Category: Pieces of Poetry

I find this to be pretty Self-Explanatory. These are pieces that do not fall under a specific category..

R.I.P

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If people only knew, they would never want to know…

Today we stand before you camera ready.

BURN ALL THE BOOKS, to hell with them.

and us…and knowledge….and trust.

If people only knew, they would never want to know…

Said the ones laying under you, nurturing the growth of the grass.

TO HELL WITH THEM

and us, and faith, and intuition.

Restore our faith in institutions…Restore our faith in institutions

If I knew, I wouldn’t break the silence.
If I knew, I wouldn’t stop the violence.
If I knew you, and you came across wisdom…you’d be dead too.

Imagination translates into tomorrows.

R.I.P
R.I.P

Remembrance is Power.

–Leighrick

99 Problems and the Answer is 1

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You know, sometimes I ask my self, “Why do I even bother?”.

I mean in all serious where does being a good person ever get you in life; besides a grave? In the end your spirit and soul is left feeling “substantial“so to speak, but how does one even know? How do I know that the bullshit I endure for the sake of other people is even beneficial? Now, don’t get me wrong I’m not looking for anything in return, but how much easier is it to be a good person now and die; than to die and become a good spirit?

Death, death is so often viewed as the dark side. As much as I am taunted, and taunt myself. I find that I cannot take the steps to even think of being selfish. However to you that may seem absurd.

I mean honestly, I venting about a situation in which dirt is being thrown on my name, by individual(s) who I’ve gone out my way to protect.

Yet, MY faith is QUESTIONED, because I do not seek the wisdom through the words of the bible? On the other hand, no questions are asked about priests who molest young children, and then go on to damn people to hell for being homosexuals?!?!?! How is one so sure that these words in the bible are those spoken from God? Himself? Herself?

I know, I already know you’re thinking “how dare [I] even throw that [her] in?”. I was told that the reassurance of those who believe in his words are recognized and strengthened through faith. Now if the fate of “man“, and the world’s being is rested upon faith, then why can’t I be equipped with the will, knowledge, love, wisdom and the strength of FAITH to trust my own intuition?  An intuition that is said to be “God given” and has proved me correct far more times than the bible.

There are no different versions of spirituality, faith, and ancestry, besides within the story of an individual; yet there are among hundreds and thousands of versions of the bible. GODS WORD. How many ways can God’s words be written and interpreted to be correct, beside the correct way in which he said himself?

Within self I find God[ess’]. Why limit myself to one? I often think about this, but I usually fall asleep and start my day before I can ponder on an answer.

I know I have gone completely off topic, but this entry is solely to vent.

Are you comprehending?

VENT because FRANKLY, I’m 2 years past through with being fucked over. Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice, is all I’ve know. It’s what I’ve read, and heard, and taught myself because with all great things comes sacrifice. Or so its known to be,  and here I am dying. Still I some how find it unexpected?!

Fool me once, shame on you – Fool me twice, I’m the fool.

Since a child I’ve sat in this very same house inquiring about life, death, and life after death.  Wondering, after death is it possible that an ill soul can become well? If so I may start inching towards the darkness myself, because all this light I am in taking is so often blinding.

Ultimately, I have nothing to show for what I’ve done. I practice, and practice, and practice, and preach and teach, and think and sit and become enraged.  This  absolutely sickens me! It gives me headaches, produces tears I have to fight along with battling yelling so  loud that l I am deaf. Not having to hear anyone else bullshit, but stuck with my own internally?

Though I refuse, because already I am driven almost insane by my own questions.

Is that why I am so good with helping others? “Problem Solving”.

Would this be labeled neglect?

I just want to know why the “good people” are always fucked over. I mean honestly, who has a real answer to any of this? That’s where the frustration stems. ARE THERE REALLY EVEN ANY ANSWERS?!

WHAT IS THIS LIFE SHIT?!

Life long questions that pass throughout lifetimes are handed down to dwell on. This philosophy course isn’t doing a damn thing to help me understand spontaneous death.

I am really pissed right now.

You try believing you can talk to some people, you give em an inch and they take a mile, but distance isn’t the problem.

WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?!……[THE ANSWER.]

Fucking Shit.

–Leighrick

The Grand Exit

Posted in First Love, Pieces of PoetryTagged , , , , , Leave a comment

The last time I remember you; I saw your body sideways leaving out the door.

Last night still had my mind in a daze; I’m sitting up this morning in my bed remembering the days you remembered me.

When the nights went into the mornings; it was clear to me that this love was Satan’s miracle.

I loved the hell out of you, now Ive met my pinnacle.

Those lips smiled, those pearly gates parted, and out crept the blues

“You missed me didn’t you?”

Feeling like the drum getting played in this solo.

Meaning you were never present for today’s, but I could always count on you for “couldn’t waits”.

Waiting for your call; do you really wonder why I am up so late? I contemplate.

Why must these trees and these lakes of liquor complicate things?

Standing in the shower wishing it’d bring the heat, and rain harder.

That the radio and the water would some how create thunder, and electrify my spirit –

Free Me.

From this being I love to be in me, but cant stand being apart of.

That’s not love. That’s not lust. Was there really never any trust?

This relationship has rusted. Quickly we are sinking.

Me deeply and you wallow in the shallow end.

But I still pretend that we’re just friends, with the benefits of exercising passion.

So as I am laying here watching you walk out;

Like damn Y? X is the reason.

Seasons change. Feelings stay the same, except this time…

I am the one leaving.

Peace,

–Leighrick

When Dreams Become Reality

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When Dreams Become Reality

 

This evening…

I found my imagination in the back of my mind.

I’m feeling remorse;  I should have listened to my conscience.

My creativity was knocking on my temple.

Tylenol, shut it up…

Now my hearts paying for it.

I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and listened to my soul cry.

 

I traveled my  medulla oblongata.

I flinch. My dreams turned into nightmares.

I see my imagination lay wasted thin like water.

Fuck!

Paralyzed mind.

My conscience has become the new Cesar.

 

I look left and my creativity has overdosed on refer.

I look right at the nightmares beating my dreams.

I look behind me, and my conscience shaking.

I can no longer witness this.

I look ahead and my imagination is dead.

 

Insanity has sunk in.

 

This is absent Schizophrenia.

I don’t know who I am.

Because of this is Bipolarity;

I can’t choose a feeling!

 

Living poison.

My words are tainted.

My tongue is numb.

My heart is ignorant.

Have I gone blind?

 

Am I jeopardizing my own purity?!

 

Pen to my head.

Placing notebook paper down to surround myself.

I’m making my bed.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; I’m terrified by making a mess.

 

Leighrick is whispering in my ear,” Chaotic just go through with it“.

 

How did she know that about me?

Who told her my first name?

 

“I can’t do this anymore!”

I don’t know what I’m saying.

 

My history is spilling out my closet.

My conscience turned the lights on.

I look left and right forgetting I’m blind.

I stop and listen..

FUCK!

I hear myself dying!

 

Jumping out the bed; I vomit.

I feel around for my inspiration; turns out that’s what filled the sink!

I vomit again.

Except when I flushed the toilet, along with the rejection went my dreams.

 

I leave the red lit room.

Trying to feel my way back;

The walls disintegrate around me.

 

I collapse on my bed.

Place the pen in my hand.

If I’m already dying inside, who’ll appreciate  what’s left?

Beauty is within, but so is deception.

 

Chaotic is talking to me, “Don’t do it Leighrick“.

Leighrick is yelling at me, “Wait, I thought I was Candace?!”

Candace is screaming to both of them, “I’m going through with this. I don’t know who I am!!”

 

Leighrick says, “You’re Chaotic”

Chaotic says, “You’re Candace”

Candace says, “Shut the fuck up! Fuck! I’m losing it!!”

 

I lay upon my bed of paper.

With a red pillow behind my head.

I want to disguise the blood; for whomever may find me.

They won’t be freaked out when realizing I’m dead.

 

I put the pen to my head.

“Pop…”

Goes the trigger.

 

Ink consumes my body.

My soul is released.

 

The next morning there’s knockin’ on my door.

