Control

How do you think I make me feel?

When I throw myself at you like warm spaghetti clinging?
Only to slide down your wall of disapproval.

You think I don't know that there aren't enough plugs to fill the hole in my heart?
You think I can't feel that your kiss doesn't moisten a child's dry swollen eyes
or lips cracked while trying to get scream for her parent's attention?

Do you think I'm not reminded in every hug
that I can count on one hand every moment I've ever felt truly loved.

I slit my wrists and judge you for not knowing how to sew with no needles.
I jump off ledges knowing that the impact will probably kill us both.
I let you see me smile, laugh and dance like the Goddess invented percussion to the tune of my thighs

Knowing you won't be able to resist me.

I LET you objectify me
I LET you make me question my beliefs
I LET you make me
Over and over and over again
I LET you make me

Hoping that one day you won't rise to the occasion
and maybe, just maybe, I'll feel strong enough to walk away

Sacrifice - Another One from the Archives

(I tear every time I read this one...)

You ARE life...

I barely knew you
Yet I mourn your life
As if my own
were being taken
Instead of yours

I looked into my own eyes
And felt your essence
pulse in my veins

I loved you
As much as i love you
And you always knew the difference

Blessings and Love

This might not be good poetry
But it's honest

Grey - An Oldie but Goodie (I Think...)

When we first met, I thought you were the most beautiful shade of grey I had ever seen.
I mean, you were the perfect proportion of black to white
Of day to night
Of blind to sight
Of wrong to right

And I just wanted to be a single pixelation in your makeup
But little did I know how easily thrown off you would be
Before you threw off me
And made your retreat

See I saw you in color and you saw me as imperfect.
A reflex I had thought to help you grow out of
But despite my best efforts, the fight ended with me hurt
And you moving on

And now your grey is covered in shades of delicate pastels and hues
that turn me green cuz i was supposed to be that person
and you are trying to paint another me
And it hurts in a way that I never expected it to

She isn't supposed to have the same thing as I do
we transcended mere conversation
You were a part of me as I was in you
And none of those parts equaled a third

I needed you to need only me for certain things
I needed others to fall short every damn time
Cuz no one could see you in all that matter

besides me

Salt

© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre

paper

like that torn
too close to the fire piece that no one notices

I crinkle and curl up
turning light brown and smooth around my edges

bright embers
lava bright in the pinched darkness
dying to ethereal grayish smokes

to the sky

reaching to the sky...


at the bottom
the silt's silt

smooth
through my fingers

over my tongue
tasting the ocean's essence brine
back of my throat
choking on the raw bouquet

I swallow

looking only to the next

the other
this tomorrow I can never seem to catch up to
or with
to be beside

lost in right now
where everything seems fine
where every day
plants each foot in front of the next
where maybe, just may be things are just fine

just like I need it to be
so that I can make sense

in all that no one expected

more words few
existed

Winter Over My Shoulder

© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre

we were supposed to be bound like
fresh cut
sugarcane stalks

in the bundle
of our lives -
intertwined
sweet,
reaching towards our sun

better
like how I wanted to be for you

under one roof
sharing one bed
meals of chicken parmigiana and sweet plantains
culinary fusions

straight dream transfusions
of Mamma, Momma and kiddie(s) make three (or four, more)
me for you
you for me

thinking back
to that imaginary time line
I can only think forward
to how many months
we would have been in connubial bliss

yet
I am this
side of changed
this side of coming to know
that I can love the wrong person

this side of wondering how much
I did and would have done
for your love

this side
of no longer catching feelings
of calculating decisions
of existing for reasons
other than love

my life
has never looked
the same
since you said "I love you"
faintly into the phone

I wish
even now
that you could
fade away as easily

Lottery

What if I live in the parallel you don't exist in?
Somewhere else where we are happy and I (hopefully) am thin
Having found the perfect balance of without and within
We recognize the difference between privilege, hope and relevance.

What if you are too busy with your destiny?
On the verge of curing world famine or on the cusp of world peace
Your determination never meets my average feet
Me, in my office chair and you, in your presidential seat

What if I met you and I messed it all up?
While wallowing in my sea of insecurity and mistrust
You offered me water in gentle hands cupped
But I saw them as a my own masochistic hand cuffs

What if we have yet to meet?
And I have acquired wisdom and self esteem
Conquered my fears and history
Even balanced it all with a little therapy

What then?
Who would you be?
Even if you were in a good place,
would you be ready for me?

