dump all of that shit out of all of those bags
line those empty bags on the bed of which you sleep
on the bed that you make love on
on the bed you kneel before to pray
undo the seams
whether you choose to cut or tear them is completely up to you
take that golden thread from grandmother’s old sewing box
and arrange a quilt from the pieces of each bag – edge to edge…
end to end
(so many bags! holding so much shit!)
on really bad days, the quilt will double as your cape
and on cold days, it will warm and soothe you
from the outside in. from the inside out.
as you make your rounds… bag-free and fuckin’ shit up
remember that we are made of rare, ancestral cloth and golden seams
…forgo the paper and the plastic
It is not so easy…being golden thread
When everyone expects everything to be so entirely seamless…
His are my favorite to ever look into, eyes so fierce they saw right through. He knew how to draw me in, he loved me all night. But once morning came, I was devoured by his bite. I long for the softness of the sheep I know is there, it’s just hidden far beneath the wolves course hair. I could plainly see, I wasn’t totally hopeless, I loved him even though I knew he was ferocious. Knowing at that time, I was just his prey, how could he help it, he was raised that way. Now I am just one of the pack, but I know each blue moon, to me he’ll come back.
Hear that clock
Seconds fade into minutes
Minutes crash head-on with hours
Hours collide and slide right on into days
It never waits
So grab life by the pendulum
Swing with all you got
Smash that clock!
Take every moment
Only one person can make your decisions
And that person is staring back at you
Reflections are determined
By the view
Don’t let anyone steal your shine
The memories wasted on hate
Are memories better spent on fulfillment
No greater revenge than success
Climb on top of that ivory tower
Proclaim to the world
“This is my time!”
Time waits for no one
Hear that clock
Put societies expectations to rest
Show this nation
That dreams can be achieved
No matter where you are conceived
See, time doesn’t look at the color of skin
It doesn’t care how much money you have in the bank
Can’t throw dollar bills at it to make it freeze
And you sure can’t take possessions with you when you leave
But don’t break your bones
For shiny cars or a new iPhone
Last I heard, Heaven doesn’t get ringtones
Collecting the things that count
Love isn’t measured in currency
Unplug and reconnect with those who matter most
What a tragedy
Faces glued to digital screens
By the time we look up
Our children are teens
Copying our behavior
The cycle is never ending
Generation after generation
Nodding their heads
But not really listening
When will they listen?
Is it any wonder homes are broken?
Hands full but hearts empty
Thinking they have all a guaranteed tomorrow
Yet guarantees don’t come easily
There are no receipts
Time keeps moving on
Hear that clock?
Ever wonder what the word, “Love,” might taste like on your tongue?
I’m not just speaking of sex, I mean after all that is done.
When you’re laying side by side or walking along the beach,
when just sitting across the
table, seems like he’s too far out of reach.
When all throughout your life, he’s been in every song that you have sung,
when you’ve had this love for him, since you were very young.
When he was your first, and he’s still the one.
So when I say, “I love you,” this is what it tastes like in my mouth,
Now for a little fun, my tongue’s going to head down south.
The swirl of your tongue
Makes magic at the meeting of me.
Oceans of promise part
My chest rises and I am found
Scrolling through Jeremiah Roundtree’s Instagram that has newly graced the social media platform, I immediately get the feeling that I am a voyeur of an extreme talent. The items selected for photography aren’t of things that outside of a normal person’s grasp or line of sight; however, the beauty that is captured in these ordinary things through Jeremiah’s Samsung phone and via editing makes me feel like I haven’t seeing the world exactly right.