-I'm Colorful, Not Black-
You can call me Colorful,
But,
You may not call me black.
Black is a word,
used to describe,
Absence of Hue,
Void of light,
No color in you.
A fool.
Black is a word,
used to describe,
Odiousness,
Wickedness,
I’m none of those things,
I’m an empress.
My skin exudes Richness.
And my colors shine so bright.
The vibrancy,
and brilliancy,
Discoursed,
From my orifice,
May blind you at sight.
I’m colorfully credible,
And eth-ni-cally wealth-ful.
Wait a minute….
I just said a mouthful.
In One hundred degree temperatures,
They’re Pickin’ cotton wool.
“Welcome to mental slavery”.
I Just had a flashback,
Drenched in sweat,
with whips on their backs.
Actually,
I’m sorta mad.
Don’t call me black.
Yes,
Color is an illusion,
But,
The carbon-in-my-skin,
Is a fact.
I’m Colorful, Not Black.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2017
-Why don't you wear your hair in a bun?-
“Why don’t you wear your hair in a bun,
with glasses, and a suit?
I’ve never seen a Children’s Book writer who dresses like you,
She usually pins her hair in a roll,
and wears Penny loafer shoes.
In her Little House on the Prairie dresses,
She goes to the Priest to speak her confessions.
She knits her little socks in her chair that rocks.
I guess you can never judge a book by it’s cover, But..
I’ve never seen a Philosopher who looks like you.
Another pretty face with no brain,
I thought.
I just knew.
Philo has a long beard, and gray hair,
not Madden shoes!
He sits calmly,
Indian style.
Never, he has a frown.
His head is bowed,
with candles around,..”
Hold up,
Let me stop you right there.
I’m not Caroline Ingalls,
I don’t wear chignons,
in my hair,
And I don’t sit in rocking chairs.
I don’t wear flowing dresses,
I prefer fitted,
I don’t conform to those norms,
And my clothing expresses this,
No Turtlenecks, or hijabs,
Actually,
I love the shape of my bod.
Going to a Priest,
That’ll never do.
There’s no reason to confess,
The actions ‘I choose’,
Especially,
To someone who’s doing it too.
Yes, I am an expert,
And I wear stilettos,
My dresses hug my frame,
Sometimes my cleavage shows.
Do I meditate?,
Yes, But, In my own way.
My head ‘Never’ bows,
I’ll show you how,
You can catch me Rollin’ roun’ a rink on eights,
Skate vow.
I’m not always “ladylike”,
or always composed,
I laugh at funny things,
Sometimes I like distasteful jokes.
I’m a woman,
I vent,
And my wit,
may cause me to say somethin’ fantastically slick.
I am a Revolutionist.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2016
-The Fight-
In a controlled, conformist world,
you cannot become a public eye success,
if you are:
an attractive,
*highly intelligent,
non-conformist,
Colorful woman, altogether.
This is too much power and influence,
Illustrating the ‘sensible’ way.
They will try to stop you at any cost.
You can do it,
Just make sure,
you have on your best boxing gloves,
with the thick leather,
and shoes with a good grip.
Because, constantly,
you will have to “Stick n move”…
and set off a few,
Bruce Lee kicks.
But I am a force to be reckoned with,
and you ‘Are’ going to recognize.
Every word that I speak,
stands BOLDLY,
inside of my eyes.
This is a different era,
I am some ‘other’ breed.
There is not a bone of fear,
Or a vein of fright,
Inside of me.
Now-You-See,
…I’m not goin’ nowhere.
The fight is goin’ down-out-here!
Bring it.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2016
-Green Eyes make a sour heart N-V-
I didn’t tell you to quit,
I didn’t tell you to stop,
I didn’t say ‘Don’t think big’
You chose to give in,
You decided to flop.
You’re Profusely pissed,
I hear your disdainful hiss,
As you watch me climb the top.
You’re angry at me,
because you gave up and I did not.
Like a lava cone,
about to disrupt,
The hate makes you ill,
Deficient,
Weak,
No Will,
to conceal,
The jealous and envy,
that oozes from your gut.
You’re angry at me,
because,
“half empty”,
you left your cup….
And I chose,
to fill mine up..
You’re eyes,
They’re green.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2015
-Beautiful and Fine-
As of today,
I don’t want anymore “beautifuls” and “fines”.
I have enough to last me a lifetime.
I’ve tried taking them to the Printing,
and Manufacturing companies,
for pay,
I handed them the bag,
And asked,
‘Is this okay?’
They told me to Beat it.
“If it’s not spendable,
you must keep it.”
The space I had reserved for “beautiful and fine”,
is now overflowed.
I don’t need no mo’…
-Andrea L’Artiste 2017
-Diamond-
I am,
A Diamond in disguise.
In da skies,
I’ve stumbled, upon me.
Now,
I,
know,
why.
My eyes,
They shine.
They Illuminate,
A radiant,
Glow.
They hold,
a code.