Life is nothing but chance
Love is a privilege denied to many
All wise, but it doesn't make me feel better

Reincarnation

Forget Me Nots long forgotten
in a sea of ever eroding memories
I thought I'd live forever in your eyes
Now I can't recall the last time I lived at all

Menial tasks distract and placate, but never prevent
Novocaine is dripping in my heart's I.V.

I am terrified of not wanting
of giving up
of settling

It's never fair to barter crosses for validation
or burdens for contact
but i did

So even after the bumpy terrain
It might still be me leaking oil

What if intention cannot triumph over doubt?

Am I destined to be the hare?
So sure of my inability, that I won't even try to compete?
I refuse!

I appear before myself
conscious and willing
aching and triumphant

Finally ready to be hurt again

F(f)ear

© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre

There is something to be said of fear.

Fear of some thing, often makes us not do, act, respond – which can often save us from harm. For example: fear of getting hurt, will cause us not to get in the way of a moving train.

With something as extreme as a moving train, the “positive” side of fear, can be seen, its use can be regarded. But more often than not, our fear of a thing unseen, thought up, imagined, is a lot more subtle, a lot more demur – it comes like a thief in the night, quiet as the wind and doubly unseen. Yet the stealth of fear in our own lives is no less catastrophic. We often live the train-wreck of our fears day in and day out and don’t even realize it. We often allow fear to steal right from our bosom (!!!) the very dreams, hopes, faith that aims to keep us going. We allow fear to go unchecked, like that bull in a china shop, till there is nothing left but pieces of what we once held dear.

I will be the first to say that fear drove many of my decisions and to an extent, drives some of the directions that I travel today. When I was a young adult and faced with the very real and very grown adult decisions of taking over the care of my siblings, our house, our living or dying – I experienced fear in a way that I hope and pray many people won’t ever know in their lives. Fear of letting our household go hungry, of being out on the streets, of sickness – those fears slept with me like a bridegroom in an arranged marriage. I felt like I had no choice, like things were set and there was nothing that I would be able to do to change the course of this arrangement.

I ate with Fear - that this would be one of the few meals I would have that week.

I worked in Fear - that I would not do well enough in order to keep my job.

I prayed in Fear - that I was asking G-d for too much all the time (for our needs were great).

I lived in Fear.

Then one day, I decided that Fear began to wear out its intrusion.

If Fear of not having enough to eat wanted to sit with me when I ate, then we would break bread and enjoy the meal that was before me.

If Fear of losing my job wanted to spend its day working with me, hovering over every decision and action I preformed while doing my work, then we would work all day, like work was going out of style.

If Fear of asking too much of G-d wanted to kneel down and pray with me, then we would do the thing and pray till G-d’s ear damn near fell off from my incantations, from my asking, from my sheer audacity.

I came to the conclusion that if Fear wanted to live around me, then it could but I was not going live in it.

And it was difficult at first, to find the courage, to summon back my dreams, to reassert faith in who I was made to be. It was a daily intention to take back my Self from the Fear that surrounded me.

Fear kept me, in many forms and permutations, from living.

I have to state this – we are not born with (F)fear. It doesn’t appear right beside us when we emerge into the world, it’s not playing hopscotch with us when we are children and no, that is not it pictured on the right, in our vacation pictures. And no matter what anyone tells you – (F)fear does not become us.

So, imagine my surprise when it occurred to me that Fear had crept into my bosom once again. I mean, it might as well have been the underwire to my bra, the taste in my breath, a slightly veiled sensation on my skin.

Again.

Fear has a way of making us convince ourselves that we cannot achieve what we were tailor made to do.

I was having a talk with my sister-in-law the other night, about school. She was in the kitchen cooking and I was at the dining room table reading one of the 50 bazillion books for this semester.

