AP Art Poem
Part I: Introductions
If you lived in a world where the words you speak
Appear on your skin in thick, pungent, black ink,
So vibrant not even brine can extirpate,
What sort of things, then, would you begin to say?
If you are born with angelic, white blood
That darkens with every insolent word said,
What would be seen if your cuts could not be stanched?
When your blood is black as the words on your skin,
Would your perdition really be a surprise?
If it is impossible to lighten blood,
Would you still speak such perfidious sentences?
I asked these things to our ignoble hero.
All questions I asked he responded to with:
“Testing how black the blood can get, how intense
The words are written; My inveterate sin.”
I say, “Why not speak auspicious sentences?”
He says to me in response, “Angels can go
To hell, yet devils cannot go to heaven.”
I say, “How did you darken blood, Samyaza?”
Part II: Nature
“When I died the first time, I was an angel,
But cruel words were dispersed on my skin in time.”
He says. “God refuse to think me malignant.”
“So what did god say?” I prompted jocundly.
“He says: ‘thou Samyaza, my black blood angel.
You to be reborn, to test thy mettle.’
This what god say, appertaining to myself.”
“So you’re reborn with clean skin and white blood?”
I ask. “Indeed.” He response. “Do you believe,”
I say, “God wished you be unmitigable?”
“Ha!” He laughed, “I am! And abominable!”
I chuckle. “So, what did you do while you were
Human, to be sent down to the underworld?”
“Many things. Do you have an ear for my tale?”
Part III: Nurture
“Indeed,” I say, “I indubitably do.”
“Then,” Samyaza begins, “I was reborn with
Physiognomies drenched with an angel’s touch.
Though my demeanor was calm and beauteous,
My soul was that of a congenial demon.
Born on an autumnal day, the Ides of March.”
“An ironic purport- your soul against face.”
I say. “Yes,” he says, “I was made for deceit.”
“But,” I interrupt, “did you live for deceit?”
“Did you listen?” He asks. “I was born on the
Day made famous for it’s betrayal and deceit.”
“Ay, the Ides of March. And what of your childhood?”
“God wanted to test my loyalty to him.
In an orphanage I chose: good or bad souls?
It must have prefigured! I chose bad people.”
“And what of you, then? You grew with bad misfits.”
“Yes,” he says, “In contrivance I became head.”
“Leader?” I ask, “You came to lead the misfits?”
“Yes. And every action was seen with penal.”
Then I say, “Your blood grows black? Or it be grey?”
“Grey.” He says, “Dark grey when I a streetwalker.”
“Streetwalker?” I exclaim. “So you’d been a tramp?”
“Ay.” He says. “Well,” I say, “You heterodox.”
“I blasphemy,” he retorts, “when I begin
My brazen solution to rude customers.”
“And what you do?” I ask. “Slaughter,” He responds,
“And raise an inauspicious yet still hell bent
Army to stand before god with it’s protests.”
“You, an angel, raised an army against god?”
“Ay, I did. You have time to hear what happened?”
Part IV: Fruit of Triumph
“Of course I have ear,” I say, “Tis why I’m here.”
“Then,” He say, “I raised my hand against thy god
Because I was angry. You see, god forced me
To live without any sustenance of love.”
“Did you expostulate with god for this pain?”
“He said: You gave no love, so merit none now.”
“Unable to love,” I say, “So what you do?”
“I be prolific with rebels,” He begins,
“We work to destroy symbols of the great god.
We revel in his rebuke of my rebirth.”
“Destroy symbols of god?” I ask: “What you do?”
“Destroy churches,” he says, “rewrite the bible…”
“Rewrite bible? To make it who? Not Jesus?”
“Not him; My god-contumacious followers
Wrote Lord of The Snakes; ‘bout me and my story.”
“Lord of Snakes? They reference Adam and Eve, yes?
You are Satan, then?” I ask in amusement.
“Ay, and this tale makes the great bible moulder.
The name Satan is peremptory; They say
‘He beat god in the garden- now he my lord’.”
“They follow you in aver, for a rumor?”
“I never said humans were smart,” he responds.
“What requital from you? God has paradise.”
“Yet I have said, humans are amenable.”
“But not god,” I say. “Ay, not god.” He responds.
“So, what punishment does god give you, rebel?”
“You make my story long.” He says, “but I tell…”
Part V: Wrath of Gabrielle
“So,” I say again, “How did god punish you?”
He smiles, “God made tempests. He made earth dodder.
He had sweet mockingbird make dolorous dins…”
“That is all?” I ask, “Storms, earthquakes, and loud sounds?”
“No.” Samyaza responds. “God sent Gabriel.”
“Tis baffling! An angel for imputation!”
“Ay,” he says, “but I was far intelligent.”
“Gabriel,” I speak, “The most noble angel.”
“Tis equivocal. He was sent to beat me.”
“You hate an angel?” I chuckle, “Did he win?”
“Yes.” Samyaza says, “that is why I am here.”
“When,” I beg, “did your blood go black? When you died?”