Only an exalted seer,
Will,
Ever,
Know.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2016
-The Smoke that thunders-
Man of color,
Sit with me,
I have a love letter.
From my sistas and I,
To you.
The hate of her,
It is a program,
You must take off the blinders,
Do not be fooled.
Or confused,
About,
that you see,
When you look at me.
I am a Jewel.
There was a reason,
You were ostracized,
Sodomized,
and Dehumanized,
In those times.
One hundred and fifty years was not long ago,
Time flies.
Did you forget?
She was the one,
to heal the wounds on your back.
I’d suppose you’d ask,
“Well, Why do you speak of that?”
It is not an attack,
It is the root of your issue,
With a woman full of Hue.
There is a physical Cause and Effect,
To every rule.
You must Understand,
It’s True.
The POWER,
and togetherness,
Of the colorful woman,
and man.
I don’t think you get this.
I think you missed it.
Allow me to explain.
See,
This is more than just a poem,
This is more like a “psalm”.
Jot-this-on-your-palm.
Keep-this-in-your-brain.
You have lost track of time,
You have lost track of pain.
I’d suppose you’d say,
“Well, Why should I hate?”
No,
In fact,
I am opposed,
It is only with me though,
You shall elevate.
We should coexist,
And bliss to all.
But you have,
The “Smoke that Thunders” in Zambia,
Don’t go chasing “Niagara” Falls.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2017
-The Bees tried to steal my honey-
I know what it is,
I’m just naturally sweet,
They smell me for miles,
before they appear at my feet,
Then they connect wings,
and twirl around me,
Like synchronized ballet dancers,
to a beautiful harmony,
Like Bats in the light of day,
They pretend not to see,
And as soon as I look away,
try to steal my raw honey,
Those sneaky little Bees!
-Andrea L’Artiste 2020
-The Fruit-
The female is just like the fruit,
As the ovary of the seed starts to grow,
It’s dense,
the pulp is scant,
It’s not juicy.
nor sweet,
It’s not ready to be eaten,
Once the fruit has matured,
the flesh is full,
Its nectar is like honey,
and it’s plentiful,
After much Time,
Growth,
Rain,
And Sunshine,
The harvest has ripened,
Maybe that’s why,
A woman in her forties,
“Has reached her peak”,
She’s like that mellowed fruit,
Ready to get ‘loose,
from the tree.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2016
-Zone-
Soft words and gentle pecks,
I place,
upon your neck.
As your fingers firmly glide,
Along the arch,
of my back.
Like,
Louisiana heat,
My body temperature rises,
Like,
bonfires of melting marshmallows,
You feel my,
love arrive.
Unyielding,
My passion-handles,
They clutch you with might,
Captured,
In essence,
Like rays of sunlight.
It has permeated your whole,
My flesh,
On your zone,
You explode…
-Andrea L’Artiste 2017
-The way that you are-
Colorful girl,
Love yourself,
the way that you are.
You don’t need hair weave,
fake lashes,
and butt shots.
Who told you,
your rich skin was not good enough?
So you cover with makeup,
to change it up?
The carbon in your skin,
is radiant,
You know?
It gives your tone,
That shine,
That glow.
…But They never told you so.
Then You perm your hair,
To kill the Afro,
To disband the liveliness,
To stop the growth.
Girl,
We are perfect the way that we are,
Even those things,
that we think are flaws.
Our thick lips,
And fat nose,
Large eyes,
Wide waist,
You hate your “Big bones”.
The lighter you are,
The further away from your roots,
This is not a colloquialism,
This is the truth.
You do not realize your power,
I guess so.
Everyone else knows.
Yet,
The beautiful,
Woman of color,
wants to change herself,
No!
You are the prototype.
You are built with Strength and Courage.
It all comes so naturally.
Tell me,
Why would you want to alter
Something most women want to be?
Woman of color,
Empress,
Some like to call us,
Mother of the earth,
The next time you look in the mirror,
Remember these words.
Because of ME,
life is birthed.
Know your worth.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2017
-Soulful soothes-
Sittin’ outside,
listenin’ to my grooves,
My soulful soothes.
Sippin on chamomile,
while Maxwell croons,
Feet kicked up,
As the King of R & B gives lessons on spoonin’.
But I even listen to Etta James,
How her tunes carry notes with so much pain,
And thinkin’ to myself,
Was it that bad?
Self inflicted emotional wounds of cocaine.
Just a station over,
In the New Day,
T-Pain is talkin about,
makin it rain…
Sittin’ outside,
listenin’ to my grooves,
My soulful soothes.
Those tunes that get you in the mood,
For some,
Sexual healing,
For some,
Love and happiness,
Johnny Gill,
Tellin’ you to,
Slip on that red dress.
Eyes closed as I envision me,
on that Voyage to Atlantis.
Teena Marie givin’ the fire,
While Rick James is havin’ the desire.
Knowin’,
A house is not a home,
Without some Luther Vandross..
Hello?….Can you hear me?
My music has me in a zone..
Sittin outside,
listenin’ to my grooves,
My soulful soothes..
