Remnants of the Left Behinds

***actually an old piece from 2012 that I wrote after the passing of Don Cornelius...its original version is on this blog somewhere around that time frame....I made a couple of small changes to it, and this is what I'm working on memorizing now. I stumbled upon it while looking for some poems to learn and this one stood out so ...coming soon.  For now, please have a read : )   ***

Remnants of the Left Behinds.



Where you were when the pills were swallowed

Or who you laughed with at the same moment the body dropped


Or do you just keep it moving

Grooving to your own tunes that you stay engulfed in …exiting only for a brief breathe of fresh air and to see what all is stirring in the life pot…..


See out here

In the real world

We live to die

Dying to live because it the easy thing to do

Wishing we could take back the take backs and start over on right tracks but too lost to get back to where we once were, so we become suicidal thoughts acted out without the theater…

Conflicting resolutions in search of the truth

Waning optimism because no one seems to be there, ever

Everyone is somewhere else when the first set of pills goes down

We don’t always wanna pay somebody to be around, so let the left behinds get some counseling for their grief instead…


Someone will be laughing when the gun blast sound reverberates across brown temples

Rich men falling limp on beds

Poor girls, legs spread, tired of giving her vagina to the world but doesn’t know any other way to be loved, so she does what she does best


Only this time it ain’t semen


We are the needy….people shun at us and call us demons…..

Banish us to Hell’s kitchen for sample of the cookies

Often laughed at, looked for inside of caskets and cried over after facts

Take that take that,

We sound like  Diddy as we raise the first foot to jump off the ledge

No longer caring about the left behinds, we move forward into darkening lights

Knowing our good fight is about to end by our own accord,

Honda feet pushing the peddles to the floor, we can’t sit idle anymore and wait for the suicidal hotline to be free

Busy signals on everyone MUST mean no one cares about me

 So we flee crime scenes and into death pits

Don’t try to catch us once we fall


Late registration only applies for college

We ain’t teachers or classes

We classed out citizens

Children who are on the ass out side of buddy system

Bullies stealing our innocence and purchasing lunch with our smile-tickets

So we hide in closets until swinging bodies make scratching sounds on walls

Mama finds us heartbroken and stiff

Ain’t too many strong people on this side

We deviate from the program long enough to close the book

Fuck chapters

We done writing

Done writhing

Done trying and crying in steam rooms where no one can feel our pain

 So when this bullet hits thy temple, know it was not an act done in vain

Rather it was a sane performance of wanting to get back at people

Of needing to be placed in the steeple a final time, no chance for anyone to unwind and take back their personal neglect….

DON’T TOUCH THIS ROPE AROUND MY NECK unless you are cutting me down…


People laugh at us


We the suicidal

A long white bus with devil horns, no longer caring whether up or down is our final destination

All we know is this place of desensitization is not full of enough green pastures to tame us therefore we MUST be beasts….

Done trying to convince ourselves that we belong here

Our lives were formed from the blooper reel that one time our parents had neglectful sex


Whats next but to buried….

You thought we were joking when we said the pain is unbearable…

Oh that’s right….

 Black people don’t commit suicide, they just seek attention…


That’s what we hear

So where were you

When the gun blast went off……

Eating at the dinner table????

Putting your children to sleep….praying over their christened bodies that they would dream of candy rain and wonderland wishes, while dishes crash cause sliced wrists can’t hold the towel anymore……


Where were you

when broken bodies touched floors in search of peace

Self eviction from life

This is what WE call going under the knife!!!

We live to die

And we are dying to live because dying is the easiest thing we learned to do


Where were you

When the pills went down esophagus’ that would have rather been pushing lonely water thru to our bellies


Too many thoughts of rigor mortis in dark rooms that are tinted with painted sunshine make us think this is the best choice we will ever make….

Nothing is bright enough anymore…

.life was a complete mistake…

We crash into death like a collision course runway walk

Call us road kill models

We are conduits

Who will you believe

What you wish were true

or your lying eyes



The next time you hear

Black people don’t commit suicide

Just ask the dead body what time it fell and see wont you fail to reap a response

We were reaper keepers


Making hardcore decisions that can’t be undone

The unthinkable is right in front of your house

Reaching out by word of mouth but saying so little in front of faces

Watch for the signs


We are dying at young ages by the dozens

Meeting familiar faces and kissing older cousins who have driven the same route

Stop trying to figure us out and help us get in!!!!!

Unless you prefer when our spirits beg the answer to the question of where have YOU been??/


What were YOU doing when the bullet blacked out the future?

Where were you off to when the pills coagulated into a poison inside stomach muscles

We swallow milk to keep from vomiting ourselves back to life

Back to inhale, exhale, [heartbeat un retired]

We got instructions so it won’t backfire

Knife slices wrist

Hand wraps noose

Fingers clench triggers

Throat pushes pills

Golden gates can be jumped beyond…





 as the blood cradles our backs

Then it goes white







fade to black ….people don’t commit suicide..


the ride is over.

Where were you.

Before now?


The Purge

"...............I try to gain control by displacing my device….

But its only in the other room….

….i leave the phone in my pocket cause I know its not ringing

Coat pocket that is….

But I want it

I leave the coat on the couch cause I’m chilling in the house

But I need my phone…..

I write a poem,
warm up by standing on the vent,
smoke a blunt,
walk the dogs
call a couple of my friends

When it all ends-

-I want to call him

Text him

Ask him how long will this foolish dance of lets not love each other continue

But I should I woman up

Allow the over to be done

Give up  the ghost and the future, the possibility

If it was meant to be, it wouldn’t be so hard

Would it ?

I wanna call him

Talk for a short time, maybe say I just called to say hi,

I wonder if I could just call to say ….hi ?

I wanna text him

Three dots and nothing else just to see if he will react

I would what his reaction would be, but what if there isn’t one, what if this would be a shot in the dark interrupted by an ignore signal...

I wonder if he wondering if I’m wondering what he’s wondering

I wanna call him ................"