It is probably with some exaggeration that I am assuming that nearly half of Miami has heard about my trepidation in continuing my education at FIU (Florida International University). If I could have a tantrum (of which I am wholly capable, mind you) it would sound something like this:

…but I don’t WANNA GO!!!!!!! I know a lot of things!! I read a lot, I can write… It’s just a STUPID piece of paper!! Ggggaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh – I DON’T WANNAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! :::tearstearstears:::
Please don’t make me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, in talking to my sister-in-law, I was trying to detail to her, exactly how asinine and ridiculous this whole thing was…

…I mean, I have three classes and three papers to write in each – between 8 to 10 pages EACH PAPER!! How am I gonna have the time to do that?!? It’s only like 12 weeks or so of school! Plus I have my graphic design class where I’m gonna have to build soap boxes and crazy things! And I just realized that I have a steep set of classes to take.

And to imagine, I have already decided that I want to get my MFA in English (poetry) at UM where I’m gonna have to write a book of 150 pages worth of poetry!!! (!!!!!) :::bigSIGH:::

And my sister-in-laws’ sagacious response?

I haven’t heard you say anything that you can’t do.

That statement made all the whizzing thoughts in my mind come to a stand-still. I took one proverbial look to my left and realized that F(f)ear had its feet propped on top of my most prized wishes and dreams. With his shoes off. Did I happen to mention that F(f)ear has really stink feet?

My belly-aching concerning attending FIU has been in large part, due to fear. It’s not the young adults in attendance, it is not how far the campus is, and it is not the difficulty of the classes.

I fear failing at the things I have held so dear to me – poetry, writing, and reading. Imagine that.

I fear going through all those classes (that might reveal :::gasp::: any weaknesses!!!) and not actually acing all of them.

I fear disappointing myself, most of all.

But what I am failing to realize is that I’m not just any person taking these classes. I am not meeting these classes, nay, this degree, cold. I analyze, think and write about the world around me ALL.THE.TIME., I’ve been writing poetry since I was 13, I was part of a poetry group for a number of years, where I had to actually get in front of PEOPLE and perform. And they liked what I wrote. They liked how I thought about things. They enjoyed hearing what it is I had to say.

There is this movie I watched the other night (thanks to Netflix) called Babette’s Feast. It is one of those international numbers, subtitled like no one’s business. And I won’t give the story away but into the laps of these pair of sisters, lands this woman named Babette. Unbeknownst to the sisters, Babette is a chef of the kind that people would come from far and wide to eat in her restaurant. So good was her food.

For allowing her refuge, Babette becomes the cook/housekeeper for the sisters. Years go by and this once renowned chef, brings small rays of sunshine into the belly’s of some of the townsfolk by cooking for them, while the sisters deliver the food to the towns’ shut-in and infirm.

Word arrives via a letter, to Babette one year that she has come into 10,000francs. This also happens to be the year of the sisters’ fathers’ 100th birthday (he had passed some time ago). In thanks, still to the sisters, Babette asks if she can prepare the dinner, in honor of the sisters’ fathers’ birthday. Reluctantly, the sisters say yes and caution Babette not to use all of her money.

Well, the check Babette receives is changed, Babette takes leave and preparations begin for this memorial dinner. Chest upon chest of specialty foods arrive with Babette’s return.

The day of the memorial arrives and Babette had spent all the day before and hence cooking. She sets an elaborate table with fine china and wonderful crystal and the most pristine tablecloth. Using a young neighbor as the waiter, Babette turns out course after course, over course over course. Wine and champagne flow. The 12 guests, not used to such luxurious eating, are beside themselves.

Once everyone has gone home for the night, the sisters go to Babette in thanks for such a wonderful memorial dinner. They find Babette sitting in the kitchen, exhausted. They thank her and ask her, now that she is done, what were her plans, for surely she would be on her way back to France.

She tells them that she has nothing left in France and besides, there is no money.

The sisters are shocked.

Babette tells them that at her restaurant, a dinner like that, for 12, would cost 10,000francs and that was what she spent.

The color drains from the sisters’ faces. How could you?! We asked you not to spend all of your money! Now, now you have nothing, they told her.

Babette raised her face to them and said,

…I am not just a cook. I am an artist, I will always have something.

Before and after this part of my journey, I will have something. I will have my unique perspective, I will have my ability to touch the world in a way like no one else can. This diploma and any and all that may follow, will serve only to acknowledge and formalize by society’s standards, that part of what I know, that can be put into conventions.

I am an artist, I will always have something.

I wasn’t put here, I wasn’t made, I wasn’t given these gifts to be small and peevish about them and let F(f)ear of what may or may not happen, destroy what I can only come to understand as G-d-given talent.

