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Eulogy of a suicide victim (to jayne)

all she ever wanted
was a little

she wasn't a dumb child
maybe a little naive around the collar
but she always caught up
and revealed the con for what it was
her momma was all attitude
and her papa was all brawl and sneaky
so having all that
she was a fierce mf
with a big ass to match
miss high post when she wanted to be
miss beatnik when she shined on stage
miss congeniality when she smiled at her foes
and strangers alike
and when miss became a mom
that just made her more extraordinary
and even beautiful
as she stood in line at the welfare office
even when she felt outta place

miss thing was a queen in her own right

and her fondest wish
was to be happy

soon miss became a mrs.
and was told on the daily
clean my house
feed my stomach
and don't think about happiness...
leave that all up to me..."

but he-
all he ever gave her
lonley nights
cold eyes
and love tainted by the past
by her
and her
oh!- and her

and after a while
there was so much
that she could take
and when the talks
turned into yells
curses and screams
and the baby and boo
turned into stupid ass bitch and
she closed her eyes
leaned her head back
and exhaled enough pills
enough pills to kill a horse
and she prayed (although
sis was not a praying sis)

"wish i may
wish i might
wish that i could die tonight...
wish i may
wish i might
wish that i could die tonight..."

she didn't want to hear
any more screams
any more curses
any more threats

she didn't want to hear anymore

it was he that killed her spirit
but it was she that exterminated herself
and left one child scorned
and one husband morning
for the woman
he wanted her to be

all she ever wanted
was to be part of the sun
but hatred found and love lost
burned her out
before her time had come
and those that mourned for her
searched for answers
through letters and poetry
left in place of her voice

but even as they spoke
no one knew what she was saying

they never knew what they were hearing

to those who ever heard her recite
or read
it was a pretty poem
and they felt her
but to her
it was her autobiography
her sound
her tears
her vocal plea for an embrace

and no one ever knew
that even in a room full of people
that told her she was wonderful
and that she had a beautiful gift
she was alone

and she was lonely

she longed for friendship
for someone to ask her
how her day was
she reached out for acceptance
and appreciation
and she yearned for yesterday
but the sun came and set
and tomorrow came with
harsh realities and regrets

i yearn for her
because she left this life
feeling as if no one cared
and no one knew her name

but her name is penned to my heart
and etched in my brain
to remind myself
that there are lonely people like me


it is the word bitch
that comes from the tip of my tongue
to the stinging in my ear
that you use to degrade me my being
even my son by making him the son of one...
you're always trying to mess up one
round and round pound for pound
bonafied santified satisfied certified materialized
everyday round the way baybay
you say didn't give you a break today
let you have it your way..
so instead of getting over
you used cursed verse overandoverandoveragain...
instead of squashing dead roaches
infestations that habitat your brain
you send my soul straight to hell...
and though you claim you're a man,
your nothing but a cell of a man you could never be-
better still
an atom of a cell of a man you could never be...
cause you can never be free from the drama
you claim would hurt your mama
and your solid gold ego the size of all damnation...
but my heart is bigger than any nation
to make a fire where it shouldn't be burned
to make you shiver where you should be burned
burned in rage
because words can't be exchanged between us like
hello/how you do/what's up/what the hell--
it's alright...
but what can I say to an unintellegent equivalent
who can't be won't be shall not be ignored and chooses to be ignorant
because he thinks he is God Almighty
and on the 3rd day he-
not kenneth or dorothy-but he created
Ms. Stephanie Kennettra DeAngela Watkins Ricks-
then changed her name to shit
because the bitch can't acknowledge his presence
make eye contact or mutter motherfucker when he passes her way
needless to say I am no longer disillusioned
about a poor fool who
couldn't make bake cut
swallow this sweet piece of sock-it-to-me...
little boy
you've turned...the sweet things you write about sistas
are now complete lies...
you're a contradiction
a prediction
a dream
a simple fantasy
to every aryan nation, k k klansman,
neo-nazi skinhead bastard who waited on men like you
to start tearing down,stripping down,
kicking down a sista-
a sista who wants nothing more from you
but your distance and your silence
and instead recieves
the calling out of her name
like bitch, whore, ghetto and other that I refuse to mention...
and for you to call out your woman,
your sista,
your mother,
your ancestors,
your decendants--
an entire nation of
blue black hershey chocolate
semisweet and milky
cocoa butter
college going
business running
deep rooted
african-american queens
a name like bitch...
makes you yourself our trifling enemy...

And the warrior walked alone… (mami's story)

Mami never cherished fur coats or designer jeans…
just her pipe dream that consisted of
molding her mind and moving her lips
-not booty and hips to excite and entice-
But to teach young minds how to function…
talkin' bout conjunctions and adverbs and
large words with refined definitions…
she had visions past section 8 and food stamps
and wanted more than pimps and fools…
large books, poetry and night school
taught her dignity as teachers
and classmates and little kids
called her miss-

but at home, SHE was dismissed
while her sistas were
switching and strolling down alleys
in yesterday's salvation army lingerie
wearing camouflaged smiles
getting called out their name
and all the while
chasing after dolla bill and mary jane

mami just toked on her pipe dream
and hoped that the sistas
would get contact from the smoke

Publications are available by e-mail request:

Afrodeesiack:African-American Erotic Poetry, 1998, Afrodeesiack Press

Eclectic Thoughts, 2000, Afrodeesiack Press

Ghetto Anthems...and other beats to dance to, 2002, Afrodeesiack Press

Classified Information (Anthology for Broads off Broad 2003), 2003, Afrodeesiack Press