The Soul Pitt Writer’s Block

THE END

my cum’s in competition with streams of tears
splashing against my face.

you can’t love me.

my wetness, pure heavenly scent
drips down the artificial thick stem, that replaced you.
my body heaves from the tug
of the invisible string, pulling at my g-spot.
my heart thrashes, uncontrollably.

i can’t stop crying,
i can’t stop, crying.
you can’t love me.

---

sounds of violence

the sound of violence surrounding and stifling.
dawn brings tolls of death to my black brothers, lovers, friends.
grief to our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, wives, husbands.
clouds of violence hover stationary above our neighborhoods.winds of violence roars through the minds, and out the frustrated and angry mouths of our youth.

our youth who are armed in violence:
AK-47s
SEMIS
45s
SAWED-OFFS
9MMS
UZIS

i lay to rest each night and pray, in fear for my black brothers, lovers, friends.
the violence is played out each day by the media for all to see.
violence has arrived taking no prisoners nor survivors.
it has no heart, no fear.

i am afraid for my black brothers, lovers, friends.

---

GIFT RECEIPTwhile i fought hard to
wipe your remembrance from my mind,
and cease breathing your scent.
you,
so easily,
dismissed,
denied,
rejected
all thought of me.
you,
filled with guilt-free, used the gift receipt
from our intimacy as a
down payment on
a new lover.

---

UNFINISHED BUSINESSok, i get it
you want to fuck me.
have sex with me,
do the freaky freaky, till the cops come a knockin’.
you want to latch onto these nipples like a newborn fresh out the womb.
you want to suck this pussy till it’s dry, like you crawled out from the hot Sahara sun.
your show stopper would be to stick your thick, long, manhood in my warmth and thrust it
this way, oops, that way, ooo, whichever way to get your nutt.
yah, i get it.
you want me.you say you want to cling to me as tight as these jeans.
you want to jump on these hips
and rock side to side.
yah, i get it. you want to fuck me.

you want to give me something i ain’t never got from no man.
you want to rock my world.
you want to make me weeeeeak, at the knees.
you want to make me feel you, even when you ain’t inside me.
yah, i get it, but tell me brotha, do you?do you want me to be the sunshine that makes you smile?
or does your smile only measure how many times my body made you cum?
do you want me to be your anchor when all else fails?
do you want me to be your best friend?
or the one who gives you the mostest?
yah, i get it.
sad, though, you don’t.

i’m deserving of a man, not a quickie,
i love intimacy.
then again, you wouldn’t get it.

i’m worthy of a man who’ll be there long after the cum subsides.
a friend, a man, a lover, a protector, a provider, an encourager.
i’m worthy of an all-inclusive love.
and, i’m sure,
you’re not getting this.
 

---

HIS WIND IN MEshe plays tag-along behind a trail of warm wind
tickling the tips of tall grass
jiggling side to side in laughter.
the wind skims over the grass, playing with the edges of a young woman’s dress
lifting it in a teasing motion, drawing the attention of a man sitting on the bench, in anticipation, waiting to catch sight of her youthful thighs, as she rests in the laughing grass.the wind quickens its attempt to outrun her as it weaves in, out, and through a path of fuzzy willows, throwing kisses soft as felt into the wind. kisses attaching themselves to unsuspecting concert goers walking in a trance towards harmonious jazzy notes being pulled from the heart of a saxophone,  inviting them to rest amongst the bed of gentle grass.his poetry is the wind in me; carrying the naughty summer breeze lifting my skirt, as i lay on a Malian blanket, floating on the shifting green grass, and the streaming music in the background reminds me of the coolness of the clear creek waters flowing behind the houses in our neighborhood.the summer dress is blue and my fingers turn the pages of his tan poetry book and he walks up to me a stranger, and i smile.

---

GOING OUT OF MY HEADsnow falls
silent to earth.
not cold enough to stick,
its rare beauty goes unnoticed.
as you pass near, i smile.
like the warm snow,
unseen.

*Eintou In tribute to Luther Vandross’s rendition of “Going Out of My Head.”