desire. raw. needs.

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?


Langston has been in my head for a minute now. I’ve found myself meditating on that question, “What happens to a dream deferred?” I’ve been so  uninspired lately, that shit ain’t even funny. I went to write a poem tonight and nothing came out. NOTHING. Even tried to get some stream of consciousness type shit poppin off but it didn’t even flow right. I’m just………..blank. It’s worse than losing somebody you love, or maybe just the same. For an artist stagnation is death…….it’s like a hunger you can’t fill….stomach growling like you living on the street begging for nickels and sleeping on cardboard boxes. I am so desperate for something to stir inside me….but it’s a thing that can’t be forced, can’t be coerced. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the heat of spontaneous creation……I need that in my life somthing awful right now…….

True indeed.......

True indeed.......


Whenever I’m in a funky blue mood, Ms. Badu’s voice uplifts everytime….