Dear Carrie

It’s scary ya know.

The world without you here.

I discovered too late the spirits of you and I were quite near, toast of champagne dear, now I’m trapped in the headlights. Staring into the shine trying to get a glimpse of your eyes. The car keeps approaching, wants to play chicken with me, Life already bulldozed you got a taste for blood, now she’s smitten with me! And I can’t move, it’s like I’m rooted to this spot; you died last year, I froze the moment, and time forgot. So now everyday is yesterday, dictionary on the swing, words at play, make it rain, stranger things like alchemy.

Oh wait.

I’m just cryin.

But I don’t care. Folks are laughing, you didn’t even meet her, if you woulda met her when you were married you probably would’ve cheated with her; plus she was on drugs tucked under the shade of a relapse, everything you like about her was far far away like a Shrek and charming rematch. So relax. Save your tears for real angels. Not another fallen pixie on a first name basis with rehab.

Dear Carrie, I don’t even respond to those folks no more. They make me wanna choke their vocal chords with a rubber hose around their throat til it don’t open no more. My hope is so sore. You were like a bottle of lightning and right when I picked it up to read the message inside it, you disappeared avatar roku style. I’m supposed to be goku how, feel like Liam neeson’s only child, everything I’ve learned since you were taken has cost me everything, ouch.

Is this what heroes are made of? Cords of your soul washed up, in the devil’s tub, but you’re Heaven touched, so Excalibur, in those burning thumbs, cannot overcome, the Lord’s banner hung, over every rut or find a weakness or opening to make a clean cut! Being a villain would be way more easy. Which is why you are Princess Leia both on and off screen to me. All you did was fight for right… even when cuddling with your darker side.

And I admit I cried. When I got home that night. You were the last Jedi. By faulty roll of dice. I’m dreading number nine. Cuz that glory is your right! But who am I really mad at? Me for playing it safe? Or you for living your life? Your legacy lives forever. Like Benjamin Franklin’s kite. And if I’m being Frank, I ain’t feelin too hot, dog, cuz the bark is fearsome, but I’m scared I’ll be all alone if I don’t leash this bite…

**sigh**

Dear Carrie, I’m working on it. Even in my peace of mind a piece of me is going bonkers.

Cuz you’re still not here.

So many loved you, almost none of us deserved you, but I heard lately from a woman of wondrous virtue that it’s not about deserve ooh. It’s about what we believe. And although I close my eyes and just scream cuz you not alive is obscene, when I open them again… there you are right next to beside me, auditioning for this musical, telling me to tell the truth.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Carrie Fisher drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra.

Oh God. It’s been so long. I was supposed to be leaping to safety, but instead I wrote a whole song. Well if I die, don’t tell them that I died. Regardless of how I go, I want it reported that I-

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Footprints

Every victory is a tipped tank carving the shards of me with hard angles, my darn ankles roll like grandma’s head in pa’s stranglehold!

Trophy is gold. Hands are brown. Heart is black. I curse, it attacks, I pray, it distracts, I may have a way to unbraid all the tracks, send the train off the map, this pain isn’t gain it’s terrain on collapse!

My footing stays unsteady. Without the bottle in my fingers my arms start feelin heavy. I can’t escape from escapism because when you’re not sick there is no remedy. Oh jiminy. God forsaken brevity. I’d burn a cross on mount Olympus if it meant experiencing divine levity.

Han wasn’t the laser brain. That goblin was me. Lightsaber straight through the center of my cranium. Severed identity. I’m sorry Carrie. I keep feeling like I’m betraying your legacy. What am I supposed to do when doing right and doing wrong are still being true to me?

TD Jakes said that being famous is the side effect of being effective… like a sycamore searching for sustenance in asgaard- I’m not sure where that leaves me. Honesty is the best policy nobody wants to cash in on. Poets are really practicing politicians posing as paupers and players of God’s midnight song, but late in the midnight hour all the magic of facade is gone.

Too many nights alone. Creating fragmented memories and calling them poems. The sound in the forest that nobody hears is the melodic tone on which my life steers. There’s no drop of golden sun for thirst of female deer, just West coast homeless probes in an autotuned tunic. I guess every superhero needs his theme music. 

But my theme is red light district. Look around. I blew it. And that line might have gone too far, but when you’re the only friend equipped to go the extra mile, you realize…

Most of your life will be dark patches of moonlight. Without even an echo to find your way home.

