overcoming sensibilities of myself
of realities
of what I thought was true
each day
Preaching
& Teaching
& Lecturing
& determined to pass on my Testimony
in the midst of rolled eyes
and mutters
bitter bitches and sour niggas whispering
I’m just passionate
in love with life
and if you knew my story
and if you knew my journey
…what God’s brought me through
you’d know I’m just happy to be walking.
to be breathing
and my smile
isn’t fake
I’m not some USA Pageant queen chick
it’s not pasted on with valseline on my gums
i’ve just learned how to count my blessings
no longer taking 300 plus pills a week
not walking with a cane every day
go to sleep with all utilities on
gas in the tank
fed
cell phone never cut off
texts from people who love me
truly love me
I’m blessed
so I smile
and each day I wake up with 1 decision & 2 goals:
Decision: Live or Die
I’m not speaking About simply existing as plants do
I mean living
the type of life that great philosophers such as Aristotle mulled over
what makes a human, human.
Life
Granny Sunlight, Father Time & Morpheus all enter my bedroom at 8:30
(or so)
each morning and present me with the red pill or the black
Each time I choose to live I’m choosing to ride this mothafuckea til the wheels roll into the street and the exhaust pipe falls off
Goal Number 1
Think a Thought That’s Been Thunk Before
let me run that back
Think-A-Thought-That-Has-Never-Been-Thunk-Before
each day I’m pushing myself towards innovation
in my business
in life
it stops my from settling
Fuck your foot, I believe in lighting the fire under my OWN ASS!
While you’re thinking outside the box, I AM the box
you’re making room for me
eIther you occupy the space inside
or outside
so you will get in where you fit in
either way you follow me.
And Goal Number 2
Pass a smile
For the greatest testimony I can give is letting my light shine
by lighting your flame
This is not a diss it is a Revelation
This is not a diss it is a Revelation
This is not a diss it is a Revelation
This is not a diss it is a Revelation
or
Perhaps
it
is
a
Revelation
Diss
That’s what my mom said
but my Big Sis says Jaz your Messy
but not in the bad way
not the gossipy get shit started way
and I laughed
a good belly, gut-filled, guffaw
replied: i’m a social commen-tear’ist
she rolled her eyes and muttered: “a terrorist”
but she proceeded to listen as I spit my Revelations
or Disses
or Disses after my Revelations
more similar to explanations of Rebukes
after attempted excercisms
and douses in holy water
splash splash
(fickee fickee fickee)
splash splash
(fickee fickee fickee)
splash splash
by bishops n deacons n cardinals n pink robes n poofy hats
bless yo heart
This is a Revelation Diss
To all those who’ve left me Muttering under my breath
Ranting N Raving
Utilizing vocab such as Pussy, Ratchett, or an All around Fuck N#gga
[Yea, I'm talking about YO ASS!]
Those who’ve led me to pull out my yoga mat
Pray about it
Take the high road
Turn the other cheek
Fight
Myself
from
showing my butt cheeks
Write poems about cha
or simply
To all those who have caused an ache in my heart that nothing can fix.
No hug can touch.
No kiss can mend.
Scars so deep…
That I had a Revelation
That I’m tired of being dissed
So if you ain’t Rockin with me -
and I mean: Aaaallll the way with me
Then Fuck You.
Colored Woman//Not pushed to the end of her Rainbow
As you know I consider my literary genealogy to read as follows: Zora Neale Hurston begat Ntozake Shange who begat Jasmine D. Taylor. For more information see posting: “I am the Richard Pryor of Literature“
However, it was my discovery {as an 18yr old Freshman Student at Clark Atltlanta University while writing a term paper} of Miss Zora Neal Hurston’s book “for colored girls who consider suicide when the rainbow is enuff” that dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s of all of my literary senses and ultimately stoked a fire in me that will never go out.
Six years later, on the cusp of my 25th birthday and undeniable [no-looking-back-now] entry into official womanhood: I have begun my own series of poems, Affectionately called: The Rainbow Suite.
Although I am young in years, as an artist I am sensitive and receptive to life. These pieces represent me. These pieces represent you. EveryWoman. They are not a diss against men. They simply are what they be. If you, as a man, are pissy about anything featured within them, I have a lengthy term paper plus plenty of primary sources you can read concerning the subject.
Who gone check me boo?!
(sorry, I always wanted to say that!)
