A pledge for the 268

We pledge…

To honor King Court’s vision,

A people united around the notion of freedom,

Free of Queen, King, and consort, 

No longer slaves to anything but our own conviction.

To maintain the fighting spirit of the once-slave sisters,

Who under the wage whip of overseers children

Waged a revolution against the poverty of people,

The desmadification of a culture,

A backward motion toward what was abolished.

We pledge to be one people indivisible.

We pledge…

That Dame Nellie’s hard work was not in vain,

That our foundation should be our knowledge,

To support and care for each other as we do for ourselves,

For a united nation is a stable nation.

On that foundation, we will build every possibility,

We will rise above all things that divide, 

That neither race, color, creed, gender, or cash value,

Will drive us from our common purpose.

A fortress shall we be against even the most pompous foe,

To realize a future of our own making.

We pledge…


Individually, as citizens, in health and energy,

That we are not islands,

That only arm in the arm can we stand.

That our strength is in our multitude, 

A people missed by favoritism, nepotism,

And all other isms meant to sap our fortitude.

A society not made of just people, 

But a society of just people, more robust than the sum of its parts.

In all this, we pledge…to serve our mother, forge and fortress…Antigua and Barbuda


I do not claim any rights to the above image

The sound that emerged from her battered throat barely resembled a scream anymore.

The noise that heaved out of her bosom,

More a wretch than a cry,

A hoarse rasp that echoes in the stillness of no one listening.

Lost her voice not to infirmity,

Or illness, or an inability to string words together,

She had lost her voice in a crowd,

A malstrom of agendas and intentions,

Of feelings and egos,

Of anarchy that swept away reason,

That placed compassions headstone.

Into an inky blackness the notes of her once strong voice fell, 

Like glittering shards of crimson from her lips did drip

Her resolve.

The spark and fire that once called her to gird her loins,

To give of herself,

To aid and abet even a chance at something not so dangerous,

She screamed her last into that void, 

And dropped her tattered cloak into the vortex, 

She donned a new one,

This one much lighter,

Free of the weight of any expectations but her own.

Lined with the absolute knowledge that she was in control of only herself

And that her value was no less than what she would accept.

She walked forward, 


Still uncertain,

Still terrified, 

But quiet,

Plotting carefully a new barren landscape devoid of safe harbor.

If I were honest

If I were honest…

I would tell you I’m hurting,

That waking up each morning…

is a new adventure in dread.

I don’t know who I’m waking up to be and that scares me.

Which side of psycho will she walk today?

If I were honest…

I would tell you about the bounty of tears,

that flow in the small moment between woman and professional…

because you can’t be both .

If I were honest…

I would tell you I’m scared,

being naked in this world…

without the armor of beauty, or wealth or power or charisma

being armed only with the power of intelligence,

If I can claim even that without the necessary officiating artifacts.

If I were honest…

I would tell you I’m sad

because I’m not there yet, even though nobody can point me the way

but everyone seems to be there…right?

If I were honest…

I’d tell you I’m angry,

because content is what I should be

instead I am adrift somewhere between hopeless and helpless

I am anything but content

If I were honest, I would tell you my whole truth,

In the language of screams and tears and rage and feeling utterly lost…and alone.


I’ll tell you I’m fine,

I’ll tell you alive and living

I’ll tell you I’m okay

I’ll smile and joke and dazzle you with my carefully curated cover

I’ll tell you I’m happy!

If I were honest, if only I were honest

The devil I know

I do not own this photo or any rights to it

The devil I know

Because when I was alone,


Discarded, lacking value and abandoned

He was there

Despite warning and threat

He was there.

And he made good on his promise

2am feedings


Diaper rash

Hernia he was there

Because I was and ugly failure

Not worth the love of anyone

And I took that out on him

And he nursed my soul back to humanity

And made me feel attractive for the first time

Because I’ve held him through his tears

Patted his hair 

Soothed him back to sanity

Because I’ve abused and beaten him

Pummelled and hurt him

Cut him with my words and my actions

And he refused to let me go

Because when I failed at my vocation and left the path less traveled he was my guide

my nurse in sickness, he was there

Because in my lowest moments he hoisted my weight

Because he has seen the worst of me,

Deep dark evil me, and he is still here

Because our mutual loss killed him as much as it killed me and we are still mourning

