1993
I lie in bed at night, adoring the ceiling.
Contemplating life, warring with feelings.
If I wasn’t writing this poem in my head, I swear I’d be screaming;
sounds void of meaning roar within me.
I never imagined it would torment me this way
To see myself in my mirror each and everyday
After disrespecting Love in each and everyway
Maybe this is love or maybe it’s just another escape
from self-hate. See, this all started with one particular date.
Not 1985 like you might think. It was a summer night in 1993. I
spent the whole day playing and riding bikes, just me and my best friend Mike.
His tree house in the back and dunes and ditches in his front yard were so tight!
When the streets lights came on, Mike’s mom said I could spend the night. After a few fights,
she called me away from the video game to the bathroom. She shut the door.
I could see it in her face; Everything was not okay.
As she got down on her knees with grace, her long gray hair hung even
closer to the floor than before. She was trying not to cry as she told me
what my future had in store. There was a police officer at th front door.
I had to leave now, but I couldn’t go home anymore. The tall officer in black
walked me the short block to my home, surrounded by police. I don’t remember much
after that, except an unfamiliar gravel road and a little house surrounded by trees.
I spent that night in someone else’s bedroom comforting my younger siblings
and wanting for my mommy. See, 1993 may not mean anything to you,
but it explains everything to me. If the Game of Life, is all about transactions
and getting yours, it’s actually more like Monopoly; something you never
really know until you’ve been around the board and start landing on property.
And you gotta pay for everything you don’t own. It was the first time
I ever passed Go. I was only 7 years old, but my dreams were full grown.
Mommy was up all night and never up before noon
So we all lived in darkness. Somehow I knew things would change soon
Maybe it was that dream I had with all those people and balloons?
Our family was trying to escape this dark castle with bars on all the rooms.
When we finally escaped out of a tiny high window it was so bright outside
My eyes burned from the light. It was like we had climbed out of darkness and
into a new life. A few weeks later, the swat team raided our home.
I’d like to think I predicted the whole outcome, though no one listened to me.
Now, its 2010 and I’m tired passing Go. I just need to buy some of those hotels
that I know so well from living in them after every eviction, in the days
Before 93— Before mom got back clean and her parental custody.
Before, 1994 when God made us Christian and we started acting like we hated sinning,
Everyday pretending like there was ever an ending to the old lives we were so comfortably living;
two grown kids, acting like parents, and five children. In 2001, the ex-con left my mom
and us girls and his two boys and the house we just closed on.
Mom started dating again trying to move on, my sisters became rebellious teenagers ,
determined to do wrong. In 2003 I went away to school. I had to escape that hell.
I was being raised in a cell. I never been to jail, but I paid many bails and I’m still in debt
to a God who held me and never failed me. The enemy may have derailed me,
but he could never ever sell me like a pimp. You see, cause even way before 1993
this was all meant to be. Still, sometimes I wish I could just be another plain Jane
Chase riches and fame or I could be gay; chase bitches and play games with their hearts
“Baby, I love you. We should never be apart.” That’s some shit
I could never say, yet everyday I steal hearts
but when I try to escape I get stopped by those bars
like grocery stores that won’t let you steal carts. And every time,
I end up right back at start, or maybe “Go” like a long game of monopoly?
I don’t know. But I’m tired of passing Go. I never collected two hundred dollars
And that’s counting two of my fathers. The third one, he provided a roof, some toys
and motivation to go to college, but he’s dismissed. “You tried to touch me and my sis.”
Now you live in every man I kiss. Fuck you! You’s a bitch!
And my mom, she ain’t your typical white chick.
She snaps her neck when she talk and she’ll get in a fight quick
if you talk shit, especially about her babies. I’m telling ya’ll, she’s crazy!
And I wish I could tell you where she got it from but I don’t know her dad or mom
That side of the family has a history of dying young, extreme poverty
and all types of abuse; alcohol, sexual, physical, no wonder my
momma says that I’m a miracle. The curse was supposed to continue.
When I was in her stomach, joints and wet sticks were on her menu.
Supposedly, the addiction stopped when she found out she was holding me.
It couldn’t have stopped forever because I feel it still controlling me.
But either way, you would never notice just by knowing me
I do best everyday to make sure you never know I was raised that way.
But, I didn’t write this poem, like me, and everything since 1993,
This is not about poverty. Or property. Or religiosity.
This is just the manifestation of prophesy.
(July 2010)
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