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Autobiography of a Poet
Still Working it Out Between Man and Woman



I was strong, arrogant, self-assured dame-on.

Knowing, growing, never wavering

Straight, upright, careful, and controlled.


Then I was tempted.


For what is strength after all, if never tested?

A weakness waiting to be revealed.


As outward arrogance hide those subtle frailties

Not the hopeful show of an iron will of steel.


Self-assurance quickly becomes self-doubt when

The mirror image reflected is cracked.


And knowledge gained but never honored,

Has its growth quickly retarded and held back.


A straight path, is so, only by comparison

To a crooked line or jagged edge.


And broken vows are easily laid aside,

When passion and need confront that given pledge.


So I became a tempter was quickly tempted.

And a woman who yearned for man.



There was a quiet man, who

Walked alone and I.

He touched my heart, he touched

My mind.

He often made me cry.

He said I did a lot for him.

My just being there was all.

He said I was his destiny,

His fantasies, his fall.

I always seemed to touch him,

Just where he needed it most.

And I could make him feel it.

Oh so very much.

I was the one who taught him

Just what true love resembles.

That suddenness of an electric shock.

For only I could make him...


He said to me, that I was disloyal.
And that he being a man of color would understand me better than any other.
And that because he came from a black mother,
He already knew what I wanted and how to give it to me.
Then he boldly stated that he could love me more than the man of my choice.

I responded. "Oh really?"
And will you tell me that you absolutely love my ass?
Then kiss it, between the caresses you apply there?
And will you tell me I'm beautiful, when I walk past your chair.
Then just watch me, learning my moods and expressions.
Can you kiss me like you'll never get enough?
And eat me as if my taste is addictive, and you badly need a fix?
And make love to me gently, then exquisitely rough?
Will I know you desire me, just from the heated look in your eyes?
Will telling me good night, when the evening ends,
Be the most difficult words you ever have to speak?
And the parting although necessary, is the hardest thing, you never want to do
If you can do all these things
Then maybe, just maybe you will love me as much.
But not even you, my black brother, could love me more.