Category: Transitional Pieces

These pieces are written as a reflection of self. On my path discovering who I am and who I want to be in life. It captures the struggle and strife. I am Vigilant Leighrick, Poetic Renegade.

Phone Home

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I’m trapped in a box with a cell phone, white walls and a stop sign. I’ve finally caught a signal… I began to phone home. No answer — I guess the answering machine has a mind of its own. Who would have ever thought that the sound of the dial tone, could set the tone for my sickness. I lay flat on my stomach – ill. Until the satellites come correctly into place.

Walls cant cry, windows don’t have arms, and with a mattress full of money still none of it builds a home. I know they seen it coming down my eyes, but I couldn’t feel her text message cry. I peeped it through the mirror, it almost seemed 3D, but not forgetting its reality. I turn over on my back and begin to ponder. Did you see the image you portrayed clearly? I thought at least some of the things I was doing was brand new…

I blink twice, hoping that this is a dream and I’m sailing off in the bay out the double standard cell, cell phone free because my hearts hope isn’t for sale. Transcribing feelings through technology shows no emotion, that goes for the smiley as well… So when that door opened up for me. I grasped the shadows of 3 strong women standing tall….with their hands held out, my future blueprinted. Now I can say that my future at hand will be successful. You’ll miss us when we’re gone…

“I float high good bye. I will miss y’all“

-Leighrick

The Coldest War

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Everyone said life was going to be this hard

However, everyone failed to mention the scars would remain, less obvious than outer appearance.

Daily wearing her heart on her sleeve.

Scabs and keloids protrude from untold her-stories,

 

Belly swollen full of manipulation.

Brain dead,

Unconscious,

Self-conscious —

 

Afraid of self.

 

PAIN

 

A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Her tongue remedial compared to cat like reflexes.

Her own two sense, something she cant afford.

 

She Wrote.

and so

She Spoke.

 

She becomes family with led and ink.

In-laws of different colors

 

A mind is a terrible thing to waste,

as is her pain,

She Wrote.

 

This lonely child found the comfort in the instruments, the silence, and the trees.

 

All she wrote repeatedly:

 

“NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!”

“NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!”

“NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!”

“NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!!“…

 

Peers read, what appears?

What is perceived?

 

The agony brought a smile upon her face, because shes discovered one of her many talents

Acting.

 

Just Leave Me.

Leave Her Alone.

 

MEANING

Comfort Me.

 

This little girl is on a scavenger hunt.

She tries to abandon the labels, they hold her back.

She searches for someone to foster her creativity.

She longs for someone to adopt her perception.

Her conscience is an Orphan.

 

This lonely child is lost in all the love.

 

Mouth dry as wood.

Eyes shinning bright like dim lights.

These Pinocchio’s snout would grow

if they deny being puppets too.

 

She just wants to be a real woman.

They hear her speak, but no one

LISTENS.

Judgments are passed along,

accompanied by unconditional love.

Under the conditions of seeing thoroughly, only when they chose not to be

BLIND.

 

so confused.

 

Life is hard, for that she was prepared.

They keeping telling her to explain herself.

But no one understands her language.

She tries to translate it, but motha fuckas are impatient.

 

Feeling like a patient, she nursing her thoughts.

Remember, this poor girl is brain dead.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste

 

So.

The shadow unexpectedly appeared

placed the pen to her temple.

imprinted a hand against her heart,

and pressed her mouth onto hers.

 

She inhaled comprehension and took her first gasp of LIFE.

Tasteless.

 

Nervous.

Excited.

She understands her language, she wrote back to her through thoughts, emotions, and intuition.

She spoke.

The first words for a young adult.

“I Love You”

She grew inside her,wisdom, her tears the waters that bloomed this gracious flower.

 

Everyone told her life was going to be this hard.

She thought her shit would come out softer after the bullshit they fed her,

another fallacy sugar coated.

 

She’s screaming at her

Lullabies sweet and low.

Her honesty

Bittersweet.

 

This Woman is a Solider.

The series of this Coldest War.

 

To be continued…

 

-Leighrick

Mirrored Silouhettes [pt2]

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I’m falling back but I don’t feel anyone behind me. Im trying break my fall but I’m breaking every other bone in the process.

 

My mind is trying to process these thoughts, separate the good from the bad.

 

Trying to decipher the tears from the smiles. And the confusion from the laughter.

 

Life’s taking:

the Sweetness out my Satisfaction.

the Dreams out of my Sleep.

 

Its safe to say…

I’m lost. I’m misunderstood.

I don’t know what to do

for myself, but

I continuously do for others.

 

I know what I want.

I yearn for what I need.

I am thankful for what I have…maybe I am selfish,

because…THAT’S STILL NOT ENOUGH.

 

I wish people could just read my mind.

The good and the bad thoughts.

I wish people could just see what I see.

The potential and the fuck ups.

 

I just want to find me.

I am surround with people that adore me.

Yet

I haven’t found me and accepted myself for what I see, acknowledging what I want to be,

Go to sleep.

&&

GET THE FUCK OVER IT…..

because its KILLING ME.

