I look around in the maze of your rivers,

I walk in for the fresh waters.

I get lost in the streams in

the rocky floors that hurt my feet.

I walk out from the discomfort 

of my foot’s bleeding vein. 

But I pause for a second

as the sun shines its rays,

seeing white flower petals

that you placed,

floating in the water.

I blink unfocused

I smile with widening eyes,

and I walk back in 

to enjoy the glimmering light.

I’m floating on my back  

in the warm river

with a smile, 

then in the shower

of the evaporating waterfall. 

Soon it dries up.

The flowers shrivel down.

I start to shiver and beg

for the warm rain to come.

But it never comes and

I’m left with pale skin 

and chattering teeth.

The post Dry River appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

Dedicated to Aiden, 

Eternity will never be enough 

to make up for the time I haven’t spent with you

   In Fanfiction 

   Hanahaki

   is the beautiful death

 by unrequited love.

  Flowers growing in the airways.

     The air squeezed from my lungs

        as my heart lays heavy on the bed,

 With that rainy musky late night scent,

 and pain from your mark

    as I’m pinned with my hands locked 

                              to yours.

     And the morning,

     so sickeningly sweet.

              Coddled to your chest and neck,

                a fresh sea breeze 

              yet the heat

      of the night before lingers.

        The heat of your 

      skin to mine reassures me

 that you give me 

 air – clear my lungs

 of those pining petals.

My hanahaki is your absence.

Hugging the grey shirt you never said I could keep

     on a bed meant for one, not 

                 one half.

Fighting with aftergloom 

so I may hold onto the embers 

that were once a blazing inferno

    that replaced my breath 

        with yours.

My hanahaki is once finding

                 Eden.

The entire garden brushed 

  with bronze, gold, and crimson 

     stardust. 

You pressed a flower to my lips and left me

With only the taste of you

to reminisce.

The post Hanahaki appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

much like my poetry, i swear am queer 
by accident, backed into its corner

by boys with playground mentalities,
but this isn’t a poem about them.

my chest swells when chosen family
from philadelphia looks around

brewer’s art basement, crowds into little
red room at club charles and thanks

me for bringing them there. in los angeles,
someone tells me the beauty of baltimore

is that someone’s corner bar is some bar
that someone else has never heard of,

and vice versa. i was still straight
when i lived on john street, barely bi

when i moved north to remington.
i was pin-straight the night the hippo

closed, but i was there—because
who among us didn’t start a staunch ally,

an impassioned plea on behalf of communities
i’ll later wish i’d been part of sooner? now

genderless, i find myself proud, but still
learning how we all weave together,

perennially early to the party but late
to the game. how comforting to find

in time: the first rule of queerness is to dissolve
all rules, to be bell hooks’ self that is at odds,

inventing, thriving, living. i don’t want
a life without that anymore—and that means

i am okay that there are people who do not
know my corner bar for for all of the ways

its pours and people have shaped the self
with which i sleep so soundly.

The post pride as a corner bar appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

Black folks so afraid to admit that they afraid

Oxymoron;

Contradiction

We don’t pay attention

I’m afraid that if I get passionate

Will they put a price tag on my ass?

My frustration put a hole in the glass

Two dents in my wall

If these walls could talk

They’d start singing lullabies for the nights I lost sleep

PTSD from the day they called backup just for me

I had scars on my neck

I had a slash down my back

I looked like Dred Scott in court under attack

If my passion gets ahead of me

Will they start beheading me?

I was 17 still thinking bout my legacy

Word to Stevie Wonder I don’t know what’s ahead of me

Black folks swear to God they ain’t afraid

Contradiction;

Oxymoron

The first time I seen a gun drawn

Was sitting in the passenger seat

Couldn’t wrap my mind around where the hell I could be

My momma prolly hate me

She met my pops through poetry

Now look at me—

Every time I write is when you start to notice me

I used to live with her back when I was songwriting

Now I’m breaking down the stanzas talking ’bout Joe Biden

I had to switch it up

My mind was on the move like vehicular

I didn’t wanna be a rapper

Nah, too particular

My momma prolly hate me cause im doing the same

The only difference is I got the same face, different name

My pops poetry ain’t shifting like the way mine’s will

My rhyme schemes gon’ blow minds like the way mine’s will

I made a name for myself—

If I have too much passion

Will the world use aggression for reaction?

Or put a price tag on my ass?

Capitalize and use my lines for hashtags

I can’t compromise myself

Cause that’s all that I got.

911 ain’t gon save me

We get killed by the cops

Baltimore Beat publishes poems from participants in the group Writers in Baltimore Schools, which offers programming that builds skills in literacy and communication while creating a community of support for young writers.

