My Poetry Book

If My Journey Could Speak 
E-book available for purchase on
Paperback will be available soon

Future lover, 
Perfection is a mirage that dwells on foreign abstract planes 
And yet, we will encounter a likeness that mirrors something akin to Eden
Devotion, passion, confidence
Gustav Klimt would have painted our excellence
Aphrodite will hold our union in high esteem

Future lover, 
Acquaint yourself with my intentions
Recognize my patience for your eventual emergence
Learn of my virtue

Future lover, 
I am waiting for you
Vulnerability is not a blemish of character
A deformity or adversary of strength
So many reject it as if it were
Have we subjected ourselves to disdain the exhibition of self?
Defile what is soft as a means to express a misguided masochism
Masks discarded
Pretense deconstructed
No longer is the home within our bodies vacant
Such is the revelation
Show this world fully who you are

Goodbye Lover
He called me stardust
What a beautiful name for an eroding burning sun
I wondered if I was truly a vision to behold before I became completely undone

The Unsaved
Such beauty within the wise. 
A revealed twisted soul
     we’ve now come to despise
Significant banter of the indignant saints. 
A cheap canvas 
Without the delicious paints
A cluster of the hopeless
    the young
        the lost
The “Saved” whisper
    “The crucifix has promised the world to you without the personal cost”
Empty words from the priests and the saints
The beauty emits from their utopia that their lips paint
We follow
And we see their masterpiece
Only to be fooled
By they song that they preach
They take and they lie and they cheat
But it is sometimes us they will point fingers and beseech
There is no wrongness of loving and believing
But to say one thing
And do another
That’s only deceiving
You’re supposed to be saved
And you say we are too
But the only way it’s promised
Is if we pay something to you
To the church,
    But your pockets
What message do you intend to mean
Because the so called saved that you mention…
    You don’t look like one to me

Life is so terribly exquisite
So wretchedly beautiful
Horribly enchanting
Let me live it
Let me feel every part of it


Raw and peaceful
The silence and aloneness was meant to be meaningful
We kill everything that is beautiful
And each other
Paper Bag
Paper bag light skin privilege
Put onto a pedestal
If they resemble the European image
Treated better, while the rest are forgotten
Darker skin,
That beauty and that melanin’s still poppin 
Like a sweet fruit that the Earth bears, 
It’s a God given blessing
So don’t you despair
Put down the relaxers, 
The skin bleaching-
It’s not right!
Don’t let them make you hate
What you are
Instead, put up a fight
We are all here to stay
Voices united, 
All beautiful in limitless shades
The racism, fetishizing, and colorism is uninvited

I am the sum of all the strong women that came before me

I made a promise to myself
I declared my thoughts and ideals beautiful I told my dreams, “There is a place for you” I told myself to believe in them
Consuming oranges
The discarded peels resting upon an exposed lap
The juices dripping from full hands
Down a copper toned exposed stomach
Between thighs and onto the floor
An aroma that reminds me of childhood summers sitting in orange trees in the heart of Florida
Resting upon those shaded branches
Eating our fill of oranges and tangerines and mangos on days too hot to comprehend
A tune that plays gently
Laughter of two carefree adolescent girls not yet aware of the evils of this world
A feast of citrus
Drenched in sweetness
My stomach full
Words of devotion drift sweetly from your lips
A gentle symphony promising of trust with no conductor to guide you
Too easily
Do you give yourself to this world
Extensive is your heart
Yet, you’re nothing but a flightless bird
A creature of the land
Earthbound with a dream of the Heavens
What is morality to the average man?
When collateral of others is the norm for those selfish in their quest of self gain
What is self?
What is truth?
When perspective is a notion relative to an autumn morning mist
Unseeing, faithfulness has lost its appeal to most
Will it lead to your ruin?
Has its church abandoned you yet?
Who are you?
To be so sincere…
Your worship, your allegiance, your dedication
Pages of its bible rest in your calloused hands
A meal that fills you
Sweet creature,
You’re a dying breed