Replace “Voice” With “Poem” & “Song” with “Suite”…..[but pretend it's me singing]
Intro: I’m very satirical . This is my satirical look on the Spoken Word/Poetry scene in America. It’s not an attack on anyone, however if a particular person comes to mind & u giggle I take no responsibility. In fact, I even laugh at myself! Oh yea, for the record: YES that is me banging on my leg (on the bongo part). I get foolish in this piece. I’ll have to perform it again & post a video version.
[Ps: Thank Mr. Theory The Poet for getting me to post this one! It's a favorite in most Poetry Venues in Kansas City, MO. That's him in the background of the recorded audio version!]
Welcome Earthlings!
It is I.
Creator of intellectual bullshit.
I got your letter….all of them
Requesting-My-Presence
So here I am….in the flesh. For you to enjoy.
You asked for a leader, so here I am
Bow down, worship me.
Everyone craves me
All of you want me.
You just wanted a Moses to save you
(laughs)
Feed from my bossoms of knowledge.
Savor my every word.
Do you like my rhyme pattern?
I can talk slow like thissss
Or beat on my bongos (tap tap tap tap tap)
Do you like it like that?
When I do that you assume everything I say is credible.
Or sometimes I can spit my flow real fast like this.
You don’t catch everything I say, but because I go like this and
Make inflections with my voice you
Assume everything I say is credible
See I’m (laughs) the giver of Intellectual Bullshit
All of you are searching for a Moses and I am here my children
I am here to save you
I am your giver of intellectual bullshit
I am she
I’m here
You requested me
You cried out for me
And
I’m here..
For you.
You’re welcome.
After I leave you, Your hearts will feel warm and fuzzy
You will go home and back to work feeling fulfilled.
You will feel as if you got a 1-up on the rest of the world
You..Uppity-Negro..You.
You are artsy
You will feel connected with your past.
You should.
And rightfully so, because I was with: Langston Hughes. I was with Zora Neale Hurston. I was with Charlie Parker. I was with all those Negroes of the New Negroe Movement.
I was right there at the Harlem Renassaince, and….Here I am. Right here with you
Right here. At this open mic, to feed you
Because I am the giver of intellectual bullshit.
Here in the flesh, with you.
Everything is searching for something deeper.
You want me to say something you will agree with
You want me to grow a fro’& say: Revolution, Revolution, Revolution, Revolution!
You want me to be every scorn chickadee & say: Men a’int shit
You want me to grow a 3rd leg & say: Tongue twisters to get you wet
Because that makes the ladies fiend (softly laugh)
I have no gender
No desires of my own
Everything about me is null and void
For I am simply a blob of creativity
Just a blurb
Just a spirit
I am he, she and it
A verb, adjective, and noun
I am a feeling, an emotion—-Tears, sadness, anger, happiness, rage
I am stupidity, revenge, jelousy, wrath
For I am bullshit, and I am here to be your leader
For you have called me.
I am a step above Hip Hop
I legitimize you.
And you approve of me by giving me snaps and claps
I sway within the waves of incense smoke.
I dance between the notes as the band plays behind you.
I am in every poet’s diaphragm as they take their next breath to push out their next rhyme.
I am there with them on stage
I dance in the candlelight as lights flicker on your tabletops
As the crinkles around your mouth curl up each time the poet on the mic says something on the mic that delights you
You beckon me each time the host picks up the mic and says:
“NOW BRINGING THE NEXT ACT TO THE STAGE!…”
And you CLAP!
And you clap! Louder and louder and LOUDER and LOUDER!
WARNING: I rarely post Parental Advisory type stickers on my postings but this piece calls for it. After being quarantined for a month I began to see a shift in people. Since then there’s been a continuous parting in my life. Either you go hard with me or you f&cking don;t.There is no middle ground. [Previous to quarantine I thought there was and each week I get B%tch slapped with a new life lesson to teach me otherwise] So yes, this piece goes hard.
I roll with a group of enlightened aliens around me
And
See
When I get into my moods where I feel like drifting in and out of your realities –I
know I can call them
and
when shit gets chaotic I know I can inflate myy: Left Right Siiide, Front Center Top
Back Bottom Siiides and
They inflate into supportive balloons to comfort me
Or….To…
Grab the gat out of the back seat…or out of the trunk
Or snatch a bitch up when I say: Bitches we gotta roll the fuck out cuz
They keep tryin me.
