Poems

 

The following are a few of Mollie’s Poems.

Psychotic Bitch

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I’ve been feeling kinda crazy recently. Trying not to blame it on how you’ve been treating me. But you’re making it very hard. And all of a sudden I’ve got a profound new understanding for them psychotic bitches. You know the ones: they be slashin’ tires, startin’ fires, tappin’ your telephone wires. Now I just realize they need some attention, just like I need your fucking attention. Like a good thirst quenching. I am trying to hold on to my very last little bit of reality, not pass over into the world of insanity. But you are making it very hard. Every time your cell phone “accidentally” drops the call when I’m in the middle of pouring out my all, I am that much closer to becoming that psychotic bitch. Every time that you say “baby, I’m on my way home” and I put something pretty on and then wait there all night alone, I am that much closer to becoming that psychotic bitch. Every time you fail to see all I do for you and how good I am to you, I am that much closer to becoming that psychotic bitch. And every time that you borrow my car, and leave my ass with no fucking gas, I am that much closer to becoming that psychotic bitch. And every time that you allow yourself to come before I am done, I am that much closer to becoming that psychotic bitch. And I don’t know what I need to do. It’s been two years and more tears than anybody should go through. I put a roof over our head, I am damn good in bed, hell yes, I give head. I throw down in the kitchen, never do a lot of bitchin’, help take care of your children, do all the books and the billing, put up with your ex wife, and all the other crap in your life. I am mad loyal. I don’t need you to do my hair and nails cause I’m not spoiled. I make my own money, honey, so why you still actin’ so fuckin’ funny? But then again, maybe you’re not acting funny, maybe I’m just a dummy, in love with a man nearly twice my age. While I hope and pray we get engaged, damn, to him am I just a phase? This is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. Am I just a by-product of his midlife crisis? Is he happy to be wifeless? Just one thing for me to do, recognize that in this relationship, I will never say “I do”. I could keep this man as my boo, or move on to somebody else, but who? I don’t give a fuck, I’m through.

I am an American

I’m an American, addicted. To my instant gratification, constant pacification, kinda like masturbation, I need now satisfaction. Not present. To that each of my actions have a chain reaction. A cause and effect. My actions are not in alignment with my cause, and I am not present to my effect. I am tired. The day is through. I’m hungry so I’m just going to hit up this drive-thru. Now the obvious cause and effect is on my body. Cholesterol and fat, and if that was that, it’d be ok. But it’s not. I killed an animal so I could get this meal today, subjected it to a horrible life before its death. Desecrated the rain forest in order for it to have room to live. I am filling the landfills with takeout containers. Misusing the planet’s resources in order to feed my food aka livestock rather than feeding starving children. All this for a meal with zero nutritional value. Looking at 99-cent burgers from this position they don’t look like such a value. What’s the real cost of that 99-cent burger to me? But do I give a fuck? Cause I’m just I’m an American, addicted. To my instant gratification, constant pacification, kinda like masturbation, I need now satisfaction. Not present. To that each of my actions, have a chain reaction. A cause and effect. My actions are not in alignment with my cause, and I am not present to my effect. Seventeen 50 seems like a whole lot of money for a CD for me. So I think I’ll just go to my PC and download that music for free. For me. Damn. I just stole from an artist. As an artist, that’s fucked up. I killed off the possibility of that album going gold, platinum or diamond. Where ever it was destined to go. And then I stole from another hundred or so people who worked on that album. Like the guitar player living in a one-bedroom apartment with his wife and three kids. Depending on that royalty check so that he could live. See, I contributed to budgets getting smaller, people getting laid off, now they’re on unemployment, one third of what they’re used to getting paid. But they’ve still got kids to raise. Their houses are in foreclosure, their cars are hid from the repo man. And they don’t have a plan. Cause the crash in the music industry was not in their plans. So believe you me, next time I want to buy a CD, I will come up with that $17.50. Cause I was in an “I” conversation and I forgot that we are all we. But do I really give a fuck? Cause I’m just an American, addicted to my instant gratification, constant pacification, kinda like masturbation, I need now satisfaction. Not present to that each of my actions have a chain reaction. A cause and effect. My actions are not in alignment with my cause, and I am not present to my effect. I’m against the war, like most of us are, but before I came here tonight I had to fill up my car. $32.50 to be exact. So with 32.50 in gas I just voted for Bush to go where ever and kick whoever’s fucking ass. And I didn’t just vote for it once; I vote for it like one, two, three times a week, every time I fill up my tank. And I got all the excuses in the world why I can’t do anything about it. Like I don’t have the money in the bank to buy one of them fancy new electric cars and the technology’s not even perfected. I hear they don’t even go that far. But the truth is, I could drive a whole lot less. I could carpool a whole lot more. I could do my best to have my consumption of petrol be a whole lot less. They say that ignorance is bliss. Well if that is true, I’m through. I wanna know the cost, I wanna know the impact, and I wanna know the risk. I wanna be count-onable, responsible, and accountable for my life, and the impact of that life on the rest of life on the planet. But what can I do? I am just an American. A brainwashed American. And even when I think I’m thinking for myself. Like right now, I think I’m thinking for myself, I’m most likely thinking a thought that is regurgitated from somebody else. So what am I to do? Well I’m gonna ask you to please educate me, and just maybe, I could educate you. Remind me to be someone who only takes action in alignment with her cause. Is always present to her effect. I wanna pledge allegiance to making a difference. Sing the National Anthem of responsibility. That’s the kind of American that I want to be. Please help me.

