Juggling Knives

They are too determined in their game to win. Relentless in their pursuit to oppress the oppressed until they are pressed into some block, like a cell… invisible.

I am stretched beyond the yoga of Nirvana locked into scarcity

Trying to make crumbs into a loaf of bread – singled out, single black female…

A tapered loneliness covered in photos on my wall

The other half of me is not here with me

And the substitutes won’t due

Artificial sweeteners never measure up to honey.

The blackness they hate

I

still

love.

By Janell Hihi Copyright@2017

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Keepers of The Light

 

Final Shots for Manipulated Light and Power Series
Final Shots for Manipulated Light and Power Series

The suppression of light denies it’s existential right to shine upon what hides in fear of being highlighted by that blazing, neon fury of getting to the bottom of surfaces masked with theory, conditioning.

Slow absorbing particles of articles that lurk in the darkness, making my cocoa into chocolate, as unpure as the hormone filled milk mixed to make your Milk Way so delicious. Is good really good?

She plays hide in seek behinds systems, cloaked in robes, sending men to warehouses to be tucked away into that oblivion which perverts my black into something sinister.

She lies naked in soiled beds with me, baptizing in my sweat but she won’t draw her weaponry of privilege to gain me even a spectacle of opportunity.

Her supremacy comes before her God, but she goes to church faithfully. I get superficial light from her that feeds my ego and rapes my soul.

I craved solar light infused with fire, youthfully riding the earth to reach the g-spot of my equator. Not the dim light she emitted like a dying bulb in a musty basement bathroom.

Her real light is given through her vote only to her own tribe despite the fact that I make her sing in orgasm and smile from genuine giggles only a belly laugh has the nourishment to invoke.

I hoped my kindness would provoke reciprocation but she dangled my climax like a carrot in my face – and like a silly rabbit, I chase. A race without a finish line. Running in the dark without light.

Nothing about what corrupts the dark is fictitious. My black was non-mythical until they wrote the stories, attached the records and gentrified it’s habitats at the peak of it’s thriving.

Blinding light is what has us all in a chokehold, gasping for air and fighting blindly because we can’t see.

Are you among them? The keepers of the light. Who swallow it just so they don’t have to share it with others. Who sells it for shares? Who manipulates it into other knock-off forms, bootlegging life?

Who won’t use it to look beneath the 50 shades of black stacked with generations of pain plagued in each membrane of the DNA passed along like a bucket of chicken at Ray Ray’s family picnic?

What has been passed along to me is suffrage uncorrected by those who inflicted it. Point the light into the depth of my dark and swim in it until you get the nucleus of truth oceans deep, where your ancestors hid it. Truth is the treasure that awaits you to create the bridge to unification. Where you can replenish all that you have taken away from us.

By Janell Hihi @Copyright 2017

Playing in Puddles

puddles

I’m not the yellow and orange that strains your eyes when you look at the sun, I’m the red fire you can’t see but can feel turning up the heat in your icy glaciers, causing rivers to flood as you melt into the water that your forked tongue unleashed. Breaking me down, by breaking it down and going all the way down and now I am no longer feeling down because he’s making me rain all over me.

The bed is a puddle of pleasure peeking, about to turn into a pool. I am lit aflame and my second mouth is dripping with drool.

By Janell Hihi @Copyright 2017

 

Stringing Together Chaos

books.jpg

I’m not real. I am just an unfolding, fantastical, outlandish and absurd line of short stories that try to convert themselves into a novel cut up into a series, a motion picture but the film ends up flopping.

Ratings continuously dropping like the rain from the gray clouds I drew on the page to ruin my own day, not a ray of sunlight around, with heaviness abound I lay flat on the ground trying to lift this heavy crane off my heart.

And since I hate the consistent, like a raging rebel hates rules, I start again each day anew trying to stick to a plan, digging my own grave because I never can.

The six inch whole is finished and I jump into the abyss, not giving one, single, shit! Until one day I am driven to crawl out of this unmotivated pit where inbetweeners dwell, and procrastinators play with indecision like it’s their favorite game, she was the queen of the disorderly, and organizing chaos was her only claim to fame.

By Janell Hihi @Copyright 2017

 

Snowflakes in May

It’s snowing in Minneapolis today… what do they say?

April showers, May snows? Is that the way the song goes? SMH

winetry

Winter won’t go easy into the dying of her season

She wants to wind through our hair so that some part of us can fly

She wants us to scrunch our faces up at her cold

She likes when we try to hide from her elements

But most of all she wants us to know that she is necessary too

And that not looking forward to her, cracks her icy crust and it hurts

She’s jealous of the sun, how we crave its warmth

But she is relieved to know, we wouldn’t rejoice in the heat of the summer

If we didn’t know first, the harshness of her wintery chill.

 

By Janell Hihi Copyright@2017

 

The Poison of Privilege

I did some investigating and I found out that Privilege is the killer of empathy… she murdered that bitch… we’ve made empathy into a weakness instead of utilizing its inherent strength

It’s weak to feel

Appears as if we’ve become reducers… extracting the value out of everything sacred and true and assigning it to a group… liberal, conservative, female, white, black, rich, poor…

Narcissism is now strength and we are weak and codependent worshipping cruelty while we pledge allegiance to ignorance 

Privilege severs empathy like feeling for others is a poisonous gangrene in a limb that must be amputated.

we are cutting away pieces of ourselves to avoid feeling, to avoid relating, to avoid giving into or our humanness. 

Oh look at us! Celebrating our separateness like a happily broken family

Privilege is a toxin, the tumor in the body of humanity that wants to mutate a natural habitat in exchanged for egoic power. It is the stunt in the growth of our evolution and the death of a world that had a choice but chose domination.

Why is it we fear surrendering power for equality?

Where is the fear of equality born from?

Is it the things? We live for the accumulation of them & we’ve exchanged them for our own salvation…

Things have taken over, not the robots, not the faith in God we proclaim we have…

Only the things have power over us. All the gadgets, the cars, the designer labels, the shoes, the TV – THE THINGS.

I look forward to the day we can walk each other out of our egos.

In that day we will succumb to the drum of our hearts and dance to it’s beating.

By Janell Hihi Copyright@2017

The Un-Sexy Poem

A painful kiss from chapped lips scathing my flesh

I didn’t know crust could turn into blades

I want to taste his lips, not my own blood

I groaned, not from being pleasured but from being literally stabbed with his crust

His skin was ashy and icky like sand paper

His beard un-kept and the hairs growing back on his face rubbed against my cheeks removed the top layer of my epidermis

His breath was death

And if he didn’t hurry up and cum

Surely I too was going to die.

 

Love doesn’t smell, feel or taste good all the damn time. Let’s be real about those moments when the butterflies in our stomach is replaced with nauseation and a strong urge to vomit. When inward screams yell with fury, “I wish this gargoyle would hurry up and get the fuck off of me.”

By Janell Hihi Copyright@2017