peux-tu m’entendre? je suis içi je t’attends si je te donne tous ce qui est moi et si je t’offre tous ce que je suis et si je te donne tous ce que j’ai en moi ensuite quoi? ensuite quoi? tous ça j’ai déjà vu j’ai déjà vu tous ça tous ça j’ai déjà vécu j’ai déjà vécu tous cela on pourra peutêtre essayer une autre fois on pourra peutêtre essayer une autre fois on pourra peutêtre essayer une autre fois pas maintenant tous simplement pas maintenant je ne peux pas c’est trop difficile de t’aimer et de m’aimer simultanément si je te donne tous ce qui est à moi si je t’offre tous ce que je suis si je te donne tous ce que j’ai en moi ensuite quoi? ensuite quoi? good bye (pas maintenant tous simplement)

this is a serious serious serious... situation him sweet her up wid him lyrics den him poison her wid him seed him say "big man naw fi wear latex" but end a month come and she still neva bleed mi say she cyaan tell she modda she granny a tun in har grave “each generation ‘spose fi get betta” a dat she granny would say she did wan fi be a teacha she did wan fi move to town she did wan fi rent one one room 18 she a big ooman now and you see nuff big ooman a do it dem raise dem pickney all alone she did wrong thought she could be different but tell me which part god deh now? she say fi "ease up", fi "slow down" "nuh badda move too fast” she say fi "ease up", fi "slow down" "nuh badda move too fast” deep deep inna she closet right near di back dere’s a white metal hanger just a sit down pon di rack and you see slowly she could a tek it just tek her time and stretch it out just make di hook a likkle smaller and den well just tek it out and mi say money fi go a clinic tell me which part she a go find it? use di hanger inna she closet and den well just tek it out she say fi "ease up", fi "slow down" "nuh badda move too fast” she say fi "ease up", fi "slow down" "nuh badda move too nuh badda move too fast nuh badda move too fast nuh badda move too fast fast fast lawd, nuh badda move too fast"

sometimes i am afraid and sometimes can't listen to the radio can’t turn on the tv i can’t watch the news that reality is just too much for me to bear but where will i go? what will i wear? and what will i do? those are the worries that i'm facing day by day and i ask myself would i trade places or are my philosophies only in place when it's convenient? am i ready am i ready to change? where will i go? what will i wear? and what will i do? those are the worries that i'm facing day by day and i ask myself would i trade places or are my philosophies only in place when it's convenient? am i willing am i willing to change? what does revolution mean? what does this god damn revolution have to do with me? people talk, talk about change and the need for justice but change is hard, and change often equals pain am i ready am i willing to change? i know there's got to be change.

i am leaving time for me to go won’t overstay my welcome my time has come “bloom where you’re planted” i’ve been told but here i have no blossoms few leaves weak stems sand stone and broken glass yield no respect no trust little hope but i think i know a place where soil is cherished thoughtful kind forgiving just got to find a safe place for my soul to nurture myself so that i might grow i am leaving time for me to go won’t overstay my welcome my time has come we can’t let others make us doubt what we know to be true about ourselves in the depths of our being that ancient spirit healing force that majestical tale spinner of yore that deciphers and dismantles the incomprehensible from old time intuition i listen i am leaving time for me to go won’t overstay my welcome my time has come my time has come