 

-Leighrick

Figuratively Speaking

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Figuratively Speaking…
Is blood truly thicker than water…I mean figuratively speaking.
How can a friends love not be equal or greater than that of a sibling?
Can a bond between an in-law grow quicker than parent?
Can the love of your partner overwhelm that of your brethren?
They say a family that prays together stays together, but what if there’s no praying at all?
What if the only praying going on, is the preying on ones individuality?
Shouldn’t you accept me as I am?
Isn’t Love unconditional?
Or do you only love me under the conditions of what you think is right?
Why is it that friends always seem to be by your side when you get the bad news,
but when your with family news seems to always be on commercial?
How come in my situation two wrongs didn’t make a right, but still two rights made a wrong?
With that being stated…
One shouldn’t make their past someones present.
The only gift that brings is misunderstood lies, drama, and pain…
And…
This only leaves us clueless.
Please tell me, is this the mis-education of Chemistry?
Why do I feel so distant from the ones I share my DNA with?
…..
I guess Love is Blind….Cause my love for you cant see the love you have for me.
And I guess Love is Deaf too, because you have yet to hear my cries for an answer.
I’m confused yet I’m curious as to what Love has in store for me.
All I really want is the answer to my question, because water has been there for me even when I didn’t want it.
And…
They say you cant live long without water, see because that’s what your body is composed;
without water there is no blood???

Now can you answer my question…
Is blood truly thicker than water…figuratively speaking???

-Leighrick

Sweetest Taboo

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Currently, my favorite word is “I“. One is the magic number.

Every conversation is like a confession; I know you want feedback.

I can be your dessert for thought, the sweetest taste of intellect.

While sleeping you hear the birds tweet, and you’ll follow them.

But only if they lead you to me.

I don’t normally look people in the eyes, but its your intentions Im trying to see.

I play it cool.

 

You try and let your mind go astray.

Finding yourself smiling; then you realize, you’ve been thinking of me all day.

You stop to wonder, do I think about you too?

[Maybe not the amount, but at least in the same ways]

 

If you tripped would I laugh, or would I bend down to tie your shoe?

Would I catch you? Are you falling?

I wouldn’t watch, I’d grab your hand and take you higher.

Aiming toward the moon, reaching for the stars.

Wading in the clouds.

 

I’m peeping through the hole that has been under construction…for a while.

You’re knockings on the gate are faint;unfortunately to your pleas of affection….

Currently I am deaf.

Mute, unheard of feelings, unshared emotions, my secrets are kept.

 

Decipher my pieces, and decode my being.

2pac saw death around the corner, I can only imagine

because I feel like Cupids stalking me.

 

I’m taking a light jog, you keep trying to race me full speed!

 

Cant spell potential, without potent.

Allowing my heart slow down a couple beats.

Like seeing a good menu you before you feast.

Time is deceptive that I’ve learned to use my watch as a piece.

So with this piece, I am allowing you access to a clue in my mystery.

I apologize if this so happens to play with your Psyche.

 

I just made a vow —

Never let my heart think, and never let my mind feel.

 

My headaches turn to heartaches, suddenly I wont feel shit.

I close my eyes and maintain my stride.

And see, when I get to the finish line…if your there at the end.

 

–Leighrick

For My Brothers, For My Family

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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

Vacancy

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      My brother said to me, “Sis write your heart out“. My eyes got big agreeing; I went and brought the knife out. He asked me, “What do you plan to do with that?“. Right before his eyes I pierced my flesh. Howling like a coyote when the moon is out, I keep etching away until the slit resembles the one that parts my mouth.

      In that moment I held my heart in my hands, and knew exactly how I was feeling. I grabbed a pen and switched the blood with ink. I’m going to write until the very last beat. When I can’t feel anymore and its hard to breathe.

      To that point where I need to put a period, but my conscience climbs out my mouth and resuscitates me. Write until there’s no muscle left to dot my “i’s” and cross my “t’s”. Until my spirit lift’s me up like its offering me.

      Quietly, I am screaming, “God please put your hands on me!”. I’ve let my little light shine until my soul went dim, and still these beings dont acknowledge me. They belittle my philosophy.

      Thinking at least whisper in my ear, so I can be born again and come back with the right answers. How do all these people claim to talk with you? Are you giving the silent treatment to me? Everyday my questions go unanswered. I write you letters hoping that you’ll read my pleas. I have a lot of faith, but my pride has never allowed me to get down on my knees.

      Living is getting harder every day. It seems like more trails than triumph. I ask  to at least let me die on my feet. The beats are slowing down. Have you been listening? I hope that you’re not misunderstanding me; I am okay with struggle. Mama always taught me to wash my own dishes.

      I haven’t seen too many shooting stars, but I’ve made a lot of wishes. Maybe some one was snatching coins out the pond? I feel like now thats the only logical explanation.

      Live one life? Why?! There’s millions of american idol minds I can live vicariously through. If I die tonight reincarnate me into my mind.

Night Owl Howls. The Living Dead. Zombie Life.

      I’m the only motha fucka that will come back and say, “Fuck People, Im Trynna Kill Time!”. Because it was never on my side when I was trying to get mine. Adding longevity to hate, subtracting the good times.

 I Am a Lost One. They’ve Lost One. That One Wasn’t Me.

      They’ve lost lives in war and lost souls from t.v.. Casually catch me sleeping, and that’s okay because I only dream during the day. When there’s enough illumination to guide my ways. In the dark is when people creep to destroy.

      That’s when the beating stopped, oddly I could still feel it. Now more like throbbing,  I place it back in my chest. With my hand across it like a pendant, I write a couple pieces making my self a vest. Protect your self.

      Burn these letters acting like this was never real and nothings left. Keep in mind  next time to rethink before you repeat the statement, “Yeah, I know how you feel“.

–Leighrick