Have You Heard My Voice

Has any one heard my voice
I can’t find it
speaking without making  statements
sound only I make
the meaning that means the world to me
fluctuating forms and phrases
muttered under my breath
attempts to express
obvious truths you strain to see
the impression my words leave
a mark of me
interpretations of what through my eyes beam
an echo of what it seems
utterance cadence particular sound
vibration simmering up from my core
from lower chakras rising above the crown
articulating from the depths of the pineal cloud
a screeching chirping floating like dreams
celestial cry inner lonely scream
vocal finger print
distinct reflection of every thing
I saw before I could see
when I say it
it will resonate with the unspoken we
let me know if you see it
if you hear it tell it
all that matters is that it feels genuine to me

My Macho

Macho is a  performance

masculinity one part of my essence

the expression of  a spirit

still figuring out what it means to love himself

in a world taught to hate him

the referee in the battle between the man they think they see

and who they tell him he should be

My macho

is queeny and queer

my sensitivity an asset that keeps me in the crosshairs

my masculinity is the creativity of unbridled love

trapped in this body of politic

a transgressive African vessel

who’s beauty though hyper-sexualized, misinterpreted, and often commodified,

was designed to parent humanity

My macho

He thinks he’s tough

mostly strong for others more than himself

mostly angry and stifled

in this place that values the pursuit of money green wealth over

love and knowledge of self

My macho is a womanist

he knows the temptation of

a posture of manhood maintained by the tears and pain of womyn

and the cultural demands to perform it down the road to easy wealth

My macho

wouldn’t be worth living without the love of womyn

who would be a clueless incomplete shell

without the power of the feminine force

My macho

is a survivor who often wonders why he is still here

mostly strong for others mostly angry and stifled

by a society who reads criminal across his face

We are We are

We are We are We are…..
We are too busy taking selfies, debating about white folks twerking, eating food like products,
and screaming at the game to really use our privilege as Americans
to impact the world.
These things are not inherently wrong but unbalanced and unchecked by political engagement beyond
maybe voting every 4 years for preselected candidates is a deadly cocktail for a zombie life style.
We are We are We Are
the American undead.
What we eat is slowing killing us and
our failure to act politically allows those in power to kill in our name.
We are the fuel that feeds the beast of American imperialism
and global capitalism.
Empty unaccountable bodies consuming cause we can
greedy because so much is at our finger tips
and the rules are made for the rich.
We are the Zombie our subconscious dreams of
when we are awake and frightened watching World War Z.
Enjoy your fb status banter, twitter beefs, bottled water, designer
coffee,big macs,overpriced organic veggies,
manicured lawns, oversized homes, SUVs, dumbed down television, and pop culture blah blah…just remember the father of Funk
told us not too long ago
“America Eats its Young”