The knocks go unanswered…their whispers fade,

“shhh, we should just let her sleep.”

 

The poet lays at peace.

 

Just in case you didn’t notice, I committed homicide with the piece.

 

Next time you’ll know not to judge, but

Instead to stop to let the poet speak.

 

Sincerely,

That Chaotic, Leighrickal, Young Lady C.

 

When dreams become reality
When dreams become reality

Open Door Policy

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You left the door open.

I’m not sure if you know;

I’m peeping through windows,

Seeing if your alone.

I’m one foot in and one foot out

The closer you approach,

My heart starts beating faster.

Do I have time to run away?

Should I stay and tough it out?

I can’t forget what it’s like to be in the same room as you…

We don’t have to speak,

Because we make conversation through our eyes.

Let me know, who knows how to Love you like I do?

Who’s one touch can change your mood?

What kind of bullshit have you gotten use to?

If this was 21 questions, would you be truthful?

No matter if it hurt my feelings,

If I step foot in the house…

Should I be prepared to lose you?

A house is not a home,

When I left,

Where you did you find shelter?

Is it in some other womans lap – I mean shack.

I sneak down to the basement;

It’s flooding.

I can see the emotional wreckage.

The foundation’s penetrated deep with inquisitions and incisions.

Concrete cannot be plastered over

This needs to be rebuilt.

The living room is empty,

is there some irony in that?

Long halls decorated with picture perfect memories.

It’s dark back here.

Spider webs and memories collecting dust.

Do you ever roam these feelings, just to reminisce?

I guess you just stay in the front…

I see a names and numbers, but

I wont bothering hurting myself and look.

Composition books spread across the floor,

Balled up papers adorn the table.

In the refrigerator, no more selfish left to make meals?

Cups half empty, very few half full.

Dishes and dirty laundry piled up like secrets.

I saw your notebook,

Willingly with restraint to look in it.

Wondering what lays next to it.

What I mistook for empty syringes, were just empty pens,

With my picture underneath.

It’s time to leave,

Rekindling feelings of vulnerable.

In this crib,

Where once my baby and I slept.

And overslept,

And sexed,

And cried,

And laughed,

And ate,

And wrestled,

And argued,

And I packed,

And it. . . .rained.

Crying silently, I creep out.

Trying my best not to leave traces

Showing that I revisited this house…

Just as my body is half way out the door,

My hand is snatched

…and it’s yours.

You ask me to stay a while,

I can’t even look you in your face.

Instead I look down, because my eyes give me away.

Identical with my heart, my voice cracks.

You found me, but I am at a loss for words.

Uncertainty about  how I should feel.

Should I smile or should I slap you?

We both felt the pain, that our mistakes could never amount to.

But forgiveness is a drug,

I can’t help to self prescribe.

Nevertheless I leave..

My hand slipping out of yours slowly,

I try to look back but I refuse,

Is this Deja Vu?

Everything’s moving so fast,

In an instance I’m nowhere near you, but with time —

With time I’m your next door neighbor.

I’m sitting in my living room, half past dead

Watching other people live their realities in shallow misery, just to have intuition left to comfort me

And you call me..

We talk

And then you talk for hours.

I got the flowers you’d leave on my doorstep.

You offer me dinner,

I’m not sure if my heart can afford yet..

A sacrifice, I am not sure I’m willing to take

Instead – I say, “maybe“.

Eventually,

I ask you over my place for lunch.

You agree…

This isn’t a happy ending,

I am hardly satisfied.

I would like to know,

Who loves you like I do?

Or should’ve

Or would’ve

Or could’ve

Or doesn’t?

Honestly…Did I even know how to?

–Leighrick

The Last Time

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Last time I saw you, I saw me.  Lately I’ve been looking in the mirror, and this caged bird is now free. Freedom slips my mind; sometimes I sing a little off key. Overcoming stage fright–hit the lights please. I want them to see my message by reason darkness.

What they thinking are nightmares, just a city girls dreams. This empathy has this piece I’m writing mirroring me. A victim of split personality. Trying to divide the thoughts and subtract the feelings.