And that is what I must carry with me through this journey called FIU. That is what must become my mantra, when it feels like F(f)ear is about to overwhelm me.

Realize that in you too, there is always something. Regardless of what F(f)ear tells you, no matter how seductive the deceit, how promising the thought of staying small. You always have something. Even if F(f)ear slides in under the covers of your confidence, whispering sweet perceived failures in your ear, or flashes the fruits of in-action before your eyes, you will always have something of Self, with which to create your dreams with, to pull your courage from, and to exert your faith in.

Don’t be afraid… go.

You can do it.

Cause you know what?

That Fear, can’t live here…anymore.

Learn

© 2008 Sandra Jean-Pierre

How will you meet me?

hands out front
alluring
luring me to you?

How will you
coolly meet this primal
gesture of affection?


palms out front
hands to the sky

How will you meet me?
Out on these roads
walking the walk of living folks living

revisiting the melancholy
of your love and loving

arms out front
hands above your ethereal hair

how will you meet
me this day?
this hour?
this direction?

I am finding myself
veering into
away from
converging

standing in this mire
knee deep in this shit

I am running into you
You are slamming into me
I am meeting your flame
You are matching my fire...

heart to heart
hand in hand
fear to fear
lips a kiss

and we are not moving
we are not running
life is not un-doing
itself like cellophane dreams

fist full of doubt
from my chest
to the sun

burning
I scream (!!!!!)

the scream of warriors
not afraid to die

you staring down my apprehensions
me singing incantations of your truth
getting lost
lost in the words of words of feelings with no names

meeting me there

meeting me in the
fires' centers' center

NO! NO! NO!

I've no warnings
no strings
no survival guides

How will you meet me?

If...

If...

If...

If...

If you exist
Then I exist for you
If you resist
I will become irresistable
If you need air to live
Then I offer my next inhale
If you have love to give
I beg to be your vessel

I'd let you bleed me dry if it would make you claim me
I would gladly die for a chance to let you save me
I am offering you utter devotion
In exchange for a compliment

So tell me PLEASE, how your intentions compare to that?

My One Semi-Funny Poem

I hate my fucking bed.

Constantly reminding me you aren't in it
I bought it with the intention of you leaving your imprint
Little did I know you'd be leaving it a little closer to home

I fucking hate my fucking cell phone

79.99 a month to remind me you haven't called

AND I REFUSE TO REDUCE IT!
On the hope that I'll use it
On either you or some new chick
I guess we'll just have to see

I have so much motherfucking TIME!

I could say that I'm using it to focus on me
But I'd be motherfucking lying
All dressed up with not a damn place to go

So i broke the bed...

And I threw away my phone...

And I've finally embraced going out alone

BIG GIRLS ARE DOING IT ON THEIR OWN!

Excuse me, what?
You want my number?
You want to come over?
DAMN!

Time Out!

Every adult needs a time out from time to time.
Time to reflect. Time to isolate.
Time to become aware, to understand one's actions.
Nothing wrong with forcing oneself into the corner for 15mns in adult year.

It sucks to face the wall. But the wall can be the best friend ever.
Witnessing our wailing with no judgments.
Allowing us to purge.
Presenting us with a mirror to face ourselves.

Oh, Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the most miserable of all?

Coming Out

i should have known i was in trouble
when my heart started beating to the rhythm of your step
when my lungs patiently awaited your next breath.
knowing it wouldn't be fair to the air to not share you

you satisfy me in places i never knew yearned to be sated
all the troubles in my world have now been negated
and your silhouette?
should forever be marked x-rated

i bow before the power of you

woman...

lord knows it was inevitable

This Face

© 2002 Sandra Jean-Pierre

I am looking to name this face
something other than
black
womyn
lesbian
disabled
bitch...?

I am looking for a name for this face
other than the smiles that have kept me
want and waiting
in this space
lost in time
pretty unlikley that it will be something
i have had in my mind
but
I am looking for a name for this face
as i am in search for
someone who has that strength i crave
the strength that keeps me
moaning through your name
every time i am masterbating
in this silence that
compounds my grief

I am looking to name this face
that submissively declares my
faltering for not possessing
the life affirming charisma that is
your lesbian boi smell
and i smell you
i smell your loving
i smell your fucking me
i smell your enfolding arms
taking me and keeping me
making me safe... at last

I need to name the face
that will look into your eyes
devouring your soul
pregnant by your courage
smiling at our life...
the life you enabled me to birth
from the depths of my fiel...

honey?
baby?
sweetie?
wife?

