A Christmas Tree For Baby

I called out to you and pleaded, but you would not let me die.

I screamed to heaven and asked your God why?

A day a king was born to save man brought me so much pain, this I could not understand.

While others laughed and ate their fill, I weep many tears and scraped up our babies stool.

How can you say this celebration is for me?

That is my child hanging from that Nigga Baby Christmas tree.

You could have told your daughters no, but you did not think that my child had a soul.

With green and red ropes tied around their little necks, my child hangs from your Oak Christmas Tree.

I know you taught us that Jesus is heaven sent, so I am sure he would not want my babies to be your Christmas tree ornaments.

I begged you to take me instead, but you said you needed me to warm your bed.

I pleased with you to let me die.

Then I screamed to heaven and asked your God WHY????

A day you celebrate a divine birth, is the day my babies had to die.

Swinging like pendulums in the wind, my baby’s limp body never bent a limb they were just the right size to be used as an ornament.

Plantation owners from miles around came to sing hymns and admire your tree, full of little black babies from one month to three years old.

Their little heads painted in bright colors, bodies white washed with paint, as they swing with the harmony of the masters’ hymns.

The next day we cut them down and buried their bodies, knowing that the masters will bed us again as we scream with agony and hate from within.

I will murder my womb, castrate my heart, and from now throughout eternity, I will scream every time I see a Christmas Tree.

I screamed again and asked your God WHY??????????, but, he never answered me because his is in the image of the Masters’ that decorated that Nigga Baby Christmas Tree.

A CHRISTMAS TREE FOR BABY

Ruining Another Life

Please leave me.

Please leave me.

I am not trying to compete with your men you see.

It’s okay, I will not fight just have it your way.

I am a girl not a boy.

Now I understand that strange sex toy.

Please I understand why you hate me now.

No wonder you flipped your wrist and called me a fat cow.

Please, please, leave me now.

I told you stories about being a lesbian.

I figured that is what turned on most men.

For you I even tried once or twice, I had no idea the woman you chose was your boyfriends’ wife. I even lied and told you it was nice.

Please leave me I could never be your husband to be.

I could never be as good as Gary.

I could never be as good as Terry.

I could never be as good as Ferry.

I could never be as good Harry.

I could never be as good as Larry.

I could never be as good as David.

I could never be as good as Candy; my lips cannot fit around that much dick.

I thought that blonde haired, greened eyed frail little man was a woman at the casino that day. I had no idea it was your little man hoe.

For I am not a man you see, so please leave me.

I realize now how you must have tolerated me. Kissing the face of the toilet seat throwing up after every sexual encounter, we had. Damn boy I bet that made you feel bad.

I even understand why you hide your homosexuality.

I am not hating you I understand. I am a women you enjoy a man.

I am not trying to compete with your him. A woman was never meant to compete with them.

I am sorry that in order to hide your homosexuality, you have to misuse a lot of women just like me.

Please just leave me I am a she not a he.

I am not downing your homosexuality.

Now I understand why you really hate me.

It is because I was born with my femininity and social ignorance says it is all right for me and not you.

You have to hide you see, you cannot openly express your homosexuality. You could not explain that to your family you see, or your new wife to be.

I hate that bullshit they call down low, be who you are, don’t hide what you like.

And stop calling every women you see me with a got damn dike.

What is the matter with you guys, telling all those lies?

I looked in the newspaper the other day and there he was announcing his engagement to a beautiful women he had known for two years. While his lover eyes are full of tears, weeping over a ten-year relationship, hide in a closet full of fears.

So just, go ahead pretend as if I was dead.

I just thank God I have been granted disease amnesty.

For if, I had not, I would be writing this from my jail cell, that I would be sharing with my new roommate Big Bette. I am glad you are gone just leave me alone. Start a new life marry your he wife.

I hope you don’t put him through this same strife.

Why don’t you just go under the knife?

Then you can be your boyfriends’ wife.

I think that would be better than ruining another life.

Be who are and live your own got damn life.

If you keep on hiding, you will just keep on ruining other peoples’ life.

Anyway, all that bullshit they keep telling you about stating that who are is wrong. Apparently, none of them knows anything about history; great philosophers, church heads, alchemist, poets and Kings, many of them were nothing but Queens.

RUINING ANOTHER LIFE

A Call From A Hyprocrite

Do not call me.

Do you realize you are one of the last people I ever want to hear from or see?

Please do not call me, unless you want to challenge me.

Unless you want me to be like you, do not call me.

I have nothing but bad news for you. I am feeling better and going on with my life, glad to be free of you and all of your strife.

You were never my friend, just some motherfucker called my kin.

You used and deceived me. I am not shame to say that ‘everybody plays the fool sometimes”.

I forgave you and left you alone, so why don't you just bask in your victory and go on.

I am trying to still be kind and keep you and your wicked deeds off my got damn mind.

If I were you, I would not call me not unless you want to challenge me.

You look like a Christian wearing your cross and your Sunday best, but you sound like a heathen using versus from the psalms like maledictions and self-righteous infractions against an enemy you made because you are a thief, a liar and all the bullshit you condemn people for being.

Why would you call me, to say you got even? Everybody knows that, because it is old news.

I do not believe you want to mess with me. You could really be fucking up you see. You do not care for me at all, so what is the real purpose for this call.

If I had known that you never liked me, I would not have tolerated you and your, shit.

I really want to feel sorry for you, so mother fucker why you don’t just quite.

I know it is hard for you to accept, but I gave up, cause I don’t give a fuck.

You knew that you were using me and getting over on me too and now you decide to call me, to see what I might do.

Apparently, you do not believe me; I just don’t give a fuck about you.

I would rethink it before I dial my number again.

I do not consider you to be my friend and I cannot help that you are my kin.

Do not call me, a mutha fucking gin.

See, I think you are a hypocrite and some dried up shit.

Do not call me mutha fucker I quite.

Look over your back; somebody is doing you that same shit.

CALL FROM A HYPORCRITE

A Trail of Truth.

Let my footprints leave healing trails on earth; let my voice echo the sweet sounds of truth and encouragement. Keep me from the perils of human contempt and transform me consciously into the bosom of my creator. For my next journey will take me to the table of sages and oracles of infinite existence at the heart of the universe. Selah!

When I walk a path of strife, God planted my feet on solid ground.

When I closed my heart to love, God sent Agape on the wings of a dove.

When I tried to hate others for what they did to me. God showed me Jesus on a tree.

When I was sick and could not afford a Doctor, God let down the hem of his garment to cover me.

When I had no money to put in church, God showed me two pennies laying in the street.

When I was beaten and hurt laying under a tree, God sent a Good Samaritan to rescue me.

When I remembered the pain of my past and started to relapse, God sent a surgeon to remove hates core.

When I cried myself to sleep, God sent Gabriel to watch over me.

When I was ridiculed and mocked in the Courts of self-righteous Saints, God sent Michael to refute their complaints.

When I was targeted by the powers of darkness pretending to be light, God exposed their plots and judged them by their creed.

When razor blades of pain, tried to take my hands and feet, God vaccinated me with healing rain.

When I questioned God and asked him why? He simply said, “It was not your time to die”.

Chrystal Ellis September 1, 2011