Because I have seen the worst of him

And I am not afraid of violence

Because of the phenomenal dick

Because I am malformed and so is he 

And because I fail, have failed, will fail and know that I can expect no better from him
Because he was a deserted child and is adrift of purpose 

Because there are moments of happiness, harmony, 

Because despite not knowing how to do it, he loved his children

Because despite for all his lacks they all love him dearly

Because I’m weak

Because I’ve been strong enough for both of us too long

Because he feels like home

Because I love him

Because at the end of the day we are broken individually but it feels a little less so as a whole

The devil I don’t…

Is Jason Mamoa, the mocha version, soaking wet

His eyes are hungry and his appetite specific to only me.

He is well read, well fed and able to make me so also.

His voice is chocolate covered gravel 

And his words are only truth

And adoration

He is 6 figures and generous to boot

Loves sea side walks and deep conversations,

Police shows and pontifications of the stately of things,

He is well traveled with simple tastes,

Has sated the urge to wonder.

Is kind, is loyal, is willing and able to adapt to my ambitions

He is perfection

He is a fantasy

He is an unattainable ideal

He has some dark flaw

That might be the end of me

He is too good to be true

He is a question


I don’t own this photo or the rights to it

2 am and the flesh is weak,

The mind is weary,

The spirit heavy laden,

What used to be ant hills,

Now feel like mountains,

And the darkness and the silence,

Are pregnant and accusing.

2 am and eyelids are heavy,

Lined with gravel,

But impossible to close,

The oblivion of them,

Most welcome,

But cruelly out of reach,


2 am and the bone deep tired,

The subtle aches of aging flesh,

Wearing bone,

Compressed by experience,

Worn by toil,

Feel like fresh wounds,

Deep reminders of advancing age,

Impending mortality,

Achievements not yet had,

All which seem,

In the grand scheme,

Of a nepatistic apocalypse,

Unimportant and secondary,

But still ring urgent even in their pointlessness.

And 2am 

Mourning dreams that seemed too ludacris,

Desires that incurred too much risk,

Lovers that were works if fiction,

And fictions that would make up the perceptions of you

Sleep will not come

A barrier erected of,

Tomorrow’s that may never be,

Today’s that feel like forever, 

And relief like a roving oasis in a desert to uncertainty,

Block the sandman his egress,

Block you from the stillness of rejuvenation.

2am.words without voice,

Because who wants to hear them?

How apporiate are they?

Because words are just words,

Spoken in a language spurned by the unread..laughed at.

Because strong and independent,

Because centered and balanced,

Does not know weakness,

Are unbothered by others,

Does not seek to fit in,

But it does.

So 2am must be weak.

And weak is not an able state for company

2 am knows no comfort,

Must be throttles into submission,

Must be kidnapped,

Kicking and screwing into sleep


And when finally it’s found

Just before the 5 am alarm

Click clack

Heels clicking on concrete.

avert your gaze, tuck your chin, and be silent,

speak only in her absence.

Sticks never thrown, stones never hurled do not these bones break

High heels clicking on concrete,

the sound of ire never realized,

of crimes committed in the minds of victims unseen,

or perhaps imaginary,

now’s the time for confrontation?

Heels clicking on concrete

drown out the sound of,

or perhaps step right over,

words dropped deliberately in her path,

but she who brandishes heels does not pick up trash.

Words without context fall on deaf ears.

Lay your charges and face your aggressor,

the worse you could face is your own error.

Heels clicking on concrete,

head high, hips swinging,

heaving breath laden with frivolous laughter,

she is the hero of her story ,

the villain of yours and uncaring if not oblivious.

Heels clicking on concrete,

strike a dramatic pose,

exudes and proclaims ‘me mouth na fulla watta’

never discrete in her truth as she knows it.

High heels clicking on concrete

walking past your bullshit.

