A Sinner’s Prayer

I remember the torment of quiet, and the prayer that followed..In the darkest of days past…I found my God. He took me, spirit in hand, and gave me my senses, new and babe like…fresh, and strong. Resilient and shy to the worlds sharp edges, but I phased in dizzy spells, sinfully pained, and so my mind wouldn’t let me thank him…wouldn’t let me shout, or cry, or beckon him to forgive. Who deemed me dead to the world but myself? I shook the pavement once. I, myself, dipped and catapulted to an infinite and spacious atmosphere, rich and darling, and pleading to the skies yelling “ Save me! I’m not awake! I’m not alive! Why is everything muted!? The beat box in my heart is dull, and the thump is wretched and hums a low monotone! But Living is loud and I hear creaky drips of unforgiving silence! Save me from silence, God! Grant me a yell, a shriek, a bellow! Anything! But bring me noise! Where is my noise!!!!? This quiet kills…it kills.” And then, all relinquishment of my sanity was fulfilled and I grew hollowed brown and vacant. I literally soured, and twisted an icky maroon on the inside, inside me. It was dead. It was dull, and I told myself that the living don’t dwell HERE anymore…no. Past the crying out, light years away from hope, I took me for granted every second that I could and I knew this punishment thrice! I knew this smudge across my cheek, this bite mark upon my neck, what digs and mutilates, and claims as an outcast of my fleshy parts. Disgraceful and wet, and alone again. I just sat on the ashes I’d burned for myself to keep warm enough to mock the chill of dawn. And I waited…rocking…back and forth and back and forth…holding my legs woefully, dear to me, like the innocent memory of a child hopeful, but abandoned and aborted by a bad mother’s choice.  My weeps seeping through the cotton of cloth, expanding my pupils as they watched the salty tears roll then disappear…Insanity touched my fingers….it knew me now. And I was lifted in a whirlwind of my potential successes, hovering above the world looking at all of what had become of my being. I needed A sweet. A kind. A gentle. A laugh. A gracious holy cleansing piece of somethin’! Because this is not gonna work, woman! This chanting rage and pitiful pounding in my skull is continuously infuriated, and tearing my goodness to shreds and I can’t remember why I let it! When I stopped fighting for my own right to dream free! To let my soul release its’ calling, powerful and just, like the phoenix reborn, wriggling and extending my arms out with enthusiastic expression, the simple joys of portraying exclamation marks carelessly on my phrase, powerful adjectives and me exercising my right to live and let living heal me chaotically! There used to be a spark, a light, blinding…an infinite in my chest, behind my smile and it was so good to me before life and ignorance took hold of my wings and yanked, scratching years away from my system, from my innocent, painting a fresh coat of troubles onto my surface.  It was my fault, see….I put myself at risk. I plunged headfirst , portraying a want to be wanted, a need to be sought after. And here on my thighs, marks burned into symbols, recollections of a woman scorched by her own heat! Bring the noise, lord! Bring the calamity, and tantalizing smoky haze from fighting desires, bring the lust in all its’ teasing tantrums, scrubbing off the stink of shame from a fly by night affair three hours before morning! Bring the blush back to my skin and the shivers I get, rippling fast when I sense male eyes, luscious and hungry, speaking vibrations to my garden, fragrant and newly warm! Let me make like freedom and thrive by choice again, and I promise a fresh renewal every morn, a vibrant soliloquy, audacious and flawlessly original to portray my thanks to you that has shown me favor! Leave me not to hear without hearing and feel without feeling real! Put the taste of mortality back on my tongue where it belongs . Bring back my rebellious self…a flower for a righteous cause.

Writer's Block

I knew it sweetly, sweetly. I felt a jolt, when words became my enemy. I rejoiced in a poet's fashion, dancing madly into the hazy smoke sprouting from my palm. That day, oh such an ugly twilight it was when the stubborn whispers belonging to my ears exploded with envy and invaded my conscious with a hatred for syllables. I weeped at the bitterness that blinked to and fro bringing about an early Christmas with wet, salty presents hidden beneath my baby hairs, falling just for me and plummeting in a motion that cornered me against the fake stone. That was the second my body was trapped upside down, and my soul beaten against the clock traditionally tugged counterclockwise between the hands of time...lost in my own damned head. Ironically, I could all but wriggle underneath the weight of my own ingeniousness. That day was full of passion and longing for the sensual erotic rush of an old fashioned mind fuck, a stimulation, anything to break the iron gates trapping my crown! But I could not grasp the request until I inhaled the shadows of a passing sunset, and regurgitated a heavenly sigh filled with hopes of a better sunrise. Ay me, I drank in the rays of gold and silver and held it within my throat like the first gulp of water from a thousand years of drought. The texture was so pure, I wouldn't dare give it passage to my stomach until ever element was sucked dry, and dust was only left to gather against the plumped satisfaction within the pores of my tongue. And when I began to speak, all of the happiness and joy that I had grown adoration for burst through my lungs, claimed my pen, and whispered sweet nothings against the chalky cold of my paper. I was alive and well...I was freed, and flying high with my beloved wings of essential letters and splurging over cosmic bounties of conjunctions, marveling at the nearly forgotten beauty brought upon by my first love. I was back, and all I simply cared to do for the rest of my forgotten days...was write. 