I need to name this face: Me
simply...
to let you know
It's Me.

Help

Hey Baby...

You see...

I was kind of wondering if maybe,
You'd let me...

Can I hold your hand?...

I know we just met
But it would make a world of difference
Because I've been sinking
And I'm thinking that if you reached out to me
I'll find my way to safety...

And then maybe I just might,
make it through tonight
And even save a little
for tomorrow too

See, baby, all the power is within you
And it's hard enough just being this vulnerable
Because, please trust, it is damn uncomfortable
Acknowledging even the smallest weakness

See, I'm not asking for a kidney
I'm asking you to be uncomfortable with me
And admit that within my palm
might lie home
and that neither one of us
are half as self sufficient as we'd hoped
But it's ok
Because two halves make a whole

But damn, if we don't connect
When our hands intersect
And I'm sure that you're a little overwhelmed
But I got this
I'm just asking for a little help

An Appliance's Rant

blessings are in the eye of the beholder
bestowed onto victims, not based on accomplishment
but by false beliefs of "worthiness"

In marketing you learn that value is equal to
the amount of comfort wanted in that time period
So an object is only deemed valuable to the person
who wants those comforts wrapped in that package

Well I am standing up for the objects of the world
and I am here to tell you that
I am beautiful!
I repeat,
I AM BEAUTIFUL
Because I know so, not because you deemed it to be

My specific functions make me a beneficial and necessary
part of someone's life
And I respect that it might not be yours
But I know that I am exactly what someone wanted
Somewhere in this vast capitalist economy.

So please, pass me on the shelf if you aren't ready to
at least try out my special features.
Because I don't want you getting me dirty for my future owner

My sole purpose is the betterment of mankind
Through competency and user friendly hardware
So don't blame me if you find me hard to maneuver
I wasn't meant for you.

Just return me in my original package, get your money back
And find a model that does what you need it to do.

Don't push all my buttons and then toss me in your couch
As an afterthought
I have a purpose, which I can't say the same about you

So please, just respect my worth

Litany for Ms. Eventually

Thee, High Priestess, shouts at the pulpit "Eventually"

and we the mortals respond:
maybe
one day
at some point
not now
not ever
from the past
unspecified
muffling voice
disconnected

"Eventually"

9 more responses please
deleted
erased
altered view
taped
barred
cuffed hands
annuled
invalidated
clogged arteries

"Eventually, I shout from the pews....
Eventually 1, 2, 3 times

....bliye sa.....

knock knock

a quick note, a goodbye, a long laugh, a closed door
heels tapping on a wood floor
shiny, annoying
a mix of sweat and wax
a trembling voice a soft knock

not knowing not knowing you
do not mind my calling
my rocking musical
my feet have left the ground
just one centimeter up
enough for my words to wake up
into old territories

Asking Answers

When will you hear my song past the soundtrack of your autobiography?
Forcing me to ride through ghost towns to get to your love.
Hughes might have known rivers, but i've waded up waterfalls pleading my case to you.

You attack me while holding the blade on the wrong end so that i can see your wounds past the inconvenience of mine.
I ache forgiveness while you slowly build walls of blood and tears

See me.
See me as human and as valid as you think your denials are.

trust me.
trust me to at least have one percent of a chance to be different than everyone else.

trust me to appreciate your accomplishments past your internal struggle

trust me to relate and be patient and see past my own anxiety to heal your wounds.

Maybe, just maybe

We can we can stop moaning spirituals and write poetry

Someone

© 2002 Sandra Jean-Pierre

There's someone out there for me...
someone who'se not into head games or drama shit
someone who can appreciate my divatude
worship my divaness
revel in my divanation.

There is someone out there for me.
someone who understands the strength of my character
the strength of my self
the strength of my love.

someone who doesn't need to be
babysat
watched over
or has a Momma-complex
but who understands the value of it all the same.

There is someone out there for me.
someone I can call babe
someone I can make dinner for and love to.

someone who understands how to give and cherishes the things I allow them to take.
There is someone out there for me.