“Died? No. When God chose to send down Gabriel.
Then Gabriel slain me, and now I am here.”
“Hm. Here. Do you know what is here, Samyaza?”
“No,” he say. “Do you know who I am?” I ask.
“No,” he say. “Do you feel remorse for your sin?”
I ask. “No,” he say. “You pity your victims?”
I ask. “No,” he say again. “Then… My children,
You have arrived home.” “Home?” He say, “I have none.”
“Ay, you did not before. You have one with me,”
I say, “Welcome, kin.” “Welcome where?” He responds.
“To Hell, Samyaza. Your interview is done.
You come, my child, see the underworld I rule…”
“You rule?” he ask. “Yes,” I say, “You seem surprised.”
He say: “Tell me names, your name, my King of Hell.”
“You know the answer, so why do you ask me?”
“I want to hear.” He say, “Hear the name from you.”
I smile: “Child… I am your King, Lucifer.”
I am just a woman.
A strong, powerful woman.
A pioneering woman.
A beautiful, kind woman.
Yes, I am a woman.
The world open at my door.
I am burning fire.
I am strong, unquenchable.
My flames untouchable.
The world will burn at my feet-
shake at my potential-
as inch by inch I take back
the land made for women.
I am blinding lightning bolts,
my shock painful to watch-
but I’m irresistible.
too powerful-a woman’s
My resolve unbreakable,
my soul unparalleled.
And it’s because I am a woman,
that my great strength is unstoppable.
The color of my skin defines me.
Who and what I love makes me different.
I fear to say who I believe in,
Because even in this modern time,
I will be killed for what I won’t say.
But I bet you already know this.
I am the foreigner from China.
I am the Hindu from India.
I am the Muslim from Pakistan.
I am the black man from Chicago.
I am the white girl from Manhattan.
I am the European from France.
I am a woman, I am a boy.
I am the innocence you rip from
Your children, when you scream and shout at
People for their skin and their beliefs.
I am your faith in humanity,
And it is nice to see you again,
Since you lost me all those years ago.
I am the voice that shouts at you to
Listen to the cries of your fellow
Human being. I am the voice who begs
For you to open your eyes and see.
To see that your world is falling down,
And the screaming won’t make anything stop.
I’m the voice in the back of your head,
Begging you: be the Revolution.
How it Feels to Say “I Love You”
When my mouth opens to say “I” my jaws cracks, since
I only say this to you, and it means so much,
That I can only let myself say it one time,
For I fear that it will lose its impactfulness.
When my tongue flicks to “L”, it brushed the metal,
Of the retainer on the back of my front teeth,
That keeps my teeth straight so my smile is pretty,
But you loved me back when my teeth were all crooked,
I know you don’t care, as long as it’s my smile.
When my mouth forms “O” I remember the lessons
That I had in singing, that I still use now when
We dance and move around each other in my room.
When I say “V” I feel like I did before this,
When we were young and I nervously bit my lip.
A habit I still have, that you secretly love,
Even though you say that it hurts my bottom lip.
When I say “E” it’s a release of breathless air,
Like the gasp I gave you when I had seen you for
our first date. This is how it feels inside my mouth,
When I see you and can’t help but say: I love you.
I’m taking this world,
Shattering it, and
Shaping it, and then
Remaking it. I’ll
Break it and taint it,
Make it something worth
The time and effort
it took to fix it.
Because I’m a child,
With the infinite
My life has given
Me. So God damn it,
I’m going to rock
I’m in the driver’s seat of my car.
Blaring the stereo radio.
I tap my thumbs on the steering wheel,
Patting in time with the music beat.
I think about my parents, and the
Homework I have to do when I’m home.
I think about how good coffee is,
And having a cup now would be great.
I think about what the world is now,
How far we’ve come to fixing ourselves.
I think about the dark color black,
How it pops, when painted on rainbows.
I look out of my glass car window:
I see girls kiss on the street, and I
Think that we have come so far but it
Is not as far as the world should go.
I don’t notice when the music stops,
The radio’s tune drowned by the hum
Of industrialization and
Blaring car horns of angry people.
I get out of my metal, black car.
I walk the streets and hear the shouts of
“faggot,” and “dyke” from white People and
I begin to understand why we
Have such horrible reputations.
I walk the streets and hear the screams of
How the LGBT are horrid.
I see our rainbow go up in flames,
And I remember my blaring car
Stereo radio, and I think
that we have come so far but it Is
not as far as the world should have been.
I reminisce and think about how
We stay silent so you remember
What our world would be if we were gone.
I stop and think, remembering how
We paint our face to force you to see
That we will not back down, even when
We are beat onto the concrete floor.
I remember every loved time that
I held my girlfriend’s hand in public,
So I can force you to remember
That we have come so far but no, it
Is not as far as the world should go.
I stand next to my allies and say:
“Just try. You can never take us down.”
I think of my car radio, and
Can hear the beat, like a thousand hearts.
I look around and realize that this
Is Revolution. So Feel the beat
of our feet slam on the concrete streets.