Cry you an ocean


Cry you an ocean,

Let fall freely from you cheeks

Your own disappointment in yourself

You have struck the path that led you to this

And here you stand again,







Cry you an ocean,

Littered as far as the horizon with

Every dream you failed to make come true

Every hope you let burn out

Every promise broken

Every compromise swallowed

For the making of peace, that was not yours

Of comfort you cannot feel

Love that will never warm you

Satisfaction you will never know


Cry you an ocean

Scream your rage,





All turned inwards

All structures solidified by pain and doctrine,

By routine

And the need to belong


Cry you an ocean,

Try to fill the gaping maws with the salt of your spirit

Make barren the fields of your accomplishment

Succumb to all they said you would never be

Could never become

Are not good enough to behold

Submit to circumstance and happenstance

None of your own making

But against which you have stood far too long and far too well

That no one had seen the cracks in your framework

Or perhaps not cracks but furrows dug

By loved one,

One sided love,


Cry you an ocean

Mourn things not yet come,

That viewed at a distance through the lenses of your present

Will never come to pass.

Moan a prophesy,

Self fulfilling, generational curses,

Passed from one cruel mother down through generations

That left no scars on your flesh

but made chains around every tomorrow thereafter


Cry you an ocean,

know your escape may be futile

From the dark and sunken place,

From the bleak and restless existence

From the grey forever of no better coming

Of no good path spread before you

Because you are truly one,

One among many,

Isolated in desolation


Cry you an ocean,

Drown in your own sorrow,

Battle scared and broken,

at the bottom of a bottle,

under the heat of scrutiny,




Cry you an ocean,

then let it sweep you away.




Someone flipped a switch and I lost my shit.

Someone in here wondered too close to some faulty circuit,

and everything got so big and so loud,

I am alone.

I am small.

I am insignificant.

Effort is meaningless.

Someone turned the lights out,

Everything got cold,


Every little thing became a mountain to cross,

and every breath had a little less oxygen in it,

Just like that,

From one moment to the next.

One second it’s fine,



and my thoughts dissolve into  chaos



things are just as they have always been

everyone is who they always were


Like someone just flipped a fucking switch




Please turn it off.



Sorry Not Sorry


He said he was sorry…


his victim had no one to protect her.


She was in the wrong place.


He has a right to not be known.


Just look at his angel face.


The record shows he is troubled.


Be mindful of his future.


Boys will be boys.


He was angry.


He said he was sorry,

But after all,

It was her fault.


And so it came to pass,

That magistrate duly did demand,

That I should say…


I’m sorry…

About his knee caps.

That it took 10 swings of a cricket bat,

Before I heard them crack.


I’m sorry…

About his fingers,

That bones shatter,

When stepped on by a full-grown mother.


I’m sorry…

About his lip,

About the way it split, 

That blood doesn’t wash out of cotton so easy.


I’m sorry…

About his stomach,

That the knife,

Was dull and rusty.


I’m sorry…

It got twisted,

But he laughed when punctured.

And the red on my hands,

Matched the red that clouded my vision.


I’m sorry…

But I was angry.

I’m sorry,

But he wasn’t sorry.




She slid the ring off her finger,

She rubbed at the flesh beneath,

Hoping no one would notice the sun-starved skin.

Much the way her spirit stood staved of passion.


She slid the ring into her purse with

She hoped with it the last vestige of her guilt.

Her guilt for being neglected

Her guild for being left behind

Or perhaps at moving too far forward


She moved among the heaving bodies,

Embraced the spirit that mused the motion

She gyrated and ground her hip against the engorged flesh of a man 12 yes her junior


She gave in to the dancehall rhythm,

Let herself lose,

Against this boy and that.

She let her hair down for the first time in 10 years of marriage.


The guilt kept creeping,

She firmly dismissed it.

He knew there was a lack of intimate between them.

He knew and he kept choosing disinterest

Or other interests

Or interests in others


He himself had told a tale of two lovers,

Come roommates,

Comes strangers.

He told her with a finality that spoke more volumes than the tale itself.


But this boy,

Here in the darkness,

This grinding of veiled flesh,

His hot breath on the nape of her neck,

These hungry hands seeking passage into her veiled places

Was the affirmation of a desirability she had doubted for far too long,

She reveled in it.


She celebrated,

As guilt gave way to a wave of lustful abandon,

As hot lips touched her neck, her collar bone, her jaw line

As she surrendered her lips

As she wrapped her leg around his hip and let the grinding become something almost sex


She renewed her belief in her goddess self,

Leaving the club with this boy,

Into the room she had rented

Into the act of flesh rending

Flesh left untouched too long


She reveled,

Through the night,

And in the morning,

She left the sleeping form of a drunken stranger

She went home, renewed, to face her demon.

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