The post Fear(full) appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

Listen to the music black girl, but don’t cry when it gets too loud 

Let the cacophonic capsules be slipped into your drink

Feel the beat, your people like soul train right?

A mixture, a Molotov cocktail of micro-aggression, just for you! 

It’s okay, black women are so strong be strong black girl, be brave–

Be quieter, your voice is like nails on a chalkboard scratching and scratching– 

Scratch that, we don’t want to see you either

Your complexion perplexes me and I’m waiting for it to make sense. I’m waiting… waiting and waiting-

Wait no, come here, let us see you!  You and-

Your chocolate skin…

It’s gorgeous.

You know what they say the darker the berry the sweeter the–

Juice! Apple is my favorite. What is yours? Strange fruit? 

Strange, you should do something with your hair. 

Are you going out like that? 

Speaking of going out, do you want to hang sometime?

Sorry was that insensitive?

Sensitive, gosh people like you are so sensitive! 

Give us a smile sweetheart, girls like you always have an attitude always so…

Angry? At me? I didn’t pick the song black girl, I just play the music. 

Now why don’t you be good and go back to dancing

Dance for us black girl! 

Dance to the stereo, the stage is set.

The post Let the music guide you, the stereo(types) won’t stop playing! appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

under my feet life sprawls 

underground trees branching

through the living soil

until recently, i didn’t know how 

underappreciated the world was

through every harsh season it’s 

unyielding, giving us shelter

ultraviolet rays springing down

transient it is

The post Untitled appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

Communication is a pillar 

In the foundation 

of all of humanity’s relationships

And our house 

crashed down before it could

 even be a home

I wish

 We were still an us

I wish 

we were still a them

I wish

 we were still a we

For someone  

                                      who loves talking. 

                                                           You’re awfully quiet now.

                                            It is said that silence

                                            is the most perfect expression of  

                                                                    scorn

you

                                                                                    The apple

                                      of my eye

                                                           you

                               The pit

                                     in my stomach

                        You whom said not a word

                                                                                                     and held your tongue

             Something 

    snakes 

                     even refuse to do

So it is in 

you             holding your tongue

That my questions 

are finally answered

The post Answer appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

I’d vow to thee, to sit down and learn as most I can

Even though the learning that I do

Equates to y = mx + b. Why, equals, am I mixing 2 letters plus b to make

A list of consecutive letters

To that I vow to thee, to live a life of longevity

Even though the longevity of my race and gender

Gets shorter and shorter as the days go

on

Every second, I’m the youngest to ever be.

I vow to thee, my people inside the system

to break the automatic oppression

the souls of jazz may suffer from.

like a d-line to o-line,

I’ll get my men out the trenches

I vow thee, my world to make it a better place

Idealistically to make it entire, whole, and perfect

To reform the policies that lead to anguish

To lead the world to ascent

And to that I vow to thee, myself

To never fault, for the sins of the self

Even though the sins of others are

the fault of the self.

The post “Vow to thee, my country” appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

1. a man in relation

to his child or children.

2. (often as a title

or form of address)

a priest.

I did not find god in my father

and I did not find a father

in God. I found, instead,

a picture of a man with teeth

as white as priest’s robes,

as white as perfect clouds.

I called him /Leonard/,

that man, the sperm donor.

What does God say about

men like him? What does

He say about children

who live like me?

Tomorrow I will redefine

Father, and priest, and God.

I will drink the son’s blood

like syrupy medicine;

I will spend Sunday morning

digging knees into the carpet,

and clasp my hands, bow my head,

prepare for death

or salvation, both.

I will hope for /never/

and watch time drain this photo

of color and warmth,

the skin that matches mine

lightening into a bleached

image of God, so

what will God say about

himself?

The post Fa·ther /ˈfäT͟Hər/ appeared first on Baltimore Beat.

(a rewrite of the Nipsey Russell song “What Would I Do If I Could Feel?” from “The Wiz”)

what would i do if could suddenly stop feeling? would 

that make my life less real?

i wouldn’t cry, i wouldn’t smile, i would lay back for a while 

tell me, what would i do if i could not feel?

what would i do if i could reach inside of me and 

not care if i like what i see?

i’d be more than glad to rid myself of all that’s inside here the 

sorrows my heart might bring, i’d no longer have to sing

and tears would never fall from my eyes there’d be 

no wounds to mend

and just think of all the time i could spend if i 

didn’t have to be vulnerable again

oh tell me what, what would i do oh 

tell me what, what would i do

oh tell me what, what would i do if i couldn’t feel

Baltimore Beat is running poems from participants in the group Writers in Baltimore Schools, which offers programming that builds skills in literacy and communication while creating a community of support for young writers.

The post what would i do if i couldn’t feel? appeared first on Baltimore Beat.