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Almost Made It

It’s like someone played the wrong chord on a vital organ… now I can hear the rising score morphin and taking over. Taking over the senses it connects to, it connects four because the clouded eyes behind these glasses are pourin.

Somewhere, in a garden hidden inside a forest, a flower falls…

A hitch in the step of sunrise, not strong enough to break into dawn, the darkness of the void is granted more time. Unintended benevolence, ignorant of what’s ahead of us, fishin for love with negligence, forfeiting our inheritance, trying to attain a better trust. Empty handed in the end, facial expression incredulous.

Like a roll of thunder, the flower crashes powerfully to the ground…

The bees lose passion for their honey… Badgers crawl from the cracks and crevices to lie dejectedly on the sand… the deer come down from the hills… Butterflies self identify with the cocoon… there are tear drops on the leaf tips. The dew of a morning that will either never come, or never cease. It’s only Tuesday, but the pews are already filled again. Completely unsure of what to pray, just aware that there’s a fresh crack inside and they don’t know how to fix it.

The broken flower rolls, idly, across the ground… slowly losing life yet captured in the twilight of ineffable beauty… there is no redemption in this- and even if there was, it’d be unnecessary.

Every petal isn’t meant to be saved.

Dear Maya

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Dear Maya…

It pains me we never met. It was an ordinary Wednesday, til I caught wind of your death, now I’m distressed- fingers running through my hair and getting lost like broken barretts. I would never claim to be your greatest fan, but the breeze that blew through your cage as you sang, carried your scent of greatness through time and space over to me.  It was like a seed of your love DNA was reframed and painted an awkardly strange yet desirable portrait in me.  The only thing I wanted to be… was your grandson.

Not in the legal, social sense, but in that special way that sometimes happens between two people… You see, I had this fantasy- and in it… I would walk up to you. Hesitant. You would smile. I would smile back. Then you’d take my hand and I’d cover it with my other one. We would look deep into each other’s eyes and see the kindred light shining the Morse code of the poetic mind in flashes of brightness that out shined the sun and made it look like tire rubber. And then, before any words were spoken, we would just… know. I became your grandson; And you became my grandmother.

The next words will probably make people scoff at me, but the pain of your passing is the anesthetic protecting me… I never read any of your books, never memorized your classic pieces, but I was fascinated by you as a person and how you taught the believers about believin. Truth be told, in every interview and recording I never saw you as old, but as living poetry. Every word, every breath, every phrase, every inflection of imparted wisdom, was literary excellence dipped and baptized in the Heavenly Nile- I fell in love with love off of your FREESTYLE!!

But now… like a confused caterpillar trying to get out of its shell, my heart is cracked with grief. Trying to rake away the sentiment that everybody leaves right when I need the strength to stay free. I don’t know where they store the tools to shift heart gears, but when I read that you died I shed real tears… I’m not a snail in a shell, I’m a caterpillar in a broken cocoon… but I’m not sure what’s coming through. Can’t tell if it’s a butterfly or something underdeveloped… I was hoping that one day you would tell me.

Dear Maya… I love you. I never met you, but I love you… that’s what your legacy is all about isn’t it? Love. And purpose. To cradle in your arms a lost and aching generation and tell them it’s okay to walk in your footsteps, as long as we yield control of the road to God and how He paves it.  Your words… your heart… your spirit… were aMAZING… I’m praying to be like you- the hero I loved. Which is probably why this hurts so badly. I would gladly trade any of my successes for seconds to look you in the eye and tell you…

I love you Grandma Angelou.

Gruesome Isolation

This is the beginning of where the end hates its start. You keep your monsters under your bed? Mine pay rent right in my heart! It’s hard to believe my demons can live in my blood stream, but when threads defy seams it seems that’s why I can never swim upstream.

Exactly.

I’m a two winged bird madly in love with gravity. When I look up at the sky, the earth just slaps me. Every time I pull away, the ground roughly grabs me. The roughness is all bite with no bark, and all these naked trees fallin on me leave a mark. Tryna do right, but progress cuts the lights out with the scissors that I used in art class to illustrate my life’s route.

Everybody wants what I got, but don’t wanna pay me to get it… Love the way I live, but critiquing every imperfect feeling.

Well I’m feeling like an uncensored ceiling- so high and disconnected, profanity is the only vanity where I’m pro myself and still have fans that can see me. Like I’ll stay cursed if I don’t, but I’ve never been a sketched etch to waste a rhyme, so I won’t.

Just know that I’m alone in this boat.

Everybody’s lookin for escape, I’m just tryna be the goat.