Life

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Life Driving in my car, my mind just rambles on. My life, it’s like one continuous night. This traffic. No fucking end in sight. Bills every month pile up to new heights. I am 25, and still nobody’s wife. I don’t even want to get into my financial plights. I just can’t seem to get this thing called life right. And then right at that moment, my mind, it drifted to you. And I realized that I have no right to complain about my life, when you are living life, doing life, in prison, behind bars, and I am casually driving in my car. And if we turn back life a page to an earlier phase. When you and I are being robbed, and you do the unthinkable in my defense. Or in our defense, or in self-defense, or in defense of the fact that you’re a man, or in defense of the fact that you’re real, or in defense of the fact that you have my back. You did the only thing you knew to do; that you had grew to knew to do, when you was at gun point. So at this point, you drew. And they were at gunpoint. And you killed a man. In my defense, or in our defense, or in self-defense. Or self-defense is how I saw it, but 12 jurors who did not appear to be your peers read back a verdict that to this day still brings me to tears. LIFE. And now it’s been 3 years. And you are an inspiration. You keep your mind on meditation. Your attention on God. You remind me of Job, who in the Bible lost everything, including his children. You have lost everything. Including your children. Still trying to be a daddy. Without running up that collect call tally. I don’t know how you do it. Sometimes you call me with so much wit. You’ll just make me laugh. But you’ll never let me know he half of what it’s like living life, doing life. Well what I do know is that I love you, and that I’m blessed that I had you. No, I mean I have you in my life. And I know that I don’t never have the right to complain about my free life. Part II Four years down, Life sentence to go. His letter said he doesn’t know how he’s going to deal. And without an attorney to help him deal, these appeals are starting to feel less and less real. He’s trying to keep the faith, but it’s hard contained in this awful place. He went on to say that he realized that he’s becoming institutionalized. Complacent. Unwilling to push up against what he’s faced with. No longer has the strength to keep fighting. God, I need to write him. I want to cry. I want to scream. I wanna get down on my knees and beg him “don’t lose steam. I am still on your team”. I want to write a poem, this poem would inspire him to find the strength within. To not be broken by a system that’s long been broken. I would call this poem “Institutionalized”. I need to be the best that I can be. Stop, don’t cry. He needs your strength to rise. And in turn, save his life. So how would this poem go? I don’t know. I don’t know how to write a poem about how not to become institutionalized. And at that moment I realize, I am institutionalized. I am complacent. Unwilling to push up against what I’m faced with. I no longer have the strength to keep fighting. In fact, when it comes to poetry, I’ve mostly stopped writing. I’ve stopped using my voice. I don’t think I have a choice. People tell me I’m gifted. I stay quiet. I don’t think I make a difference. I stand here in silence when I should act out in rage. I realize that I am institutionalized by my government’s own propaganda. For we went to war and I rallied against that war for exactly 4 and one-half hours. Institutionalized by television. I am losing my own vision. To advertisements of meat and diary all day long, accompanied by a catchy little jingle song. When heart disease is the #1 cause of death. I am barely willing to say out loud “We are eating ourselves to death. Please stop!” Instead I call the cable company, order more channels and continue to watch. One million black baby boys in foster care or ready to adopt. But people go overseas to buy babies with more desirable complexions. In that action, sealing the fate of 80% of those boys to an adult life in state corrections. And I do nothing. My friend, not the only one falsely accused of a crime he did not commit, with an inflated prison sentence due to the fact he fell on the wrong side of the color line. And now he is running out of time. Time for chances for freedom. And then all he will have is time. I want to rage against the machine. But I am not Zack or Tom. I am just a white zombie barely phased by my government killing hundreds of thousands by dropping bombs. I realize that I am institutionalized. Complacent, no longer willing to push up against what I am faced with. But maybe, maybe in of this realization there could be a new creation. Some power and freedom is available out of knowing that I have been broken, by a system that’s long been broken. I must find my feelings. Remember what I am passionate about. Recommit to what I am committed to. Never lose sight of what there is for me to do. Recognize complacency at its earliest stages. Never let it get to its later phases. Use my voice. Know that I have a choice. Keep fighting

