QUEEN H Y P O T H E T I C A L

these two poems are collaborative efforts : the first portion was created by the one and only Sylina Black! she’s a favorite writer of mine *not to mention – PERSON and best friend!* she managed to come up with this in very little time. she stirred the motions in the little information I gave her outside of the title. It flowed and struck a match to the very fire I needed to bring out the rest. may you find something of merit and thought from it. 

 

In a lone world
Where the whole world
Is not the sole world,
Queen Hypothetical reigns supreme.
A land where fantasy meets reality,
Queen Hypothetical is allowed to dream.
And in those dreams, creation fills a void otherwise unmet,
What if’s and possibilities run free, unrestricted, solely for the Queen, and yet,
In this lone world there lived a young duke ,
Who would not allow possibility to go unexplored.
He would not allow anyone to suffocate his dreams, no Queen nor King, Lady or Lord.
Day and night he’d dream, sharing his adventures with no one,
Fully aware of what the Queen had done.
Traipsing through the land that the Queen had called her own.
He found that in this land, the what if’s had only grown.
In love with the power of creation,
The ability to imagine if things happened only the way she’d seen,
Queen hypothetical outlawed exploration of the dream –
Barring her subjects from visiting.

– Sylina Denise

092820 QH
lashes as long as the century, some of them fell into the penitentiary!

for what is the worth of a memory, which longs to be retrieved?

the profoundness of that experience, is what causes lamentation to the bereaved !

her eye lashes were as long as the century!

*jailing her hair cells into a penitentiary!*

that’s a hunnit (not a hundred – a hunnit!) years – of lashes and flashes!

for, many of her hair strains , would often and randomly fall into her eye.

thereby, prompting her brain to spy.

for she needed to remove the burning itch inside.

she knew she had to enlarge her pupils far and wide!

she by blinking – always made sure her subjects never stopped thinking!

day by day – swaying throughout the Winter and May.

for every season, she remained with a reason.

Queen Hypothetical or King Heretical?

The measures of possibility drawn – excites the spawn to yawn.

when it comes to kings, queens, and everything in between – the state of royalty can begin to be seen:

indifference is now made ‘qualified’ by the subjugation of the rulers of this nation.

rulers which set measurements of potential realized fiction!

though the lines appear straight, the path of least resistance is not too shy from affliction.

a hypothetical equation? may fancy a decadent persuasion!

can one still crumble as the words falter and begin to mumble?

endless are the seas that begin with the question!

for the search is indeed dressed as ‘HYPE’ and the aesthetics of every queen, king, and everything in between is worn through every impression.

queen hypothetical makes expression, the lesson of any and every imagined possibility.

this may serve to remove us from the gaze of docility.

Death & Revisionism

There seems to be something cosmic about death that encourages a replenishing of the pen. When someone dies – the writers of the pen order a sharp box of new ink! The pencil sharpens its eraser to remove any potential bad news in favor of the preferred story to go with.

If you lived your life as a warmonger – present history shouldn’t erase the trauma and abuse you inflicted in the past. We’re socialized to think, that the moment you die, only your good things should be recalled. Ain’t it strange how we pardon the far away demise in favor of the familiar narrative of heroism?

How, am I supposed to look at the monster that destroyed and conquered the land that wasn’t his? Should I smile at him? Will my smile somehow convince him that my compassion means more than the lives he slaughtered? Maybe the beams in my eyes will illuminate his misery and cause self-reflection that may ultimately lead to repentance?

It’s probably just a dystopian myth led by Christian hope. Even in ‘progressive’ areas of the world, death is still dressed in a traditional garment. The pretended grief from strangers and sunglasses donned to protect friends and family to see underneath it all, you’re not even crying. When someone dies, our memories tend to go through the watch of time and we selectively hold on to the vision we prefer. Americans in particular, are so conditioned to valorize the powerful and defend the people rich enough to afford their own counsel.

I want to envision a world where my love and good vibes actually mean something transcending. but that’s a mission of the strange. It’s almost like reality is stranger than fiction but an illusion is as real as verified science. I can’t seem to grasp the undertaking of a volcanic eruption. The enormity of an explosion which causes lava to scatter to even the most distant villages.

Some people live very close to the volcano and built there entire life there. What about the people who live in areas where hurricanes are common visitors? Should they be worried when the waters come to take what they worked for? Death is not any more mysterious as it is – destiny. A life of shortcomings cannot make one tall suddenly when they leave this planet. Their legacies are what keeps them alive and an objective perspective helps the ash from spreading.

This month I’m taking a break from social media. (Deleted Twitter, Instagram, FB, etc – from my phone – and logged out from other Devices) I’ve called this pink hibernation – it’s already improved my writings and reading (just 3 days in). Social media can be a wonderful tool in bringing to light the sweet and sour grits of the world.

The troubles of life take a larger seat in our consciousness because they make the most profit. simply put, I’m exhausted from the usual annoyances kept at bay by news outlets. You can’t go anywhere too long without a complaint or reminder that tribalism is the new wave to jump on. There’s a lot to learn and I want to pay closer attention to processing information and to toil with silence whenever it comes around.

We’re Flattered! Gone Like Scarlett!

I’m gone with the Wind! Except the wind won’t take me back to Terra like it took Scarlet! You heard me homie! 😀 Headed to my new home in Minneapolis Minnesota! 1|7|2015 – I declare LIFE for my body so that I won’t freeze to DEATH OUT there! Seems like I’ll be traveling on the coldest day so far this season. For all my friends; who never wished me farewell before I left Texas. I wish you all love and peace in the universe. I know we’ll meet again somewhere… Somehow! Living in Texas is like eating a bowl of soup with a fork. Let’s just say Minnesota is also a city of Utensil making (Like New Orleans), the endless opportunities arise. It’s gonna be like a trampoline for me. I’m ready to JUMP!

I can’t help but feel like a plural instead of singular. I feel connected with other forces within me. The last time I went to Minnesota I felt this harmony and it brought out a poem that related to this power.

We’re Harmony
We’re stunned
We’re flattered
We’re glad…

We’re excited…
We’re mad
We’re jovial
We’re all of the pronunciation of emotion!

I take from you as you have taken from me. We are a whole – a being of organism intended to form a design that is fragile. In an instant, we are cut by ourselves – spilt apart like the membrane of an explosion in the cell. Information that brings forth questions that remain inert.

Yet the remaining ‘I’ is left unresolved.

Knew individuals are released at higher crescendos…now the WE becomes a stronger effect.

By the faulty prisms of our infrastructures, we float through the union together.  We all at once are alienated but pieced together by the sound of persuasion.

The pores in which we hear a dynamic of melody. Harmonizing together are we told by the forces installed.