Being versus Becoming

Imagery of poets screaming into microphones. Telling the stories of the time they heard the warnings of dangers that lie ahead.

I now remember summertime. One text, one time to show you my horrible communication skills. A new friend gained with the newness of Spring. Months went by. I can’t catch how long on the sundial. Days and shadows got longer, but I still could spend every moment with you. I rise from my coffin and the sunlight doesn’t burn and I wish I knew then what I know now, but I am glad I didn’t. I am glad that I was able to be buried under the weight of a significant other. Signing my name in their skin and not calling it alien. Though we alienated ourself from this world, the cave we lived in together felt like extra terrain crafted from our hands. We sheltered each other understanding the significance of being extra terrestrial beings. The significance of being. The difference between what we want to be and what we were becoming. I only wish that you could come with me.

I became another poet screaming into the microphone about ripping a lover from my chest and it tears me apart knowing Adam and Eve couldn’t be if Eve remained a rib.




“Muse” by Asya Fields aka ‘Rumination’

My heart seems to constantly be drawn to your wave.

I’ve crashed against the shore many times and I no longer feel safe

-I wanna feel safe.

I wanna know that what I plant will be rooted in place.


Your water became too much.


We know water can get heavy.

Though I carried not a much lighter load when you met me.

Your job was to protect me.


Am I a fool for thinking I need to be protected?

We aren’t objects and I won’t objectify

-I say your brokenness made me feel rejected


What is love?


I still can’t define it for us.

I still can’t find it for us.

I still can’t build it for us.


Behind us is a story we’d call love if we told it.

We realized that we carry cases full of shit.

We realized we want someone to help us hold it.


If you up root your weeds to see your garden more clearly,

If you ask if I have the strength to carry,

If we tend to our grass.


Your waves can crash into my shore.

Your waves can replenish my soul.

The End of a Drought on the 5th of December 

How can I explain my certainty that the rain falls for you.

That the tears you cry not only free the rivers inside of you

but, bring life.

How can I explain that a God so big can command gentle waters

Forcing everyone to pause to meet you where you are.

The same puddles that are absolutely annoying come from the need to replenish after a drought.

The same God that left you barren

Gives life one tear at a time.

The Sound of 2002

The Sound of 2002

sensitive content for survivors of sexual assault

You felt the kicks in your stomach.

Your gut responded to the shame that would ultimately be the result

How you lose a child at the age of 8

There is no right or left wing to tell me where I belong

There was no choice to abort me

Like being surgically removed from your own skin

There were no signs on milk cartons, but I knew you were no longer there

The abortion occurs and you call it life

Like death with no funeral

Like people who did not pay their respects

like death etching his name in your skin

Losing futures and the present

Innocent’s presence

Like knowing the before and after

Living in the after and t being normalized

Like my exposition means nothing

Writing in braille to talk to those who couldn’t hear the screams and still cant

Like the breath for relief that will never come

I am constantly needing to be rescued

Like being the practice doll for CPR

Exhales wasted.

I want to ask daddy why he never answered my screams that night, but he did when I had nightmares. The real monsters needed to be attacked and you needed to run into the room prepared to rescue me, but you didn’t. When the monsters were imaginary you were there ready to beat the ass of the thing that didn’t really exist. No form and no fear. We put a face to the monster ad you allowed him to live under our roof.

I want to ask mama why she cared for me at a distance that night and has been ever since.

I want to know why my only hero. The only one who spoke out on my behalf was the one nearest to me. You were there in the room and don’t know if you so easily believed me because I made it easy to believe or because you heard me scream the moment death etched itself in my skin.

I want to ask mama why she reinforces my fragility, never exchanging the power she used to get through this world

I want to ask everyone if maybe a conversation could change reality. If more words and less stares could remove the shame collected over all these years. Could a conversion of oxygen to carbon dioxide through the syntax filled air give me permission to breathe. If it can why do you watch your women die?

Stop Giving Me Writer’s Block

I’ve never written an angry poem before

Maybe sad or frustrated, but nothing more

I worry that I write for other people.

That when my words come out it’ll be just another feeble.


Or fable.

Well, I guess this mean I’m not able.


But, I do hate the fact that I have no freedom here,

And my audience can’t get past the paint I smear.


It looks like this blob or uncontrolled mess

Accept the fact that you can’t see past my sketch


In the end, it creates a masterpiece

I just want them to see me for me


…Why the hell are my neighbors so loud?


Anyway, as I was saying

I used to not perform and people thought I was playing


No I don’t memorize my pieces

And no I don’t rap on the beat for features


I take a pen and paper, then write down my thoughts

Though they may get darks sometimes, I never get lost


I find myself and I hate that you spectate

I find it hard to find someone who will actually appreciate


I been writing for years because it’s the only freedom I ever knew

So fuck you if you think I am writing for you.


Because I’m not, and you’re giving me mad writer’s block.

So, stop.

Sepia (see-pee-uh)

Sepia (see-pee-uh)

His body absorbed the sun.

Millions of pores stretched across skin filling with light

– milk chocolate melting in 90 degree weather.

Pores strategically placed.

Rays scattered through his muscles reflecting off anything and anyone who tried to lay eyes on him.

Seeing him in all his glory- I bowed.

Some were blinded by his magnitude.

-God-like divinity.

Tremble and praise, or steady and condemn.


I only feared the journey of the unknown.

Touching the hands that may allow us to become clay for one another.

Touching the hands that may hold so much weight that it cannot do either.

I feared only knowing the reality is that he has chosen neither.


I allowed him to tread my name in dirty waters.

I allowed him to mock our connection as if it wasn’t built upon faith.

I allowed him to take time and realize the benefit of humility.


Chains being the only silver we share together.  

We are no stranger to hard work.

With 29 plus years- or 60 plus years or 100 plus years.

Decades spent together, decades pulling us apart.

Lies placed in between us until we were planets apart.


Whipping the woman out of you.

How many lashes for being soft.

How many lashes for caring.

How many lashes for crying.


All the while you grew- humble and waiting.

Mirroring your deepest affections.

Mirroring the light you absorb

-woman dipped in honey.


They couldn’t handle my light

– the combination of you and I

A nightmare

– in day time.

You saw magnificence and strength and love become flesh of your flesh.

You saw me as your equal.

A part of you that you longed for

– your rib.


Two beings absorbing all positivity.

Absorbing all light.

Destined to show their destiny.

Grace and mercy in their eyes.

The voice that said after all the struggle,

After all the lies,

After all the confusion

– the constant cry of separation-

We have met in the middle.


We chose love every time- deep, honest, rich, black