monarchThere are some amazing truths at work in this world.

Take the butterfly for example.  Bypass, if you can, the smooth glint and grin of tilted wings harmonizing with the wind.  Look beyond how it floats through gravity’s realm, deftly impervious to its clutches.  See deeper than its origin story of predestined transformation.  Know all of that, and see none of it.  Look at the butterfly… and see- a butterfly.

The butterfly is an amazing truth.


Because it is a butterfly.

It is a self contained, blossoming bastion of unique beauty.  Its very not-contingent-upon-your-approval existence is, itself, bold attitude defining it outside of its attributes.  Look from afar through a telescope; look up close with a microscope.

Same miracle.  Same butterfly.  Same created existence wrapped up in something that both you and I lack.

The closest we’ll ever get to being what the butterfly is is through idiomatic literary extravagance.  Metaphors, similes, and poetical analysis analogous to dimensional paralysis- we must freeze the moment we enter the butterfly’s world, and create a memorable memory to cling to when time catches us back up again.

There are some amazing truths at work in this world.

More than there is time to tell of them.

But the butterfly is one, and your neighbor is two.

Just a couple, out of a long line, of synchronous, disparate truths… and amazing to boot.


The Win

If this one is for you then say this one is for me…

I’m a winner- point blank period. No matter how you rework my life sentence, I’m coming out with a win at the end of it.  This isn’t wishful thinking, pretending, or manipulative preaching- this is losing’s worst nightmare…


I’m incredible simply because I am.  I have no need to brag- I just boldly state these glowing, accurate facts. And in fact, my failures are failures- loss is intended to discourage, but what you gon do when I keep raising my bloody head from the dirt? 

I play for higher stakes.

Some strive to be the greatest taste on the plate, but my aim is to be the great Greatness that forms and creates. Battles may break me… People may scar me… Foolishness may plague me… But NO one can stop me.

I am where the unstoppable force and the immovable object potently coincide with cohabitating, violent harmony.

Mine is not the plight of ordinary men… But then again…

I’m in this for The Win.

If this one is for you, then say this one is for me.

Cover Up Girl

This is to my cover up girl…

To my queen in the long dresses, real smile, and real hair.  She is a maze of amazing qualities calling my name from higher up.  In order to even capture her gaze in her capturing essence I must go higher up.  I cannot simply look up, but stand down, no- I must rise like dark night to dawn, touch my feet to clouds and stand. My. Ground.

My cover up girl isn’t like all the rest. She’s got class like Mrs. Cleaver, but yall just leave it to cleavage and though I blink when I see it, I already know… on the echelon pole of women with angelic glow she’s a rose on top while yall just battle for the bottom post.  My cover up girl is a secret like your deepest woes, but she wields joy in spades because her heart’s in the right place.

I never met a girl I didn’t want to holla at until I met her… Nor yet since. It’s nonsense to think another girl exists with her sense…  Never met a girl who I didn’t take at least ten seconds imagining what it might be like getting up under her skirt- caressing her face until my finger tips danced romantilustfully down her shirt so we could do the tango and end up… tangled.

My cover up girl gives me nothing to work with save the work I put in listening and trying to sound intelligent. Sure sexiness and crude humor loom under the sailing moon of our conversations, but for once… I don’t want it.  I don’t want the cart before the horse, the sweets before the main course, and what’s blowing my mind is, the depth of this friendship is making her more attractive than any girl I’ve touched or fantasized about before!

Good Lord!

It must be pig flyin season…

This is to my cover up girl.

For takin pride in this time between being invisible and seen… It calls out the man in me.

This is to my cover up girl who does not even know I admire her so…

Your wrap of choice is the jeweled gates of Heaven and even if nobody else believes it… I know.

Thank you… my cover up girl.

Good Women

This is an ode to the good women…

The women who are proud of their ethnicity, and can genuinely affirm their own beauty…

This is a shout out to the women who survived abuse, and daddy issues, and now issue a decree of new like the dawn of the sun on January first…

This is a reverent praise to the strong and the few… The ones whose lives were shattered, but used resolve and God as their emotional glue… The ladies who shine like night lights that survived the red light and emerged into the daylight… The ones who did what they had to do to get to the honey like winnie the pooh, and aren’t bound by a deluding sense of having something to prove- the ones who have seen the paw print of Jesus and caught a clue…. His blood purifies and rectifies you.