Or
I can call them for a brief pep talk because they know that I got it on my own
Because they know I like to roll Solo Dolo.
And we connect every month, See
May go Weeks and Weeks and Weeks
Months and Months and Months
and Maybe a year or two without speaking
no love lost
We just —- Busy.
But when we do connect it takes:
hours-on-the-phone
or
an outing
or
just a brief meeting, embrace, hug –
Video chat on Yahoo, AIM, or Skype
And we smile
And we release or we cry
Because that’s how me and my real bitches do
And some of my real bitches are men
And I’m not calling them bitches, I’m just saying them all & it’s all-inclusive
That’s how I use the term
Because these are my REAL bitches, my REAL bitches, my REAL bitches
Cuz I don’t want to use the term Niggas
These are my real bitches,
my real aliens,
my real Martians from Saturn
and some are from Jupiter
my Jupiter affiliates
and I know a few Uranians
and They Dig My Flow.
Cuz I’m an artsy soul and I hang with the artsy
And this is how I roll
Solo Dolo.
And I like it this way.
Because sometimes I be on my businesss…mode.
And sometimes I be on my Intellectual Bullshit
And sometimes I want to be with me
And sometimes I feel like having a crew around
And sometimes I’m feeling like a party girl
And sometimes I’m just feeling balls to the wall irresponsible
And sometimes I need someone to kick me square in the ass and say,
“Jaz you need to get your shit together”
AND
“What the Fuck are you doing? You’re fucking up.”
“Jazzy get your shit right.”
And other times well…
other times the weight of the world is holding me down
and I need my support to hold me up like a tension bridge
and they’re there (x4)
and they’re there before I even have to call them
and they’re there before I even have to call them
before I even have to call them they are there because they sense it.
Something tingles inside them and they know exactly what to do
Sometimes they know me better than I know myself
They know the parts of my that even I won’t admit
Because they’ve known me for decades
upon decades (x3)
Some have only known me for months but yet they sense the inner me.
They-Know-The-Writing-Lab.
The place I escape to play monkey in the middle with my thoughts
They know what it means when I say I need to go there for a time.
(you don’t).
And they let me be
They know what I mean when I say, “Intellectual Bullshit.”
And they don’t take offense
And they know when they can call me for advice
And they know when to just let me be
And they understand that I’m socially private
And they understand that I’m a hermit
And they understand I’m aggressive and passive
And they understand that I’m a contradiction
But I’m real.
And they know that I’m transparent,
and I think that’s what they love about me most
and I think that’s what they love about me most
And for them
I love them.
And if you’re one of them,
And you’re here right now.
I thank you. (x4)
Love Always, Jasmine Danielle Taylor
Afterthought: Just in case the repetitive use of the word “Bitch” offended you [get over it]. And just in case me saying [get over it] offended you, here’s a comical parody by my favorite group of comedians from Clark Atlanta University (@dormtainment) about the word. Enjoy!
The streets of Kansas City claim more lives and cause more pain than any serial killer ever could. They claim the lives of thousands of Black men each day. Most don’t realize it. People seem to recognize death as the only sign of life departed. Ignored are the living dead. The lives of little Black boys thinking a gun, stack of cash, and an inventory of drugs makes them a man.
The soldiers.
Protecting a block against hallucinated enemies. Twisted fingers thrown up. Thizz face on deck. Baggy jeans, White T, Fresh fitted….Soooo Flyyyy
Run the streets all night. Sleep in the day. Up by noon. Roll a blunt. Puff Puff. Count yesterday’s earnings sayin,”This is the life AND life is good.” And i ask what life? Life for you is gone. It’s not your own. Governed by the laws of the hood. The imaginary brotherhood where you pledge allegiance by being down-4-tha-cause:
Fi-Blocc on MINE Cuuuzz / I fucks wit da Tre / Deuce-Sev
Take the oath: “On my mama, On my hood, Bust serves all day, Sm0ke til I feel good.” What – The – Fuck. I drop my head and cry. Salty tears sting my eyes, I’m asking God, “Why?” I’m just stuck. These are MY black men. MY black sons. MY son’s future.
I know Mama Africa is crying. This wasn’t her intent. She wanted black men to have pride for their village, for their tribe. Protect their people against invasion. Cherish their women. Be the providers. Now this…
Another One Bites The Dust.
My puppy-love sweetheart is gone.
My first love is in jail.
My little cousin, soon to follow suit…….either way.