it is often called a gap but i’ve seen it i’ve seen the strain stress failure power the heat 1000 degrees and rising exponentially from alaska to argentina, australia to russia haiti to the u.s.a.,zimbabwe to the u.k. canada to china, spain to cambodia we’ve seen it. it is not a gap nor was it ordained by zeus, loki or el diablo. it is not the second coming richter scales cannot measure it dimensionless numbers required to calculate its magnitude and intensity it is not a gap nor is this disaster natural it is a catastrophic earthquake pulverising all our continents islands oceans lakes rivers streams and this pervasive earthquake was induced by them the real minority handfuls of men and women hoarding power throughout our world and while we, the majority, scrap over scraps the fracture lines that separate us from them continue to explode oozing a pungent democracy-driven authoritarian-fueled capitalism and this putrid capitalism defies all skin colours genders sexual orientations abilities languages religions ages please... this rancid capitalism supersedes all cultures governments and international human rights legislations. this fecal capitalism knows no borders. though not a conspiracy theorist by nature the idea of an us and them is eerily familiar my brown-skinned parents moved to pale-skinned canada in the sixties. they tolerated being tolerated so that i could be born in canada. so that i could enjoy first world canadian privilege. and some days i’m not so sure how many of my hard fought for and hard earned scraps i’m willing to acquiesce but these days there’s no time for rigorous contemplation or discussion the über rich minority has ratcheted up the pressure pit us, the majority, one against the other. they got us by the short hairs: gums bared we gnash o’er our differences nails ragged we claw up illusive class rungs we scrap over their scraps and while they feast in lavish yachts off the coasts of southern france seismic waves wash over us ill prepared: no evacuation plans no disaster kits no infrastructures retrofit to resist this fecal capitalism. we have a problem. we see fault lines crisscrossing all our continents blood drenching soil cement and arctic waters no aftershocks or tremors yet this thing is still not over got to stop the quake got to reduce the pressure we have got to construct new visions of power our earth is emitting a stifling heat sound the alarms be alarmed be alarmed

i'm throwing out my psychic trash driving it across the old michigan line hauling it down to the southern most tip of south africa hoisting it up quarenta y nueve cobblestone steps and with eyes locked on an endless horizon i will deposit my burdens into colliding atlantic and indian oceans ‘tis time to demarcate new space no more murky molded askew meditations rotted reeking residue no more defecating in dream space no more placating back-bitting clamouring petty indulgences in insecurities fears and other fits of folly no more vortex of self-sabotage engaged in an impoverished self-deprecating internal monologue laden with socialized self-hate i’m throwing out my psychic trash short circuits will be rewired disconnects are on the mend so i’ll fear not tires running flat nor des pannes d’essences i’ll fear not future present nor past check mirrors merely periodically for i have dwelled in rear and side views and i know each time i crash and so today i’m throwing out all my psychic trash some call me dusty faded grey i call me understated enduring arctic silver with rust on my rockers stone chips on my windshields paint peeled off every panel with a clutch that will slip when old habits make me stall but the engine of this 1977 will roar like a brand new bmw i’m throwing out my psychic trash though i don’t recall myself without it never fed myself steady diets of acceptance respect and care but i will envision the reemergence of a cosmic tropical fall flower rooted in the ether petals uncurled to the world shimmering like first frost crystallizing moments in amethyst turquoise healing royal hues eyes made of prisms tongue a lascivious lustre soul sculpted from water diamonds spilling from my palms dazzling insha’allah i will be dazzling

ki sa pou'm fè? koté pou'm gadé? ki bo mwen pralé? ki les pou'm prier? what shall i do? what steps should i take? what move should i make? who do i pray to? i write this with all the critical analysis and emotional detachment of a woman anxiously awaiting her period; that which would be a welcomed end to spasms of worry erupting just below the surface of her calm i write this with all the critical analysis and emotional attachment of a woman who has already spread her legs on the table of death. a woman who’s soul-cried a 19-year-old’s tears of confusion as blood mass shame was extracted from her womb i feel you child of light heard you request your birthright i'm trying to get this whole thing straight for me your birth not right now i write this with all the critical analysis that this tangible woman frame can muster as 35 days have passed without the familiar red to mark the end beginning of nature’s cycle. a woman whose dirty middle finger has fingered cervix more than once in search of blood. dawn touches me and i cry got to cope with this time in my life only one decision has to be made my womb emptied again? i write this with all the resolution of a woman promising to question and refusing to carry a child out of some jacked up notion of moral obligation. i am a woman moving past the pain and shame shackled to my gender. i am a woman moving past the guilt i feed off of out of some learned messed up demure behaviour. i am a woman moving with strength, with shame, with purpose, with hope, with love. standing with my pride i’m humbled by this life so unsure what the future holds the answers escape me i wanted to have sex can’t i be allowed too? just wanted to express that part of me too.

