All Things Poetic

So You Think You Bad?

Well well well. What you up to now?

Oh I'm sorry. Did I interrupt your flow, your game, your hide and go cheat? Naw baby don't mind me. Please proceed to kick that, hit that ball out the park and into my lap so I can wake the fuck up and see your misrepresentation of a lover gone flat.

I don't trust you as far as I can throw you and Lord knows I can't throw.

Shit, I'm not gonna lie. You was crafty and for a minute I regurgitated every word,every trick, swindle and rouse I allowed you to force feed down my heart which was stuck to you and what I thought was good love.

But you're addicted to that one, two, maybe five deadly sins 1, 2 steppin' round the truth, lies and let's go to the video tape.

Oh yes. It's documented how you said this, then did that. Expressin' love and how you got my back when really you had her up against the wall actin' like you was all that.

See, it was your world I lived in. I believed I belonged. Inhabitating your planet, taking on your Dogma, learning your style as law.

Now I look like a fool to stay. Losing sleep sleeping with the enemy who imitates the life of someone else by day performing drity pretty things at night.

Trust. These are lessons learned and never repeated. Cuz like Erykah, "I'm cleva..." and I'll show you how I roll.

Solomente. Uno. Me subtracted from you, times two plus somebody else's lover cuz that how you do it.

Don't tell me you salty cuz I found me the right stuff?! Let us not forget you were the one face to porcelain not one month after you was mackin' with what's-her-face at the club.

Yeah I know about that too. But no need to worry Boo, I'm all set.

I've checked out of your hotel for good. No refund please, keep the check.

Tiffani C. Powell
Copyright June 2005

Tangled and Twisted

What is love really?
I'll tell you what love is he said, and from there she was taken.
From the floor to the ceiling, falling up and sliding in his being like it was hers.
This gentle giant with moves like a cat owning enough lives to bring her to her knees.
Ten past two clocks strike but time is of no consequence for this thing called her best kept secret.
Rough and tumble the floor is quaking from his spell like he slipped sex into her coffee.
And more than high this goes. Past the fairytale and spun into the sheets. An abyss of lovemaking.
Yes! She is taken. Yes! She is thrown and with his slight of hand she can't even remember what came before this moment.
How did he get here? With eyes closed, mouth open and hungry for his food. A meal consisting of talks of life beyond two. A full course of the stuff that makes your insides do cartwheels.
Too much, too little, just enough. What is this hold? Doth I protest too much? Doth I speak of lips wet that speak a language only they can decifer.
With the familiar upside-down the moon never looked so beautiful. In the company of nature humming on the path of fate that twists and turns and winds around their hands intertwined as if that was their place. And her place is filled. Spilling over with the knowledge that he is real.
An open book for her to dive into.
Pages and pages of chapters of goodness with a surprise ending that will shake all those around them.
What is love?
It will be this. This thing here. This exact moment of connection.
It will grow, it will deepen, it will explore every boundary and surpass it ten times over because he said so.
Yes. She is taken.
He has scooped her up and laid her down all tangled and twisted in this soon to be love.

Tiffani C. Powell
Copyright August 2004

Silence

So sad that I am still afraid to be myself.
And who am I?
Who is this inside my skin?
Where do these thoughts come from?
Where do they live?
How do I release myself from myself?
How do I let go?
Am I able to let go of the criticism, the pain, the injustice, the secrets?
Am I ready to live in truth?
The soul seems so willing, but the body and mind is so weak.
I ramble, I stop. I pretend to be someone I am not.
Everyday attempt, attempt, attempt. Attempt to be her.
The one.
The one I'm supposed to be.
Destiny. Fate. Truth. I have doubts.
Secrets and lies they continue to plague me. So I push them further.
Back, back. Back behind the facade. The front. The fake.
I want out.
I want out of this nightmare. This half-world.
Is it me? Is it my fault?
Am I keeping her from breaking free? Rising to the surface?
To dream. To love. Do I believe that?
Does she believe that?
Am I worthy of more? Worth.
Again, I pause, I stop.
And still there is no answer.
Silence.

Tiffani C. Powell
Copyright May 2000

**my first poem**

3am

If it pleases you, may I hold your hand until my palms sweat?

Would it be alright if I curl up next to you in the middle of the night?

Is it okay to dart my eyes when you look at me cuz your smile makes me blush?

There's no sense in faking it. Your presence gives me a rush.

Will you come away with me my beautiful one-my heart overgrown?

Would you mind making love to me, our hearts pounding, sweat drops dripping and landing on my belly that will someday expand from our love?

Am I allowed to think of you always and forget why I came down to the kitchen?

Tiffani C. Powell
Copyright January 2005

No Such Obligation

Tell me again how strong I am.
The chameleon doing what it does best. Adaptation at your command.
Milk spilling and spoiling on the floor so what's the use in crying?
It's over, its done. All there's left to do is press send.
Be careful what you wish for cuz you might end up on Crystal Rock with the girl, the burdens, the cat and a one way ticket to life inside the airport. Always leaving with no destination.
Love...let me count the ways I can throw myself against a wall to remember how to leave when they've handed me my hat. And my hat is most certainly in my hand.
But then reflection is deflected and rejection is the objection that I don't want to rule guilty for. And I am guilty.
Guilty of 2000 thread count the bed was made with.
It's over. It's done.
But what price do we pay? Who's head is it on? Because I feel as though I can't afford the reward to get it back.
Who is responsible? Who will stand up in front of the class and recite the declaration?
Tell me again how strong I am. Tell me again how everything happens for a reason and I'll take off this mask and accept the obligation.

Tiffani Frost Powell
Copyright June 2004

The Box

So small this box. So deep the wound goes. Buried I am inside my skin, my muscles, my bones, my organs, my flesh.

So small this box. Remove it. Remove this abscess, this growth that holds me back from myself.

So small this box. This pocket of darkness that clouds my thinking shaming me inside.

So small this box. Grace me with the pleasure of sweetness. The sweetness that encompasses all that is good and innocent.

So small this box. My mind longs for a new way of thinking begging to swallow, see, feel the constraints and let go.

So small this box. Can I be led to the path? The path of righteousness, beauty and love?

So small this box. Cleanse me, heal me, leaving nothing but the one I am! Woundless and healthy.

So small this box. Will I ever trust myself to step outside naked and ready to live not with fear but with revelry? And the box...will be no more.

Tiffani C. Powell
Copyright August 2001

The Girl From Parkvale Road

The light in the hallway flickers only enough to see the shame held down beneath. Childhood smothered stifled stolen sold away slipped from trickled down cheeks covered and stained. Images loop on repeat where honesty doesn't exist. Faucets drip, air dead, time thickens like cement a tornado of shame permission not granted space invaded- worth deleted. Reality is not real when riding bikes isn't play. Trips downtown, dolls and ice cream sundaes are only diversions to divert attention to deconstruct memories that should be healthy. 

more to come...
Tiffani Powell
Copyright 2011