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Writer's pictureBloomfield College Underground

6 Poems from Precious Olubiyi

Updated: Apr 25, 2019

Feeling—

Feelings are fleeting


In the moment

You’re feening

For a feeling

Like an addict

To an amphetamine

mentally—rearranging my senses

And I sense this

Senseless—pull

Towards you

What a fool

I am full—Of excuses

Excusing my transgressions

Miscommunication turn into

Passive aggression

And in all this—I’ve failed to mention

That No time or space

Can erase the definition

Of the words

I express in excess

Are accessible—Believable

Believe the bull — shit

I’m a mess and my fear is

You’ll read me

Like an open book—Memorize my lines

And realize that these eyes tell truths

My lips are too slow to —speak

But my pride and ego

Butter me with honey and milk

Because showing emotion

To no one

Is easier, and I push you away

So you rue the day

The hour, the minute, the second, you met me

Until all you’re left with are

Text messages and a fading memory.

- Hello My name is . . . ‘Feelings’




 



Falling is easy.

like a child, I am lulled under

the depths of your words

a ledge, is too frail to stop me from

Tipping over, and falling—

into things that are bound to happen.

Someone is going to get hurt

because hurt people—hurt people

are never on the receiving end.

He’ll be consistent and then he won’t

So as I await the other shoe to drop

I plan my final hurrah—

It begins with saying, no.

He’ll Get it, he’ll understand.

I’ll lie about the sparks that

Emit between us like naked cords

He’ll get it, he’ll understand.

I’ll say I hate the way it feels to—run

my fingers through his hair

while he lies between my legs

feeling the warmth of his breath hit my skin

He’ll get it, he’ll understand.

I’ll deny the comfort we share in each other’s company

He’ll get it, he’ll understand.

I’ll bring up the certainty he had when he put

a shot clock over our heads

He’ll get it, he’ll understand.

And lastly when he, attempts to leave

Silently warning me that this is the last time

Because he ‘can’t do this anymore’

I won’t get it, I won’t understand.

I’ll sit still, playing tug of war with my head and heart

Making no move, daring him to walk out like the broken men before him

He’ll get it, he’ll understand.

Though in truth, I compared his love to the explosions from past lovers

because I couldn't handle the subtle burn he gave me.

-Hello My Name Is . . . ‘The Escapist’




 

My first time was at a park bench

Late august.


the sun had retired for the day

giving full reign to the moon.

we’d spent minutes walking in circles

like I’d often do when I was deflecting—

talking about nothing and everything.

The obvious realization I lied

about something that was never asked

but always inferred finally set in.



It was simple, uncomplicated

my lips against yours, light—

as the feathers, I awaited but never felt.

I was unadulterated

unbeknownst to you, my teacher.




As moons faded, and suns rose

light feathered kisses turned into

frantic minded pulses, the kind that made you curl—



your toes, but clothes always remained

a reminder never to get too close.

a lesson we both had to learn.

With winter, came the bitter biting

cold taste I left on your tongue

after hours of letting you in

I pulled the rug from under—you

were under me, lost in the throes of

carnal desire, something each wanted

but tethered tongues were too scared to inquire.



- Hello My Name is . . . ‘The First Time’




 


How to (Guns 101)


A gun in his hand, fingers ready to pull the trigger. Instead, he pulls at a bundle of nerves, and you release a scream.

Hoping the sound from

Your throat will feed his ego

And he’ll set you free.

And though you’re anti-guns

You’re glad it’s his weapon of choice.

So he lets go of the gun.

You wear a smile, say thank you,

And hope to never see

him again. Because that

Night you learned never

To trust a man who can’t

Find the trigger with a

Gun in his hand.




 


But hey, I’m not judging



As an African, I naturally felt the need to school you about the history of Africa.

It’s more than just

Poverty.

Violence.

The beginning of a thing called slavery.

Oh, and for 99 cents a day, you can feed an imaginary person because 99 cents ain’t feeding

Nobody.

I would school you, but you have google for that,

And I'm going to stop you before you say some ignant shit like—


“You can’t believe everything you see on the internet”


True, you can’t believe everything you see on the internet

But that doesn't stop you from jacking off to ole’ girl from Pornhub whose waist-ass-hip ratio is a whole lot suspect.

But hey, I'm not judging.


You ever wonder why the only time they start talking about Africa is at the beginning of slavery?

Yeah—me neither.

It’s as if it didn't exist before that, and it just stopped existing after the Europeans left.

History teachers don't teach you what you need to know, guess that’s why kids were always like

“For an immigrant, you speak really good English!”

I'm sorry you thought I could only communicate in *clicks tongue*

We were colonized by the British, which you would know if there was enough space in the curriculum.


Seriously, I would like to tell you more about Africa but you can visit yourself.

And I'm going to stop you before you say some other ignant shit like—


“Tickets to Africa are too expensive”


True, tickets to Africa are expensive but so are Jordan’s, and yet you still find a way to get them.

But hey, I'm not judging.


 


Calm Down, It’s Just a Poem


Angry. Black. Woman.

That is, what they call you when you have an opinion different from theirs.

Or when you have a voice and won’t be silenced.

They throw those words around so much you begin to ask yourself

“Am I an angry black woman?”

“Are you an angry black woman?”

“Are we all just angry. Black. Women?”

I don’t know—

But when it comes from your less melanated counterparts who surmise that just because you're black, you subscribe to every black stereotype…

News flash…I’m not my grand-parents.


Bitter. Black. Woman.

That’s what they call you when you have an issue with brothers marrying women who think interracial babies are an aesthetic, an accessory, a photo-op.

That’s what they call you, when you work twice as hard to get half of what they have…because Napoleon Bonaparte is a bitch.


Why. Cant. We. Say It.?

Because you hear it in a song doesn't mean you can say it.

Because you have that one token black friend, doesn't mean you can say it.

And yes Jan, we all know you we started sucking dick in the eighth grade and Tyrone liked it when you called him “Nigga” but that does not mean you can say it, that brother had other issues.

Trust me.

It’s not “lynch-mob racism,” but nonetheless, if you're not black, you just can’t say it.


Its. Just. An. Accessory.

You didn't say that, when you called those Harlem girls “ghetto-ratchet” for wearing hoop earrings too big for their ears.

You didn't say that when they were suspended for having locs, which somehow equates them to being pot heads.

You're never there when they start the trend, but you're always there to benefit off of it.

So no, it’s not just an accessory you uncultured swine.


It. Does. Not Exist.

Reverse racism, that is—

It would mean we are in a position to actually make something happen, ergo “black privilege”

It would mean we have a social, economic, justice system in our favor, which we don’t.

It would mean the James Madison's of the world knew slavery would be abolished… which he didn’t.

So next time you’re feeling butt hurt because you got called cracker, mayonnaise, or someone said something about your mom not seasoning her food, just know it’s not reverse racism.

Call it prejudice, or stereotype, but racism? Lord knows we don't benefit from that shit







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