Dear Tarikh (last msg from Universe thru me to you)

You were correct to cut our every tie. As I had numerous times before. Though I'd come back you way again & again, feeling obligated to continuously offer you a chance, while it never felt right or good in, to or for me. That was my selfless act where you are concerned in my life herstory. Because, in that time, you loved me so. Yet I knew then, and even more now, how much you were never good for me. Nor I you, as you require a woman and mate who will worship you at your worst. While I don't begrudge this, I could never do it.

I know you, and loved you (once) for who you are,as you are, in all things and at all times. Still, I lost respect copiously, continuously. Until there were no remnants of possibility to gain it back ever again. I even hated you, which only lasted for seconds, as there was no point for such emotional bondage. No worth or necessary gain in it for my existence. As there is none in my seeking to maintain any semblance of connection with you.

I pray for your truth to come alive and be loved, honored and respected for what is. Let that circle begin with you, and never become undone, especially by you.

You may never read this, and that's of no consequence. For this is my release to bear witness to. Blessings always.

Cynequa (aka "Nequee" to you)

Dear Tarikh (from me thru Universe to you)

I don't give up
let go
Its how I love
as you well know
Deny me as you wish
I don't accept the demise of our kinship
So sue me.

TO BE CONTINUED...

poem for solitude/my sacred space (this love burns in effigy)

for two brothers who've made my day...less.

black men.
brothas.
kings.
in this night, i have no words.
don't seek em either/my mouth is weary of speaking energy into you.
my soul is weary of expressing vibrations.
this giving must pause before my breath of life is weary...

i cannot find the words to say where i am now.
all i know is i am spent.
done with
exhausted of
have no tolerance for
no space to accept
the lesser-than i been given by too many black men
/whom i love, honor and respect for just being.

tonight, i have no capacity for love poems.

Warrior keep fighting/I know you're there (in thought of Blk Men)

This ain't a poem, just a musing of sorts...
It seems I'm continuously asking self:
Where are my Brothas who strictly rep
accountability
responsibility
reliability?
Being the strength, power, resilience
fortitude, magnitude, brilliance
magnificence, rebel defiance that is
the blessed reflection of Divine Spirit
and Light?
The look of a Pharoah, aura of a deserved King.
True beyond belief Afrikan men exist.
I feel you, though I'm left searching for you...
and you alone.

Do you see me? Do you?
Remember this lasting, sweet surrender.

to be continued...

Brethren

Sometimes I just want a brotha
to walk into my life
be nothing more than a companion
for day/for night
for eve
for moment
a cup of Kenyan coffee or oolong tea
for a time-defying walk around space
any space/every space
just a place to discover each other
like land to plant new seed/grow luscious fruits
and plenteous healthy greens
instead of conquering one another
for that, we both too free

...our mutual style.