Unmoored

I told you once
that I’d bleed for you.
That dying meant nothing if
I did it in service of another.
Someone who was worthy of such a
profound sacrifice.
Yet, in the end,
all I found for myself was …
Heartache.

Who does a knight live for if not his liege lord?
Who does a champion,
Champion?
What purpose is a long life to one who was never meant …
to live that long … ?
It’s like a tool outliving the purpose for which it was created.
I feel like an undead thing.
Walking around long, too long,
After my life cord was severed.
Aimless,
worthless.
I could dive headfirst down the rabbit hole.
Only to emerge, like Alice,
Dazed, confused, and probably not a virgin anymore.
Mind ripped wide from experiences which have made the toughest
Traumatized …
But I digress.
a computer with no program.
Operating system
No language in which to make anything happen.
Log error absolute
No,
I’m still that questless knight
Riding on into the night,
No thought of welfare,
safety,
or self-preservation.
I don’t care about what happens to me,
Except as it benefits those that I love.
Except …
as it benefits …
those whom I love.

Peace

---

What’s Up Queen?

Queen …
Can I ask that you be a little more explicit in your regard to me?
Make me feel all uncomfortable when you open your mouth & speak,
Make me want to clutch my clothes as you visually undress me.
Not because I want to be emasculated but simply because the roles being reversed is somehow exciting.
Yeah, it’s not embarrassing but enticing, when you speak as if you’re the hunter & not me.
As if …
You’re going to rock my world,
by doing … that … damn … thing!
No, that’s not a plea to relinquish my place as King,
But what’s a warrior King,
without a Goddess Queen?
I mean, I get the softness in your breast
but it doesn’t negate that a man likes to be seen,
and felt.
A man likes to be dreamed.
A man likes to know that he’s desired in this world more than just for his D or his cheese.
Woman please,
Take the time to make me blush.
Grab ’em by the crotch …!
Hold up,
wait a minute,
WTF!
Did you just Donald me girl,
I mean hold up & let me get myself together first.
You wanna whisper in my ear when you think others ain’t looking?
You wanna cat call & yell if you see me passing?
I’m just saying,
What’s the game we’re playin,’
what’s good for the girl, is ok wit me is what I’m sayin.’
Women push up!
Show me what you want,
& if it ain’t me cuz I’m too easy,
Well, you win some,
& I ain’t trying to lose none.
Am I a biscuit,
Should my feet be hurtin’?
Am I what you been looking for in all the wrong places?
But I get it,
that’s wretched,
You want me to BE A MAN!
But when I am, your playin’ strength
I get nowhere fast.
I wine & dine you,
I try to get behind you.
But you & your cadre of girls
Do everything to remind me.
You …
You’re not that kind of girl, woman, or chick.
You run around sayin’ it, but get mad if I call you bitch.
So, back to me,
Back to my;
Baby, baby please.
Show how you want me,
Let me see you into me.
I’m exhausted not excited.
I’ve done the work,
but been left undelighted.
I know that you’re feelin’ me,
But all the work for no reward
Has left me looking for another hand to give me what I need.

---

Kyle Akinyemi Sa Ra Daniel-Bey is a writer, poet, and ironworker. He holds a position on the board of Youth Arts Alliance, a non-profit, youth-centered trauma healing arts organization. As a former incarcerated youth, he understands the impact that art can have on young minds and hearts. He is always looking for ways to further engage young people and other artists.

Read next: Issue no. four poetry section