This is for the women swimmin’ upstream from their past… Who recognize that, constant reflection is bad, who can inch one limping step ahead at a time until they reach the golden path…

This is for the women who became women to early, and for the mothers who became mothers too soon… I salute your fight, and your staunch resilience against the grief the WORLD delivered to you.

This is for the women who through shaded jaded perspective can spot a good man… The women who can, be honest with themselves and, be transparent to the point of exposing GOD’S plan… For the women who hold it together despite coming undone… For the women who do not lose their stance under pressure, but rather become living diamonds… Good women.

This goes out to all the women, from the lightest to the tinted, who have tented their “ness” and became at home in their own skin…

This is for the women who- with no solid examples- managed to become wife material… The women who fed on lack yet now nurture.  Who were raised by lazy, but became workers.  Who were attempted abortions, and emerged to become sanctified BIRTHERS…

This is for the good women.

This is for the women who learned to be women, without the catalyst of a horror story… The women who had to pave the road of peace… This is for the women who make living a joy… The women who draw real men out from their caves to come and see…

This is an ode from a young man blessed on every side by women who may have started off as less, but transcended into Queens capable of taking over the land…

Praise God…

For the good women.


~The Wordsmith

Love Flutters

I can’t tell my friends about this… It’s just not a tough look.  It’s not a manly phrase.  They already know she pulls something wondrous out of me – no reason smiles, songs and melodies laced with mushiness, movie references I have no business making, heck even poetry verse with no rhyme… The list goes on.  I try to explain how I was clouded by bitter rain, living life first, but had a caboose heart – always at the end of the train.  My childhood plagued me, past relationships ailed me, my calculations played me, and I’m certain that somewhere somebody hates me… Such sentiments I keep buried in the confines of my heart’s depths – truths I dare not utter.  Trapped in the cocoon of my blunders, til I discovered…

Love flutters.

She came along like Polly, and wheeled me away like a dollie, I’m sorry, but probably I wouldn’t be so intoxicated had I encountered more anomalies.  Too many lady wannabees, buzzing around the comb, but producing no honey.  In the words of my mother – “Honey, please.”  I tried to avoid, but I still caught a few like disease, those fleas that leech, and let you scratch your itch to appease, but ultimately are not the embodiment for that which one seeks.  But her… At the first love flutter, I was so startled I called my brother.  He told me to get it together, no woman can be such a treasure.  I wanted to listen… I wanted to believe… But as soon as she came around me, the love flutters overpowered me.  My heart was beatin like it wanted out of my chest, my eyes were seeing light like perceiving life out of death.  I could barely catch my breath.  Heart pace runnin out of steps.  What was left?  Put these love flutters to the test.

My boys asked me to define this enigma that’s rigged my mind.  I told them to sit down, and watch the metaphors pass by… Have you ever been working hard, sweatin strong, sun blazing down?  She’s the cool cup of lemonade, and the breeze’s gentle sound.  If you playin spades, then she’s the ace, if you eatin sweets, then she’s the taste.  Judge found me guilty of true love, and I plead her as my case!  If you paint a rainbow in the sky – she’s the sparkle that catches your eye, the dream arising in your mind, and the promise of grace that God made to mankind…  If you run a marathon she’s endurance, if you’re lacking health then she’s insurance.  She’s a tourist of your personality, and a resident of your heart.  She’s the reason you run home after work, because she’s a home run woman, her exquisiteness is out the park.

I paused to catch my breath, and my homies were on they feet.  No reason smiles on they face, asking “yo, can you find one for me?!”  So many fish in the sea, but I’m just looking for one “A” to match my “B.”  Where do these women you speak of stay at?  I’m ready for love fluttering.  My mind is open, waiting for a dove to fly through the window.  I tell them, fellas I don’t know, she caught me surprise yo.  Just make your heart a home worth living in, your mind a place she can be freed in, your soul a megaphone for God to speak in, and your actions a direct correlation of what you believe in… Oh and don’t panic.  Cuz when you feelin smooth as butter, shapin your dough – cookie cutter, tearin your fears asunder, honing and pruning yourself to be a lover, it’ll happen… This girl will take root in your mind, and suddenly –

Love flutters.


~The Wordsmith