Tag: Substack Notes

Mythomania & What Was I Thinking?

trE

Two poems shared via Substack notes

Mythomania

Back when I didn’t
overthink things, I
loved a woman who
lied so much,
mythomania could
have been her
middle name.

We were never going
to make it.
I made up stories
for entertainment;
she made up stories
to cover her ass.

Eventually, one of us
was going to break,
and one of us did.

Baby Tre in a fighter pose. I have no clue who took this photo, perhaps one of the hospital nurses or a family member? April 17, 1980.

What Was I Thinking?

I must’ve known the
world would be a
battlefield.

At a few hours old,
I’d already prepared
myself to fight;
hands squared into
position of
protection.

What was I thinking
as I dreamed
alongside a mother
who pushed me into
being?

Could I have been
dreaming of ways to
right wrongs without
a working definition
of them?

Did I know about all
of the nastiness
dripping from the
hearts of men, and
how that coldness
would shift God’s
creations—morph
them into living
devils?

Many ages passed
me by, and now, I
find myself standing
atiptoe, waiting for
change that doesn’t
look like it’s going
to come.

Scattered Words: Poems for Jernee Timid Loadholt is available now! Have you gotten your copy? Hardcover|eBook

horde escape & on our terms

trE

Two poems shared on Substack notes

horde escape

you will most likely never find me in
a horde of people looking as though
I’m in a place that carries comfort.

If I am, I assure you, I’m forcing my
body to be at peace, to try to enjoy my
surroundings. I’m never at ease in
those situations.

they are few. they are far between.
the path leading to them fades away
more as the years pile on to my age.

I am not who I used to be, I’m a
new person in an old body.
I’m both familiar and unfamiliar, and this
is what intrigues
you.

on our terms

the most difficult thing I experienced
with Jernee during her decline were the
lucid moments. I feared becoming
looped into their trap.

she wasn’t the same, and I knew
that, heart & soul, but sometimes my
baby would look up at me as if she
recognized my face, and I’d be putty
in five seconds.

“it’s only going to get worse” became the
anthem in my home, followed by, “this
sounds like a brain tumor,” and with
each regressive instance, I was
reassured…

I cut death to the quick, and
offered it a seat at the table.

if it was going to take my baby, it’d
be on our terms.
but was it, though?

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

catastrophic love & have we come far enough?

trE

Two poems shared on Substack notes

catastrophic love

his blithesome
demeanor captured
me.

I lost all of my
selves swimming
in the depths of his
eyes.

I was disruption;
a distraction…
we bombed before
we could elevate.

catastrophic love.

have we come far enough?

although I am the
eldest child, if this
were the 1500s or
I was of royal blood,
my arrival to first
would mean
nothing because the
next born has the
package; male
primogeniture cut me
to the quick.

imagine being the
first, most
dependable, always
responsible, and a
doer without being
prompted, yet your
earned position in
life depends on
what’s between your
legs.

that’s not a life I
would have enjoyed
living, but when I
assess modern
times and the fight
women constantly
battle, the system
is still rigged to
embrace the least
educated, the most
aggressive, and the
overly-praised, so…

how far have we
come, really?

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

solistitial & jujitsu’d out of love

trE

Two poems written on Substack notes

solistitial

a solstitial event was
the day she left
silence at the foot
of our friendship.

there is nothing
more heartbreaking
than a woman who
doesn’t know her
heart’s desire being
capable of crushing
the heart of another.

now I have a
timestamp of when
I learned the phrase
“I will never hurt you.”
has an unspoken addendum:

“unless I’m afraid of what
your love can do
to me.”

jujitsu’d out of love

I’m at a point where
my mind is debating
with my heart to
not have it jujitsu
it anymore.

it’s tired of fighting a
fight for lackluster
love and never
winning.

I used to be a
strategic runner–
hurdling over dead
weight and con
people.

now I lean into
obstacles with heavy
artillery stationed
around my person.

I handle war much
differently in my
older years.

I know how my
battles often portray
themselves, and I
fight smart not hard.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

finding my way to the light & greedy, nasty men

trE

Two poems written on Substack notes

finding my way to the light

the day nearly got
away from me, and
I remembered I
hadn’t poeted yet.
hadn’t penned
something that
would set me free.

although I feel
dislimned, I press
forward and find my
way to the light. I
will not give myself
permission to break;
I’m allowed to bend.
I’m allowed to
stretch.

but I damn sure
better not break.

there’s much work to
still be done, and
those of us with
stones as strength
know we have to
build ourselves up.

we are the crumpled
up pieces–rock hard
and steady. when the
weight is heavy; we
bear it with the
world hanging on to
our hearts.

the blood of our
ancestors wave in
our bones. we can
hear the maker
calling us home.

we’re getting ready.

greedy, nasty men

I believe TACO feels
that keeping all
exculpatory information against
him from the
public can stick.

but people will
remember the
moment their hearts
broke. people remember losing
trust in human beings.

it is the pain that
connects us all–the
suffering that binds
us. from starving
communities to
burning cities to
the coal-filled hearts
of men who call the
shots…

we will remember.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

raw-dogging America because they can & giver

trE

Two poems shared on Substack notes

raw-dogging America because they can

the current
administration will
gainsay any and
every question asked
of them and their
position on a certain
batch of files.

if you’ve gotta do
that much lying
and pussyfooting
around the topic,
how safe are your
words?

how safe are you?

giver

when you’re a giver,
it doesn’t hit you
how much people
take away from you
until you feel like
emotionally… you
have nothing left
to give.

and then, you have
to remember to
burnish your soul
in order to restore
YOU.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.