ELI

wrote this back at basic...   Now I can act like a man, Like I don't care, But we both know; Since I left you behind, You'll probably go.  I understand , You can't stay alone - forever - you gotta grow, Take root,  Branch out, Start a life with someone new.  There's nothing I could really say except "what you want me to do?"  16 hours from home, That's 16 hours from you.     And that hurts deep as hell. A broken heart, incurable even if you used glue, So these words that I pen - I hope that'll due.   Good girl,     Turn your eyes from me, they're overwhelming, the work of artists' hands...      

Father, I'm praying for a friend, He and I are really close, And out of all my friends - for this one I'm  concerned the most. He said he reading daily, but he lost the urge to learn it. He goes to church weekly, but isn't moved by any sermon.  His body weak, ain't prayed in some weeks, he wake up to say to prayer but just goes back to sleep.  Lord, you gotta help him man, I'm crying for him , praying for him. He ain't sinned but it seems like he's letting temptation creep in on him.  Can't even hit the mall, so many girls walking round there, half naked bodies tempting him to lust & fall there.  He barely watching TV, it make feel like he ain't nothing; cause rappers be flexing, showing cars and straight stunting.  The other day he told me he feel like less than a man, cause he ain't have a 5 year plan, or big acres of land. And man, it's really crazy cause his family really love him, but he's strugglin; A...

He ain't no musician .  He doesn't make melodies through strings & keys.  Yet he composes, haunting memories to words.  Not having to rhyme every line.  But it makes sense.  He ain't no seamster .  Yet he cuts and he traces,  Words plain as day and printed phrases on these pages.  Then he sews and he weaves it with ease of heart.  Into a piece of poetry you have to finish once you start.  He ain't no writer .  He's just a cup of pens.  Stressed out, getting in between the  lines on his blank canvas.  evocative memories released with every stroke.  Runny ink mixed with kaleidoscopic imagery.  He ain't no storyteller .  He ain't never told a story in his life.  Yet, from his mind I've read the most amazing stories.  One; Of the summer and its lover sun.  Reciprocating  shy glances, whispering I love yous,  While kissing behin...

I just have to ask: "what were you thinking the day I was conceived?" Did you at all think, of all the things that I would need? Did you wonder, if only a little, if you were good enough for sure? If you had the courage to stay, & the strength to endure? How did it feel exactly, when you walked out that door? Left me and mommy all alone. You left a child that was yours. All of my memories are of mom, Going to work every day. Some nights she stayed late, for the bills she had to pay. She never let me see her struggle, A strong woman she was, Sometimes fed herself last just so I would not starve. I would lie in my bed at night and wonder, how it felt to know my dad. And how you lived with yourself after leaving me; were you ecstatic, were you sad? You probably wonder if I have the strength to forgive, to answer that -  I already have. So many milestones have come & gone. Your time was more than needed. I remember sometimes you'd be in tow...