Bring upon Confusion…

When I see you again, finally I feel empty like the glass you left me with, that I threw against the wall. Except when it hit the ground it didn’t break, but out spilled every memory.

Can you feel what I feel, when I feel what I’m feeling? You shouldn’t because I’m numb. Selfishly selfless; although I never cared for any other than myself. What should i have done? I was helpless!

The next time I saw you, I saw me swimming in my tears, a shellfish. Beyond this course exterior, I am a jewel waiting to be made a necklace.

Then I remembered that I forgot. Recuperating flesh wounds with internal bleeding; often I find myself hiding in my feelings. I forgot that I remember.

So the next time I saw him– posture immaculate, a smile moonlit in a dim mind, eyes seductive, with his arms wide. He thrust his hands upon my hips, and squeezed me until his spirit made my soul cry.

Now I can’t even fathom what you look like.

-Leighrick

For My Brothers, For My Family

Posted in Dapper Suits, Family, Illumination, Initations, Life, Pieces of Poetry, Transitional PiecesTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Hollow tips enter full bodies, and empty them.

As the bullet rips the flesh, it’s also stripping the body from the soul.

The victim has passed; not only in presence, but through papers as another statistic.

The consequences of a coward,

we have to live with, walk these very same streets.

His mind has been brainwashed. They’ve purposely left out all the coloreds.

Holding the steal he feels like Iron-man, but without it he is weak.

Pulling that trigger is as easy as taking candy from a baby, but

does this coward know he just took this baby away from his mom.

My ego is fierce with poise full of culture.

I am tired of living through the peephole fighting not to be another victim of hatred.

I am tired of stray bullets finding a home within our own children.

Bullets may not have names on them, but they take innocence of the ones they enter.

I am tired of looking over my shoulder, because I have a permanent crook in my neck to go along with the knifes in my back.

Eyes follow me down the street.

Am I a crook because Im wearing my hood on my head? –Its cold

Am I a crook because I’m carrying candy? — I have a little sibling at home.

am I a crook because I’m holding a drink? — I am thirsty?

OR

Am I a crook because of the color of my skin?

The difference is they wear hoods that  cover their heads.

You can still see their color, but  that they may hide their faces in consciousness of shame.

Lacking Color…

A Color?

A “Color” everyone can see past except for them, because they still got that damn sheet over their heads.

I had a dream last night.

I marched to the most immense Bell with my hoodie on, and Granted justice for all Kings, Queens, & Martins.

I was tackled to the ground and handcuffed.

I would be easier to handle.

I didnt just get married, I am not a child (though someones), nor do I have one.

Everyone took a shot, but we’re taking the bullets for their

“Self Defense”.

Tell me — Do they call it self defense because we are strong, and will not helplessly tolerate oppression?

Before you pull the trigger; do you even second guess it?

Is there  really so much hate that you become absent-minded?

Because of their loathing lack of souls,

Everyday I am reminded of the death of My Brothers.

Hughes, Dunbar, Walker, Angelou, Giovanni, Baldwin, Brooks, El-Shabazz, Shakur

They came to me and requested I speak for the people.

They sat me down, I listened, and though they only spoke to me in poetry I gained an inner-standing of each and every stanza they’ve written.

Having me stand tall with my head up.

They woke me up in my dream, God woke me up this morning, but I came alive in this poem.

Oscar Grant, I stand strong for my brother.

Sean Bell, I stand strong for my brother.

Trayvon Martin, I stand strong for my brother.

 I Stand Strong for My Family.

I hope they hear my prayers while comforting each other, realizing they are not alone.

How long will it take for their families to heal?…

Until they’re all called home?

Murder is theft, and if these killer aren’t convicted of one, how about the other?

 —

Instead of pouring this libation on the floor out of respect,

I’ll drink it because they didnt have the chance to.

Better, I will share the candy with our family; who didn’t have a chance to see them come home.

Unable tell them once last time they loved them.

I AM GRANT.

I AM BELL.

I AM MARTIN.

Beaten though Kings & Queens, and still

I AM JUSTICE,

I AM LOVE,

 – I AM Vigilant Leighrick, Poetic Renegade