At least, that's what happens when I write it.
Big Brotha Sadi featured last week, and I was nowhere to be seen, out due to illness. Luckily, DiDi Delgado and Navah The Buddaphliii hosted that night. Even better, DiDi stepped in and took up the Stone Soup Croutons baton and ran with it.
What follows below is DiDi's poem made of of lines she jotted down from all the open micers.
Racial ambiguity
Grins; like their teeth
See the old man's face in the peanut
His hands burning bridges
You get what you settle for
Like purple sexuality
Ours is not a society built for mystics
Though we been rocking since the days of rock steady
Ode to winter, fire for loving
Nature is all about cooperation
If your soul could be measured at this point, what would be
It's worth?
Loving God Is profane, in a way, like a moaning Jesus.
The mystic courts both failure and longing
Coaxing my smile out of its corners
Feet adhering to the acid stained streets
Self actualization at 4:45PM,
The sun is going to rise somewhere else
Because Heaven has basic desires and a low self esteem
Like how the wastebasket is grateful each poorly penned
Poem it eats.
Once we open our mouths
Language gets messy.
Crying is a strange kind of freedom
Beyond your usual high
They call me soft these days
I've thought about 9 or 11 ways to end it tonight.
This is a death that happens daily
At the hands of a creative soul
Nothing fairytale about abuse,
Burn rope to dark neck
My LA story is still being told
And Boston could just be gone
Special Thanks to DiDi Delgado.
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