Tombstones in my Mattress

I’ve got Tombstones in my Mattress 

Waiting for the next certain death

To join this grave site of men and women I have not yet met

I deem it over before it begins

And I mourn these relationships

Over

And over again

I got Tombstones in my Mattress

And I practice pretending they aren’t there

Potholes and traps for all who enter these tomb filled snares

I got ash cans and grey post

That line the belly of this seam

I got construction going on

In the trinkets of my dreams

In the pit of my Mattress

I call it the dead zone

Their building a fortress

And fences

Calling it their home

And they aint even paying rent

I evicted two tenants

And  could care less where they went

I’ve got Tombstones in my Mattress

And I’m prepared to burn this dwelling place

I can’t sleep at night

Without these men staring me in my face

These tombstones have been constructed for over twenty long years

And their comfortable in my bed

Playing spade and swallowing down imported beers

I’m not sad

Depressed

Or angry

I just want these men gone

They’ve been sleeping in my bed with me for twenty years too long

I got diamonds hidden in these dirt filled tombs

Being smothered by dandelions and oversized poisoned mushrooms

My bed has become crowded

And the only person I’m angry at is me

Because I have allowed these men to literally enslave me

I’ve got souls that I desperately need to set free

I keep these memories alive and I hate the reflection I see

I got construction workers knocking walls down building rooms to be filled

While I’m shoveling dirt working hard to empty this dirt filled mill

Gatekeepers come from nowhere, hired in this dark ground of doom

I’ve invited men in to fill these empty tombs

I cannot stand being cramped up in my own bed

I demised a portal

For people who have long time been dead

They have decomposed

Honestly some of them I don’t even know

It’s God awful that their locked in this trench

I’m not sure how much longer I can tolerate this awful stench

Every tombstone has a different face

And a different name

But they’re not much different at all

Really their all the same

I got all these people living in my bed

And it’s deep

It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep

I am on the brink of something really big

Tonight, these men are getting the hell up out of my bed

I want to be rid of this affliction

So tonight, I’m sure I’ll be handing out some evictions

The Hunter

He hunted me over deserts and tumble weeds
It moved like a bounty hunter and had leads on me
When I last saw him in Dakota in 1846 he bloodied my nose.
I got away on his horse
Posters over dry land.
He searched for me
I moved like a vagabond, running from the ripper
I was a ghost
I thought I had escaped the hunters grip
It scoured taverns, speakeasies and bath houses looking for me
I was clumbsy
Running from the hunter
I was set up
Ambushed by love
Betrayed
It caught me off guard
It checked me
We tussled
Dragged me by my hair
Like a fuckin’ cave man
To the tavern
While the towns people watched in horror
Some laughed and held the wanted posters up
Pointing fingers
Again
It bloodied my nose
I chuckled
Then stumbled back
I spit
Spit my death in his face
And I laughed
Wickedly
And it shot me!
And I bled
And I bled out

He took a shot of that dirty whisky
Hand on gun

Tilted his hat

Looked around
And said…
Pay me


The hunter

Fall with me steep

Plunge with me this emotional deep

Curves play strange games

Crushing rocks benieth my feet

Where blood thirsty perves ryme verbs

Pass through nerves before we meet

Plunge with me this emotional deep

Fall with me steep

And when you awake I promise

I’ll be yours to keep

Fall with me

My heart has been suctioned from my chest

Unfortunately

There are very few pieces left

Feeble attempts at trying to mask

This impossible task

I asked God to send me some angles

I need armies of them

And I need them fast

He is not him

And I realize I have victimized myself again

My days seen mundane

And there is a constant storm brewing in my brain

My nerves are scard

And my days seem like centuries behind these tortured bars

Moving from the chatter won’t matter

Because the only one I want is

Him

Please God just give him back

LEMONADE (POETRY W/ AUDIO)

https://soundcloud.com/mentalnotes-1/lemonade-poetry

I will make lemonade

And dance and sing

And laugh and cry

And drive far distances while singing praises

I will stomp and cry

And laugh and talk to myself and ramble on

And cry and laugh and tear up

I will write poetry

And write

And write

And write some more

I will isolate with God

And talk and laugh and drive far distances

I will stop and vent to strangers and God

And cry and sing and laugh and dance

And I will read scriptures and meditate on TD Jakes sermons

And call my best friend and tell her all about my woes

I will hate myself and my decisions and second guess myself

I will meditate on my past

Not just him but her too

And I will dance harder because I know

My break through is on the other side of my stomp

And I will cuddle up to grandmamma

And talk to God, auntie and myself

I will sing my favorite Yolanda Adams song and

And I will sing it loud and cry some more

I will go to self-help groups

Listen to more sermons

Take long walks while singing praises

And think

And cry and laugh

And dance

And squeeze lemons

And I will not hate him

Or her

But in the end

I will thank them

While serving lemonade

In celebration glasses

DAMAGED (POETRY)

You say you tried while I cried.

The guilt was eating you alive.

Because it was me you deprived and still I rise.

Baby, my guns were down even when you weren’t around.

You wanted the streets more than you wanted me.

And whenever you were around I had to beg and plead.

It’s crazy because you knew my need.

You watched my heart bleed and deprived me of my seed.

I waited and waited but a sista’s got needs.

Your mental crown turned upside down every time you walked out that door.

And I’d let you back like I was begging for more.

Walking in our house smelling like a French whore.

But you grabbed hold of me.

Rough like I like it and I got excited and it was hard to fight it.

My passion for you always ran too deep.

But you played me for cheap, thought we were playing for keeps.

As much as I try not to, I smell you when I sleep.

I am done weeping and next time it’s my heart I’ll be keeping.

No matter how much damage you’ve done.

It ain’t never stopped beating!

                                                                    Thank you, Ex.

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