Temptation

My vibe shivers and aches by the pound for something alive. Temptation. Oh, it calls so swiftly and with diligence that even I, one who is concealed in stone must find myself on my knees before it, praying to it with a selfish lust in my chest. Midnight is the hour of such a labor, for this was the hour that opened my eyes to amorous red! This was the hour I emerged from the cobble! I could hear the whispers of temptation through the deepest cores of my senses, and it raged through me like a wildfire to the thickest Amazon, searching for my voice, for an answer, for a taste of oblivion through and through! It raced through me as soft as breath and took to me well with faith's promise stitched to its back and I could but reach my hand from the cracks, striving to plummet from the dark, to fuse myself with the tempt, to feel anything beyond solid ground! And with my poor strength beneath all, I merely laid one finger upon it and swooned in pure satisfaction. Ay, me, I need it but once more. Temptation.

Quiet! They can hear you…

On a sigh, I whispered hollow, empty and frail. Deeply weathered from the usual morning toxins. Starbucks to ignite me, bring me to life, fueling just enough to trail dreadfully to work though, sarcastically, death I’d much rather toy with. A penny for bones just doesn’t suit me anymore. How am I still here?  These days…I hardly feel the breeze anymore. My God…how am I still standing, after what has worn, chiseled centuries from my soulheart? After the years of withstanding the secret meetings in front of my face from the hush hush ladies at the office, after the nonsensical gestures, snotty “How do you do’s”, and judgment! Yes! I am spawned from the very dirt, unclean and unworthy and on the witness stand to testify my own sins before unworthy eyes who know me well enough to tell my story with their eyes wide shut! And my life, my soul, is taken for granted by they who appreciate nothing and think nothing, yet praise all things transparent; blindly investing in stereotypes, lies, deception, and everything that promises a grudge against me! Myself! I! And all for the sake of maintaining the false appearance of ‘keepin’ it real!?  Absurdity… followers of followers walk the earth plenty…empty hides, empty orbs behind Covergirl painted lashes, and Quiet, girl! Don’t you know they can hear you breathing, which is a felony offense for your kind, remember? You who love all things lush and magical and floating free, invisible hugs to your inner self from God, and mounds of vanilla bean ice cream you eat when you know they’re watchin’ you with eagle eyes, smackin’ lips and porcelain faces that you’d like to crack in two right down the damn middle just because it’s Wednesday, and watch that bitch pick up pieces of her broken smile, like we do when the silly syllables, blackened with envy graze across our desks! These pods know nothing. Nothing of what defines the beauty of monogamy, of true love, of spiritual definition, or bittersweet epiphanies, realizations and priceless moments, like when a child becomes a woman worth a hell of a lot more than the five pounds gained after the holidays! They dare to guess what invokes my lovely, what moves me when shaken by the world’s wrath. Since I am known so well, so well you know me? Tell me what quickens you when you hold my love to your ear? Whose name my body bellows beneath the dark of twilight?  What does my mind wonder when I shiver over my cold sheets, and take in a faraway breath of warmth, of ache, of need inspired by a distinctive whiff of cologne that never smudged, yet had the potential to be a damn good excuse to reminisce on my weekends off, but I denied him passage because the scent was male, and this man had a rep, a vicious rep, for turning good women like us sour, hangin’ us out to dry like dirty laundry spread abound, and forgive me for not wanting to test fortune and become the enemy of my enemy the wrong way. Who said it was “OK” to measure me, precious me, by mortal standards, condemn me swiftly, dismiss my goodness, and nail me to the cross like the saint that half of you ungrateful wenches don’t even remember!? But Hush now!...hush…be quiet! They can hear you…don’t you know they can hear you?

