“Shades of black intertwined in my being I try to see in color but darkness is all I’m seeing.”

I feel everything to the bottom of its depth maybe its a gift, its probably a curse.

The outer part of me so cold like an armor impenetrable. The words you throw at me ricochet and hit you in the heart.

I still remember the first time I saw you, your aura radiated nostalgia of a time where I wanted something so much more than I wanted air.

I take for granted how much I love sad songs when I’m happy I forget how much they hurt when I’m broken.

Late at night I’m awake thinking. I’m afraid of what I’d do to be able to taste you again.

I’d rather be shot by a bullet than to be cut by your words. I’ll die cold on the pavement before I lie in the casket of your assurances.

I will be more than I was yesterday, even if that means I can’t take you with me.

I got what I wanted then I threw it away why do I mess up the only things that want to stay.

A smile made of promises and a heart made of broken chains. She was a beautiful contradiction.

I found peace in my loneliness. I found solace in the quiet. I found love in my reflection.

And as you left my heart cried out then suddenly I was thankful that the cries of the heart can only be felt and not heard.

I want you to love me for me so that all my flaws stitch together and make me whole.

And when she stopped letting him steal her light she shined brighter than every star in the night sky.

Standing alone on the edge wondering if anyone could ache as much as I do.

Words are so powerful treat them as weapons. You say you love someone expect a war.

Like broken clocks we lost our time you moved on but left me behind.

I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.

The situation of women and men is not comparable to worker-boss or black and white.

Being a blues singer is like being black two times.

Who could imagine a poet wearing anything other than black?

But between sets I’d sneak over to the black places to hear blues musicians. It got to the point where I was making my living at white clubs and having my fun at the other places.

For me black is not dark, it’s poetic. I don’t think of gothic I think of classic – it’s a big difference.

Black is not sad. Black is poetic.

The truth is, no man is white and no man is black. We are all freckled.