And ex-pe-al-i-do-cious to you too. Well if the title confused you even the slightest bit that was kind of the point. NaPoWriMo stands for National Poetry Writing Month…and this is happening all month long. So while you get geared up to play your little April Fool’s Day pranks on unsuspecting folks, or while you prepare for the Easter season or (for those who are familiar) 4/20 Day…let us not forget about National Poetry Writing Month!!!!
I love poetry…I write poetry (although many don’t know that)…I read poetry…I attend venues where poets pour their lives out into the crowd. I graduated from a school named after a famous poet. I dream of poems. I freestyle poems in the shower. In the car. In line at the grocery store. What can I say…I JUST LOVE POETRY!!!! So in light of NaPoWriMo I am going to (please help me!!) post a poem everyday for the month of April. Most of the poems will be my own (and in the words of Eryka Badu…keep in mind I’m an artist..and I’m sensitive about my ish) but if you want in on the action send me an email (chadaboom@gmail.com) and I will try and post it. And of course feel free to leave a comment. So with that said…check this out.
I used to twirl my hair
but, through school yard fences and storefront windows,
the twirl had attracted the eyes.
And to my surprise the twirl had been more than that.
The twirl had become the symbol of all things beyond my scope.
Shooting past my child-like comprehension into grownup worlds where a twirl is not just a twirl.
It is an expression of womanhood meant to only be displayed when boundaries are breaking.
But to me; it was just a twirl.
Perhaps spawned from the need to see beyond the fallen loc that covers my eyes when my head swivels.
To me..it was just a twirl. Not the invitation it had become.
Just beyond the height of the day
in shorts the size of yesterday
while inhaling the sweet heat of the summer.
He had taken notice.
Face pressed against cold red brick.
Dirty hand covers face.
Stifles scream.
Too short shorts pulled forcefully to the side.
Raw wet mouth. Innocence stolen.
There on the stoop, you stood…
twirling your locs.
Enticing me, arousing a fire deep.
Engulfed in a rage of fury I ravaged against you.
Oh Temptress
Darling Sweet.
Precious gem. I watched you.
Twirl girl. Twirl girl.
I cried,
he enjoyed his pleasure.
Written in the words he spewed.
Death creeping in my soul.
This mornings meal rest in my throat.
I was hot. Made mute on purpose.
Prisoner. Trapped.
Bad juju vibe today.
Felt it while dressing in last years wear.
Body outgrew them long before now.
Tongue on face.
I die in this moment.
It is there, the ever present fallen loc.
A reminder of his desire.
Chada Boom
21 Dec 13
chada says 