Brownstone
Marry me in my brownstone. It's the same just as I left it long ago. The brown brick I had pricked from its extinct exterior brought me back to attack the lock and enter the collard green smelling holy water spilling interior. The one thing that I miss about my gritty concrete New York City. Let me propose to you officially and persuade your gentle hand. Remember our first play date we first came in contact on this land through a home birth plan delved with my mothers cries and dad's joyous laugh. In the comfort of the midwife blanket that was mistakenly pink until they gave me blue because they saw it has a dick. Stitching on my gender which formulated my agenda I sowed on your costume, taking in its rich culture and raped bruises marking my identity on the streets more than bedtime stories told by my papa and radio tunes on Sunday afternoons cleaning with my mama. * sing Bob Marley song*.
You led me to the high school audition where my soul touched fame, I learned I had a blessing of being one of the talented ten stain that had a signature heavier than my name gender race and sculpted my face. Got a couple of selling's and galleries but couldn't progress cause you were so clinging so those old bleached beards wouldn't give me a salary. So I cheated on you and got high off greed and jealousy and made me want to alter the cover of my physique, speech and strip my rich sheet. Can't even look my brownstone in the face, that's if it's even the same. No more of me pissing next to the corner store, the bookstore cafe done made the deli man poor. No more Arizonas or bacon egg and cheese on a roll. 40s on the floor turned to wrappers of vegan flavor twirl. Plates of tofu hummus and chickpeas. Atleast they saving the ghetto children from high cholesterol rates, protein from shakes for Gods sakes that would cleanse them from being twerk queens and shift their opportunity to shaking their freaky pencils on loose white papers so they earn leaves with white faces. But this seed can't be a tree if you crush the root that's been present since the black plight. Urban developers sent from vaporous heights turning my heights into an upper west real estate site. From the windows of my brownstone I watched us black folk masked up in hooded shadows pelting pitchforks at greedy pigs who wore the same color that the brothers in blue did because they said their blood didn't bleed red like the other flag waving Devilsh men even though we all the same flesh.
Only God can judge our sins.
But lately I'm beginning to think she don't exist. I trace my roots back and I find God in my skin. As long as you don't try to make any corrections just caress my complexion with your dark essence dripping complexed aesthetic. Just take me baby. My art my earth my birth my universe my curse and stay with me for eternity marry in my brownstone.
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