this is the last letter won't put pen to paper again this is the last letter i promise never to feature you in conversations with best friends for hours on end again this is the last letter the one i won’t deliver nor read out loud ear pressed to receiver (i can’t keep doing this to myself) "you" the title of each chapter "you" i dissect, over analyze and attempt to decipher "you" have changed (inevitably) but the memories that i cling to remain a timeless perfection i miss you this is the last letter this is the last one: "i miss you cute slender clever i miss you the memory of you us now over i miss you and still i promise never to let our unfinished love business move me to write love sing need miss you again" this is the last letter i won't feature you in conversations with best friends again (did i mention i’m through with you?) i can still taste the salt of your skin expanses of me... still engulfed in you... "i just wanted to experience life love with you but i accept this i do." reclaim my heart.

with so much time for reflection i hesitate should i question this life of mine jah say it's divine but i don't feel that way soul crying i am soul crying tears beyond my time soul crying i am soul crying why does sadness follow me? and madness lurk within me? i want to dive into the sky weep behind the clouds silently die soul crying i am soul crying tears beyond my time soul crying i am soul crying questioning all that's around me so deep in thought i lost my way again i'm on my knees i want to stand spirits of the past please lift me up i wanna rise i wanna fly and i wanna shine again touch the sky again soul crying i am soul crying tears beyond my time soul crying i am soul crying soul crying i am soul crying

this is my rant. just last night i was reasoning limeing with a bredren, writer, poet friend discussing how toxic north america is and how imperative it is that we bounce. continually bombarded by propaganda machines. numb. the natural result of excessive north american conditioning. numb i am. close to being immune too. politics slip so easily. chant down babylon one minute. surf the net to price my future SUV the next. and what’s the alternative? actually live the politics i spew in social circles? damn all that "revolution of self" talk makes me nauseous. conveniently conscious sister. looking for a conveniently conscious significant other so we can sit back, relax and listen to the 8-track. unwind over a bottle of good south african red wine. make love ‘til the sun sets again. revolutionize the world sprawled out on plush leather couches after a delicious five course meal. i feel so inadequate lonely, i am. lonely. with no one to invest all my love energy into it sucks you hear me? i don’t even know if i have the energy to talk politics, discuss world issues, drop names, show how well read (red) i am, be deep as i navigate my way into a whole other crew. you know, the conscious conscious really conscious black crew you know, the crew of readers, thinkers that chant down babylon with proper colonial english sophistication? the crew that differentiates between black people and niggers. shit then call me that nigga who’s tired of trying to fit. that nigga raised in so much white it seeps out of her pores when she least expects it. i’m that canadian, trying to be jamaican, african-faking nigger. hardcore exterior chick. the one who wants her clit licked on the regular ‘bout to go by a vibrator type a nigga. that creative type writer singer that sister who doesn’t fit. that platinum blond wig owning, sweet essential oil wearing, bougie, materialistic, spiritual nigga. the sister outsider women spirit blazing fire shy as hell type of sister nigga. that on the prowl saying she’s dying to fuck but scared as hell when the time comes kinda sister. who can cum when the loving’s good. that eyebrow-plucking, armpit-shaving on occasion hairy-legged sister. the one who fluctuates from style to style from gender to gender from sanity to other sister. so yah, it’s crazy right ‘cause this world has been ruled by misogynist and misandrist energy for so long and all the female energy is suspended on the cross and our blood is being shed. that female energy: distorted, circumcised, manipulated and relegated to the back so that intellectual debates about black political change can occur. man. my womb is the fucking change call me that angry black bitch sister nigger birthing the next generation with no support of voice. suicide hovers on the breath in the realms of thought of all the so-called strong black womyn warriors i know. is there room in the revolution to deal with that?