Title: Little Black Boy
Posted On: 2015-04-12 20:15:56 UTC

There was no man in my life that taught me how to love a woman There were plenty of uncles, cousins, and a father but still no man Still, I only learned how to love a woman through my mother's tears and screams as a child My aunt's divorces & heartbreak, my cousins raising children alone, and my own internal, chaotic energy as a flower too wild Little black boys are only taught to conquer women in numerical sexscapades Affection within brotherhood brings about the conversation of last days Maybe I told Mariah to shut up consistently because I was taught that women have nothing important to say Way too much aggressive soprano, inadequacy in listening to you and your mother pray In the safari I continue to blossom as a little confused jungle flower Yearning to express, taught that it's synonymous to cower When your father dismisses your letters of affection and appreciation There's a void filled with empty sex mixed with chivalry because I was taught to conquer women but I understand energy and it's combination My hate for men came from some man trying to rip me out of the soil and another one not planting me right My love for women came from a woman who fixed my stem and another one who peeled my pedals back every night Not a rose from the concrete, a wild flower from damaged soil Once upon a summer I rejected the teachings of hating women who's hair coils To accentuate my affinity with oral sex and poetically naming it a flower Maybe this urge for it isn't sexual, as I relate to a wild flower, maybe I crave who I am internally for hours Watching orgasms escape from these flower beds Baptized by these human-like goddess shower heads Raised to see love as a result and not a pursuit Realizing why I don't love me, maybe I'll know how to precisely love you I love all my uncles, cousins, and my father But I wasn't loved, you can't nurture plants with bad advice & liquor, only water As I write this and these tears won't fall from this over aggressive upbringing A dry bucket of tears turned over and made instrumental, creating bells that ring They raised this wild flower in flames, is this really melanin from the homeland Subconsciously yearning to be 1 year old me, long hair & loving, but not unplanned The jealousy of how perfect my siblings upbringing will be As a first born phoenix of collected chaos, love, and expression I'll teach my child that love is not at all like congestion I'll never dismiss my child's affection I'll show you how to love Your father, maybe a child of the blue Childhood damage conversations will never consist of pieces from you I'll let you be young throughout your youth My wife, your mother, our queen, will love us Her husband, your father, your King, will love us Through mistakes & corrections, neglect & rejection, and expressive acceptance You'll be a sublime flower that faultlessly blossoms

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