Rifled

he scrolled through his contacts, debating on who’d hear the ringing shots,

who’d get burned by a stray shell and who’d toss his gun

not who’d get cut down mid-run

trying to save him

from himself:

the ride or die

who pawned her life

for his love

– B. Brown

(art courtesy of Pinterest)

To Whom This May Concern…

As sorry as I’ve felt,

at the foot of my bed,
fetal and folded in

holiday in flannel,

softening for a cigaro
persuading tomorrow,

while clasping laughter

of way back when,

(it sometimes slips)

to sing with your arrival
and to
ring with your arousal

like when I ushered you through

down my Nile,
risking defile,

I will never
apologize for kissing you,
loving you,

only for listening to you

only for

missing you,

like always

for you

-B. Brown

(art image courtesy of Pinterest)

Dance With Me

I skip to the rustle

of emerald leaves,

dandelions

riverfronts

in the bustleing breeze

kicking to the sun

and it’s holy choir

singing to my skin

and humming

within the safety

of serrated mountains

keeping tempo

above the earths momento

a trail of tears and hopes

worn in by my foregoers

can’t you hear it?

quiet and listen

this symphony

is our only theme

hold my hand, please

pull me close

careen with me

please

will you

dance with me?

B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

Estranged

how comfortable I was

giving everything

I thought I was

before I knew

what or who I was

conforming

performing how a hidden

witness does

how solicitous

with barely a soul to offer

if it’d give me a chance

a place

a body to harbor

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

Where is the Balance?

when I have to convince myself
that maybe you too
could have a penny for me
a coppery cent to fund
my stimulation organization

that you’ll help me grow
keep my vines thriving
bearing fruit from our labor
oh, I can just taste it now
a candied poison berry flavor

but I have to hope and pray steadfastly
that you’ll come through for me
through the ache, my anger
to wager through to me to love me

and I have to demand
that you see me clearly
wash your hands
before you handle me
understand
that you’re becoming part of me
for you to know
I’m not taking you lightly

when I have to plead for you
to forgive me
for simply acting on my tailored beliefs
for splitting myself to drip heavily, feeding
where is the balance
if you won’t feel for me?

– B. Brown

(art courtesy of Pinterest)

Journal: Tight Rope

I’ve been walking a tight rope lately,
my arms stretched as far as they’d go
into the winds,
challenging my balance…

I don’t know what keeps this line suspended,
tight enough to hold my weight,
slack enough to keep me wavering…

I do my best not to look down,
I’ve fallen before,
rather not have it happen again,
but it’s tempting…

I keep inching, hoping for something
anything, an intervention
divine, an intermissive stimulation

I keep hoping for a surprise,
looking for a sign saying maybe
it wouldn’t be the worst
thing to dive, to get it over with

to slip and accept with grace
another body to offer a chance,
an extraction from my delayed reaction,

this fear of forming any attachments…

– B. Brown

(image by Alain Laboile)

Trust Issues

what happens when it’s all you got left

keeping you afloat,

giving you hope

a line to other hearts,

a line to be used against you,

as a tournicate

strapped across your vital parts

how can you bleed?

how do you breathe?

– B. Brown

(stitch art by Andrea Farina)

A Little Extra

with everything that I am,
with breast that have fed,
the marks that snake up and down
my tummy and thighs,
my blood shot eyes
and stiff shoulders
and mind,
my calloused feet
and swollen tear ducts
no one wants to admit
that I’m more than just a good fuck,
that their touch runs deeper
beneath my veins
and trains of thoughts,
that what is asked from me
I’ve fought to be able to give
that I fight to be able to live
with the demons that drug me daily
that my mind is weary
and in need of another soul’s fury
that I need more than just fire,
that the rain has a way
of cleansing my desires
and that words are my earth,
that I stand on critiques and literature
that I still need to be nurtured

– B. Brown

I am not ashamed for being a little extra when it comes to my needs, because all of my adult life, I’ve had people take more than what they’ve cared to give to me. I am extra and I do the most because I am constantly trying to be the best me. So yeah, I am a woman who’s entitled to her needs.

(Art by Rekouane Kamel)

The Gamble for Gold

you wouldn’t see it
in the wrinkle of my brow

or know it
even as I told it
with a quivering frown

or hear it
in my shaking voice

how I felt
that I had no choice

but to risk it
and run with it
with you

for a chance
to love again

before it all
fell away again

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

Don’t Be An Amateur

I’m an herb that burns slowly,

fifty-percent THC

not a tea

to temper,

I toss realities,

slow you down

so you can see,

so you can think

so you won’t be the same

with me

and without me,

you’ll be hurting,

so don’t take me

lightly,

I have an after effect

that’s enlightening

or traumatizing

any way you have it

your world will change

profoundly

if you keep

on smoking me

– B. Brown

(art by Cliff Briggie)