Explanation

The Explanation She rolled her eyes back in her head, she looked at her friend and said “just another white bitch, chasing that Nubian dick”. Excuse me, Miss, I am not just another white bitch, chasing that Nubian dick. There is some stuff that you just might not understand. Like when I was coming up and all my little friends had a man, I did not. We were what, 14? When kids can be so mean. And all my friends, they were thin like a stick, and I was already getting kinda thick. I did not know it was ok for me to have hips. I did not know, beautiful were my tits. I did not eat. I threw up everything I did. Trying to obtain a body image I had when I was a kid. All the little white boys called me fat, and joked how they would never ever get with that. So I perceived myself to be unlovable. And believed myself to be unbearable. But the truth is, I am lovable. And the first boy that ever let me know that, his name was Zimbabwe Pool. And at my high school, he was the epitome of cool. He loved me in a way that taught me to love myself. So I never gave a fuck about wealth. Or who had more melanin in their skin. I was just honored to be loved by somebody who did not judge me, for I was not thin. There were many more that loved me and taught me to love me. After Zimbabwe came Che, then came Hasan, followed by Sekou, proceeded by Chuckie. And last but not least there was Charlie. Which brings us to today. Where there’s just me. No man. Still never been with a white man. Always been with a black man. But I’ve come to the time in my life where I want to be somebody’s wife. Give somebody my life. But the truth is, the kind of man I want to spend my life with is probably just too righteous to spend his life with a white chick. And I know that “righteous” sometimes has a negative connotation. But please understand that in this situation, I mean only the most positive interpretation. “Righteous” like filled to the brim with education and explanation. “Righteous” like conscious, “righteous” like integrity with one’s own beliefs. “Righteous” like determined, never dwelling in grief. And I know that it’s people who look like me always causing the grief. And it’s people who look like me, always the abusers. And still always the accusers. So I understand why he keeps choosing her. What am I to do? I keep falling in love with men who love me behind closed doors, call me their girl, and then I get around their family and the introduction’s like “Yo, this my homegirl, Mollie”. And then I start to feel like a real close relation to his Sony Playstation, like I am only here for his recreation. And I wanna be more that somebody’s homegirl. In fact, I want to be more than somebody’s girl. I wanna be somebody’s world. But our worlds are still colliding, and all over the world our people are still fighting. I don’t have the answer.

