Two Pieces

Christian girl

You can't begin to understand me Christian girl,

Because of your closed-in crystallized dwelling box,

Painting you a picture of perfection.

You dream of Cherubim angel-choired cathedrals,

White robes, golden books,

Only things that purest thoughts allow.

Yet the irony lives somewhere between these lines,

And outside the confines of your memory,

That's where I took up residence,

Among the residues of truths and purged untruths and doubled half-truths

Of the tongue and of the pen

Only then can you understand me-only then.

I offer comfort of admitting my previous (your present) standing,

But you still stand here reprimanding me

Because of the things I see as necessary.

I didn't go to truth Christian girl,

Truth came to me.

The blessings of the almighty Creator

Have made Anaya Jahzara a few moons later

The aspiring womb-man with ceaseless ambition,

As long as her strength can suffice,

Catholic girl, isn't she not your sister in Christ?

Intrusion

When it is that I can't get you out of mind, you're out of sight, out of grasp, and I'm out of luck, but such are we that dip and sway to life's rhythm making wavelengths across unknown distances because I remain oblivious to where you live, work, or spend most of your time. But I keep in mind every detail I can capture in our minimal message exchanges or how we relate to each other, but somehow I know no other like this illuminated, ablaze, inextinguishable brother who ironically quenches my thirst for life-giving words, or speech that causes enemies' corpses to turn in their earthen housing , this dialectic dousing and mental arousing that leaves me in my position of standing ovations from explicit orations that simply spiritually satisfies me with..joy.