Push.Woman.Push

Push pause…push play….This world is not mine. This life is no life at all…push pause…push play….There were flowers, and garland and beautiful stems of gold and silver the glimmers of color needed to add the sparkles that had gone dull from the lack of true cinema, true drama spawned, no birthed from the righteous, from the evil and everything in between…push pause…push play, and start my storyline off right…remarkably gifted my little actress will represent me oh so well. She’ll twirl and shimmy and flash that wide gaped smile, winking flirtatiously at men she’d never take considerably for one night, one night that she’d never had because this little lady is a woman of choice, bound by her god’s law, and stationed flat footed and showered clean and fresh like spring’s lavender, autumn’s best, and the classic sunshine of May and April at its’ brightest, pure and dignified, sweet and penetrationless. Not like the gallowed wretched carcass fest that tramples over the pavement, flashing Apple Bottom Jeans price tags attached and bonded to their skin because they themselves can’t even remember their own worth so they play on the notion with plastic and cloth to fill the void…but not this girl…not this Jazzy woman, no…She is sexless and still sexy…powerful yet meek, overly developed and how brilliant this angel shines internally iridescent and beautiful and unafraid and shimmering like the sapphire globes of the Mediterranean secret, or the lovely waves as they glisten, owned by Emerald City, a place longed to go to, yearned  to be from, to embrace and to speak of knowing such land, because this gal wants the world underneath her fingertips fused into her colored skin, skin luscious brown, ultra cocoa, buttery like heavens cookie crumbs over double fudge delight,  taking prisoner to none, yet making servants of all that dare to hold themselves against her silk like stare, like a reverse Medusa, screw turning him to stone, instead make a man outta that heap of rocks and gravel! Her power succeeds her own frame of mind! And all it took was a second thought, a blank space, a word, a syllable, even…a push. Just a little push for her to become underestimated, because this girl, this woman, this lullaby on a limb that she hangs from as her weapon of choice is all she’s got in the end, when girls of different strings become one painstakingly crafted quilt, when color meets brush and words are her sanctuary, she formulates a legacy for all to Push together, Unity was screamed hollow echoes interweaving rebellion, and so she became an outcast to de-Evolution and colored women faking negro appearances, while diminishing what was once real, what we felt ever so sweetly as women of color…we used to THUMP to the beat of a sound, and now all that is left is She, keeping the dreams of our people alive, and she lives today for our tomorrows when we, all in our brown and milk chocolate painted skins, cannot see past our dreaded Mondays.  She becomes our eyes when we are brow beaten, and charmed by eye candies, coated poison red, like forbidden fruit. She becomes our voices,  when we are dry and parched, when the sweet liquor turns bitter black like tea, and we shake the lie that our pains can’t be cured with an easy lay, heavy heaving and animalistic, starin’ at us with those eyes! Seeing us while we see nothin’ but black, don’t matter , less’ we decide that feeling was worth the waste of emotion, we push then, but we be damned if we really mean it…Cold, yet we aimed to burn a gospel through the air, a melodic song of steel, shatterproof, for us women that dream of becoming ourselves again, free and lovely, and beautiful, and unconquered, and enjoy days when our inner temptress rouses to play for playing coy, and invites the weary, and tickles pleasantly as they ache, oh! These creatures, warm blooded and boiling high at the edge of her fingertips as the silhouette morphs into she, back to herself again, …into this woman who weeps by day…pushing a hunger for silky sin by night. 

Welcome Everyone!

Hey Everybody! My name is Erin, or for those of you that know me, I'm EG. I figured it was time to start my own blog about poetry, seeing as how it is now, as it has always been a huge part of my life. Poetry is divine, and like all things, it comes from within. I though there should be no reason why I should just let it sit in my notebook, and by all means if you feel the same way, please, I invite you to share along. Now there are two rules in this: No plagiarism. All of my poems are copy-written anyhow, but to save yourself the trouble of being prosecuted in federal court, you might want to think twice before posting this randomly on facebook, or (God Forbide!) Myspace, k? :) Rule #2: Please respect the works of others! This is extremely important. Whether a poem be in "See Spot Run" Format, it is still someone's personal work of art, and should be respected and judged not. Oh, and I really don't mind a few curse words here and there, as long as it's "expressive" if you know what I mean ;.).Other than that, everything is free floating and open here! Besides, I really don't want to put a huge wall up here that says everyone be respectful to others, yada yada yada! We're all adults, and frankly, we know how to act, and that would just look stupid, so I'll spare ya! But anyway, I'll be posting my blogs periodically and when I receive more of an audience things will really start to become interesting. So, drop me a line sometime!