Pacified

I want to be pacified. So that I can pass the time. Till my past subsides. In the morning before I even have clear vision, I click on my television. Go to the bathroom. Turn on the radio. Turn on the shower. Try to wash off my emotional experiences. I’m trying to cleanse myself of my feelings. I need a healing. Then I get in the mirror, and I paint my face. So that I can face the world., chase my goals, Enter the rat race fight for my place. I get in my car, my cell phone is glued to my ear. I’m trying to advance my career. Maybe if I had more money, I’d have less fear. I play the music so loud in hopes that the voices in my head might drown. But it seems that my brain is indelibly stained with the pain of my past mistakes. I get to work and I’m working so hard. I’m working so hard I can’t even remember what I’m working for. Just one more chore to keep me in my little world. After I get off work all I want to do is get faded, get fed, get laid and get to bed. I am running so hard and so fast towards the future where it’s gonna be all good, or I am dwelling in day dreams of my childhood. Either way, I am robbing myself of the eternal present. Right now. Which is God’s present. And I am rarely present. I am always trying to escape this now moment, trying to get somewhere but I’m never gonna get there. There is no there. No yesterday, no tomorrow; only today. And I am the only thing in my way. The more that I resist, the more now persists. Like right now, it is now. And right now it is, now. And still, now, it is now. So it is inevitable that I will be still and honor what is true. The question is will I do it in my youth? Or will it be in death that I recognize that I have wasted my life, trying to get it right? You see, I live like I have forever, but I might pass tonight. Today could be my last. Or one of many that makes up my past. Either way, I choose to live it like it is my last. I wanna be present. I wanna stop leaving undelivered communications in my path. I want to say “I love you” every time I think it. So no matter when I go, you already know. When someone is sick, or in prison, or I lose a loved one, in those moments I recognize, nothing else matters. So why does it take a tragedy to bring out the best in me? What is it that I am running from? What is it I’m trying to get done? Why is it so hard for me to remember we are all one? And if we are all one, there’s nothing for me to get to, cause it’s all already been done by the whole of us. So there’s nothing I need to be doing, in fact, I am not a human doing, but a human being. So maybe the answer is in the being, and all there is for me to do, is live my life through. Being present in each and every moment, with each and every one of you.

Whispers

I think god is talking to me I’m ignoring the whispers cuz I’m scared of the screams But I think god is talking to me And I am petrified by what he’s asking me to do I’m starting to notice those get tested billboards more and more And H.I.V P.S.A’s come on my T.V every single day And has any other episode of Oprah been run more then the down low brotha I’m starting to notice more and more of my friends go both ways when it goes to their lovers Too many of my loved ones have been lost to immune systems deficient My boy sits me down with fear in his voice and tears in his eyes to tell me that he’s positive that he’s positive and there’s nothing positive about these results Sitting somewhere in Virginia writing this poem handed a bag full of condoms and pamphlets with magic Johnson’s face on it posing the ever looming question: Are you positive? I think god is talking to me I’m ignoring the whispers cuz I’m scared of the screams But I think god is talking to me And I am petrified by what he’s asking me to do I start to scroll through ex lovers in my head trying to access there level of risk And how many times did the condom break and how many times did I choice momentary pleasure and not give a fuck But the problem is I did give a fuck Do they seem like they engaged in risky behavior before or during me Do they seem lie they’d creep with men playing a macho game of pretend And what about that one night stand with that airplane man That was not in the plan Because dinner was the only thing on the itinerary And what about the men that got out of line and ended up doing some time we all know what happens in prison that’s a given What about my college years Or when I’m in a relationship for years And I start to thin our love is our protection he doesn’t need to strap up his erection My mind is racing with fear its getting hard to hear. Haunted by echoes of heavy breathing grinding sweating and screaming Culminating and orgasms not one of those night is worth my life But its crazy what you’ll do When you have forgotten No when I have forgotten how to love myself And if I’m positive will I ever learn to love myself let alone someone else if I’m positive will I still be able to give my life and my words to being positive? Do I love myself enough to know if the answer is yes or no? Do I love myself enough to know the truth if the truth is my reckless behavior had left me with only my youth Or will I continue to cross my fingers and pray my cat got 9 lives Forgetting that curiosity killed the cat I think god is talking to me I’m ignoring the whispers cuz I’m scared of the screams But I think god is talking to me And I am petrified by what he’s asking me to do So now I am asking you if could borrow the courage To do what I got to do Or better yet will you? Somewhere over the course of this poem I have become gods whisper Posing the ever looming question: Are you positive your not positive?

The God Poem

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