Saturday, April 5, 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
You say how sad
You say poor thing
But when it's you
It's something else,
It started with something minor,
went from there to something worse
The friends you loved
The thoughts you knew
Felt so weird
It happens to other people
Here's to April -> SAAM. This poem is about rape.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
He hides himself from me
cloaked in disappointment
he wades in an out of my life
leaving scraps of him for me to follow
He adores me
but won't say, won't stay
won't compromise his way to be with me
He drifts, and yet sifts the better part of me
He loves me
the way i love him back
love that stands taller than any pine tree
love that blooms in the spring, and culminates in the fall
a love for all seasons, but not for all
for only a strong woman can endure his bitter wind
his will to win
at all costs
not knowing the game
to lose at all costs
where noone's to blame and yet he needs me
beneath the stars
in the middle of the night
when he can no longer rest
he visits me
he seeks me
this i can attest
and i am there waiting
for one touch
to be near
once again...to he who needs me, but only in dreams.
The two-bedroom apartment we shared had come fully-furnished. To us everything spoke of quality and comfort, if not luxury. To the vast majority of people living in Haiti, even most middle-class people, our home was an example of the extreme disparity that polarized the impoverished island nation. Terry, my roommate, was something of an art collector and had managed to acquire some impressive pieces over the years. Fabrice had paid for most of it of course, but Terry didn’t like to talk about her ex.
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and we sat in the living room doing what we did best; lounging in our underwear, chatting about happier times and exchanging memories of our misspent youth as the tropical breeze danced through the apartment. Though we were not intimately involved, we seemed a living picture of domestic tranquility; I with my mango smoothie and Terry with her rum and coke.
I don’t remember how we got on this new subject, but when Terry spoke she erased everything that had previously been said from my memory.
She was slouched on the loveseat in her mismatched bra and panties with her legs spread slightly apart, “I was raped once,” Terry said matter-of-factly.
“Oh my God,” I said sitting up, “what happened?”
Terry leaned back, extended her long white legs out in front of her, and folded her arms across her chest as she looked up at the ceiling. “I was about 19 and I was hitchhiking home after a night of drinking. This car stopped for me… They got me.” Terry let out a nervous giggle before continuing. “I knew better than to get in a car with 2 guys, but one of them laid low. By the time I saw him it was too late. He just jumped out and grabbed me.”
“Holy shit.” That was all I could say as I leaned forward on the couch.
“Yeah,” Terry started again in a calm voice, “they fucked me up pretty good. They took turns in the back seat. Good thing I was drunk or it probably woulda hurt more.” Another nervous giggle.
“Terry, I am so sorry.” I said softly, not sure what else to say.
Terry looked at me and smiled distantly, “oh it’s ok man, that was years ago.” She pulled her legs back and reached forward to get her rum and coke from the coffee table. After taking a slow sip she looked past me to a bare spot on the wall and spoke again. “I just wish they had left my boots on. I had just bought these brand new cowboy boots. But I was wearing a skirt. They could have ripped that off without taking my boots off.”
I tried to imagine Terry fighting for her life. “I bet you were trying to kick the shit out of them.”
Terry looked at me. “Nah man, these were some big guys, I didn’t stand a chance. When they were done they drove for a few miles then threw me out onto the side of the road and tossed my clothes out after me, but one of my boots stayed in the car.” Terry looked at the wall again with an annoyed look on her face. “I really liked those boots.”
Is like too busy to breathe
Yet gasping for fleeting minutes
Til I had to hold my breath...
I mean I held my pen
But it exploded
Exposing my thoughts
My feelings and frustrations
Onto the black fabric of my blog
Reading it leaves a stain
An indigo blotch
Nestled in my empty pocket
Turned inside out like my soul
Even after many washings
Resisting all attempts to make it clean
An ever-present reminder
From the neglected pen
That screamed out for attention
Thinking about it makes me want to cry
And tear drops fall like ink
Black rain on skin-colored paper
Like obscene tattoos of my visions
But this is more than skin deep
This is the reality of human waste
Mortals too blunted to be mortified
Too dead to be considered normal
Yet so much like me that I love them
The wretches no one cares about
Given life by the ink of my eyes
And what about the soundtrack
Should I share the stories of
Pride gone and self-esteem so low
Some pay cash for a chance to give blowjobs
To condescending self-important scumbags
Because it make them feel special
To feel hot sweaty palms on their heads
While being told they give the best head
That sucking sound is not their lips
It’s their souls being drawn from their flesh
But this is not about them
It’s about my selfish need to be selfless
It’s about my insatiable thirst
To drink the bitter dregs of pain
From every Jane Doe’s cup of misery
A gesture of goodwill to those I meet today
In memory of the ones who kept me warm
When my world was lonely and cold
It’s about wanting to make a difference
In the life of a fatherless child
Yet another fatherless child
Peace and Love,
PS: April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM). I am PASSIONATE about this issue and I’m determined to do my part to help educate as many people as possible. Please join me in spreading the word. Sexual violence must stop!
Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
geese of love
geese of love
wing to wing
as they shapes their shadows
into a big heart
they swing their beating big heart
in the blue skies
turning into a white clouded heart
as it pours down rain
while after rain,
sunny kisses their golden hazy eyes
geese of love
they made a twinkle
a song in the night
opening their mouth
and makes peaceful sounds of
within sweetest wishes grooving
through the light warm winds
into God's ear
He hears them through the breath
through beautiful echoings
all through mingling sad voices
He hears them
singing to the grey moon
brown wings flapped
and wandering off
strolling down the ground
where they keep
their heart in the sky
oh the geese of love,
He hears them
all through His words
check this out
© Kai C. 2008
The thin skin of your passion
is at times impenetrable.
The pricks and prods become
me and are now my fashion.
And in the closet of your thoughts
bruises and burns leave you wild and spent.
I sit and wait for you to see
what your being for me has wrought.
You think apart and deconstruct your “us”
while I live and breathe it quietly, out loud.
If you think “us” away then all will be well,
save the shredded souls running with puss.
What then when I know what you do (will) not?
That the links that bind us will tighten and cut.
That the taste and scent will sharpen and beckon.
That all this time you have needed what you have fought.
T.S.Snowden (March 2008)