your chilly breeze engulfs my spine

and trickles down my back.

A quick change of direction and

you are frolicking through my hair.

My eyelashes rest on your spirit

as it dances around these cold streets.

I cannot take my eyes off of you.

Your teardrops freeze as they fall,

feather like,

swirling in the air with

no identifiable direction or pattern.

They only desire movement

until they've reached the ground.

You carry with you

dropping temperatures

and something about you

makes people want to sing.

I've been singing for weeks.

Or perhaps its that

i've been singing

because winter is a season of cleanse.

Leaves fall.

Their absence bears clear silhouettes

of tempted trees ready to start anew.

Their absence brings clarity to their purpose.

And the clarity serves as a reminder

of the possibilities to come with a blank canvas.

Conveniently, the new year comes amidst you.

making space for those new possibilities.

so thanks.

by this time next year

i hope that i will have built a belief in myself again.

hopefully by then, that belief will push my fear aside

and i'll begin to paint my own canvas.

Until then, you've come to soon.

Yours Truly,

An admirer

if i ruled the world...

Ode to the Asymmetric Penis

strophe:

What are you looking at?

What? What is over there?

Were you planning on landing a plane over there?

Why are you incapable of looking at me?

antistrophe:

That vein popping out of your forehead looks upset.

You look like the prepubescent version of you

Stand up & watch where you are going

Do the job you were made for

epode:

Damn. Pause.

That shit really is Slanted.

(booing)

Free Weezy

We're just a day away now ladies and gents from the release date of our beloved Weezy F Baby and the accompanying new album. SMilE big for re-entry into society.

The best part of his latest letter: the lady

"Now I must dedicated something to the woman in the picture…

…sitting on this bed with my back against one of the four walls I’ve been confined to, all I can think of is you. Staring at you staring at me, from the picture of you that I see. I try so hard to make the picture smile. You look so serious. Seriously beautiful. You, me, we are one. Then I look further to the right and there’s a picture of “the bed by the water”… where I dream to be with the woman in the picture that still won’t smile. I sometimes talk to the picture, but it never responds. Although, I’ve been told that a picture speaks a thousands words, I only wish that this picture would speak of four… “I love you too.” That would be the perfect response to what I frequently say to it. You see, the picture of “the bed by the water” has sand in it, and the woman in the other picture has sand in her hair… put them together, and she’s there. And when I dream, I’m there with her. Shhh… quietly these four walls become that place in the picture. And the woman in the picture begins to whisper… “I love you too”… she responds!

And now she smiles. Imagination is perfect.

Dedicated to the woman in the picture.

Gone!"

FULL LETTER

http://weezythanxyou.com/2010/11/02/letter-10-the-end-of-a-long-journey/