As Minnie Ripperton takes me back,
Down memory lane,
with Lauryn Hill,
Givin’ me the real.
When I’m like this,
Nothing even matters.
I’m in pure bliss.
This musical enchantment,
Makes me wanna,
write a silly love song.
Goin’ On and On,
with Erykah Badu.
The O’Jays,
Givin’ me what I want,
Smooth…
Those Ohio playas,
That Classic Ole’ skool.
I’m all over the place,
With my grooves,
..My Soulful soothes.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2014
-Four weeks-
I swear to you,
I watched four weeks quietly sneak by.
Tiptoeing across the days,
at a fast pace,
wearing a disguise.
Smuggling,
in a Duffle bag,
Time.
Looked me straight in the eyes,
…But I couldn’t stop it.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2018
-Perennial-
Even when you think I have died,
I am just hibernating.
After each sleep,
I will resurface, undoubtedly.
Once the seed has been planted,
It is for life.
I cannot be destroyed.
Love, Perennial.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2015
-Not All Artists and Poets are Sad-
Let me clear this ‘Renaissance old’ story for you,
Not all Artists and Poets are SAD.
Because my brain works in a way that allows me to create, doesn’t make me miserable or mad.
Because I share with you how I feel,
At a distinct moment,
Or night,
does not encompasses,
a totality,
Of my entire life.
Because I,
Think better,
Create better,
Write better,
in solitude,
does not mean I am lonely,
‘always’ alone, or in a bad mood.
My Art and Poems expresses nothing “Sad”.
In fact,
I am more passionate,
and somewhat of a sensualist,
…might I add.
Let’s not forget,
Much of my Art is created for kids.
It’s not possible,
for an unhappy person to do this.
I am revolutionizing.
All of these old myths,
…that were told to you.
They’re simply not true!
All Art and Poems are not always Blue.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2016
-Scent-
The scent he wore,
It smelled like,
A brand new love and that first time.
Like your favorite home-cooked-
hot-meal,
fresh off the stove,
with steam,
still rising…
Like a Heavy rain,
on a hot summer night,
As it reshapes into tiny water particles,
to catch a ride,
on an occasional gentle wind,
pushing itself through the window,
and rests,
On the bare body.
His scent was called,
Excite.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2017
-My Song-
In the case you happen to hear my song,
Do not judge the words that I have used.
Some of them may be raunchy and cruel,
I can assure you,
they have not been abused.
They find their way in my Lexicon,
as a result of the tunes that I play.
Sometimes my notes are soft and sweet,
Others with tenor,
and lots of bass.
My song is a compilation of many hooks,
vocables,
instruments and keys.
Alternating from my Piano to Guitar,
A, G, And E ,
My open strings.
In my twenties I played the bongo,
my melody was wild and upbeat.
In My forties more serious about my sound,
The bassoon and conga,
move your feet.
All very unique,
In composition,
The strings that I’ve strung,
Over the years.
Some of them you may love,
like your favorite movie,
and some may bring you to tears.
It may not be easy,
To read my music,
Like Calculus,
Some say that it’s frustrating and confusing.
Thus, inspiring
To the mind,
And can find,
a place in their ‘own’ harmonies to use it.
In the case you happen to hear my song,
Do not judge the words,
that have noted off of my tongue.
As it takes ingredients and steps to bake a cake,
….It is just my paradigm for not going unsung.
-Andrea L’Artiste 2015
-Womanly-
My hips,
Don’t lie.
They speak the truth,
at all times.
Wrapped up in a fitted dress,
Or Jeans,
That Hug,
The curves,
Of my legs.
Covered in chocolate,
The aphrodisiac of the flavors,
They speak with confidence,
A forbidden,
Second language.
The swing of my hips,
With a big twist,
Keeps
No
Secrets.
The connection with my thighs,
In cahoots,
Perfect…
Teammates.
My hips don’t lie,
They speak the truth,
At all times
-Andrea L’Artiste 2014
-Gender roles-
There are no gender roles in the household,
Ya know?
Some of you think there is a rule book,
That women are ‘supposed’,
to wait on you hand and foot.
This is why some men don’t appreciate her,
and thinks her only job is to clean and cook.
You’ve been conditioned,
to believe,
the woman is to be,
Your servant,
While you kick up your feet,
Eat,
And watch T.V.
Why can’t you get in the Kitchen,
And clank some pots together,
Or pick up a broom,
Clean some rooms,
That’ll make a relationship better.
I know she must be tired .
She’s been the Maid,
the Chef,
the Landscaper
and Caretaker for 500 years now.
Reciprocate,
Iron ‘her’ clothes for work tomorrow.
You will never understand,
Her hand,
And How she feels.
Until You’re
Doing the laundry,
Cleaning the house,
Ironing clothes
and
Cooking meals.
I’m just saying.
Yes,
A woman does all those things above,
But you need to put on the Chef hat too,
After that,
Grab the Mr. Clean and gloves.-Andrea L’Artiste 2016