A Letter To My Mother On Her 77th Birthday! Happy Birthday Mother

 

Happy Birthday Mother!

Yes, you brought me into this world;
a squalling little Black baby girl.
You belittled everything I ever did
and you beat me for nothing when I was a kid.

You want me to honor, love and respect you
when what I did was from you, take my cue.
I have never known what love is and I never will.
Not one tear for love will my eyes ever spill.

I’ve been called cold, callous and cruel,
but never have I been called, “love’s favorite fool.”
I know that this should be all about your day,
and it is in its own strange and morbid way.

There is just something that needs saying
because in this town where you live, I’m not staying.
I have come running every time you’ve ever called
and listened to each admonishment on my character, you’ve drawled.

That stops here and now because I don’t need you anymore.
I never really did but I’ve just got to settle the score.
When you talked about me to your acquaintances, that hurt.
But knowing what you are mother, I’m an expert.

I’ve watched you down through the years
send people packing with words sharper than shears.
I’ve listened to you drone on about how great you are
when you are too evil and wicked for hell by far.

You’ve got foul names for everyone you ever meet.
The language you use, the derogatory names, you bleat
to anyone who will come within your reach.
You sit on your ass and search for an invective to screech.

Then you have the nerve to wonder why you sit home alone
and that to this very day, there’s nothing for you to atone.
But your day is coming mother. It may not be here yet,
but then again, you may already be paying your debt.

Your favorite one of us died from drugs years ago
and the man you couldn’t leave hated your ass from the get-go.
Even his friends said he died to get away from you
and this I can believe because I’d do the same thing too.

So sit in your big falling down house and think,
think of all the reasons why you should take to drink.
Believe that you are good and that all others are at fault
And you’ll still deny your evilness when they lower you in that vault.

And lower you they will mother, for we must all go that route.
But don’t you think for one second that your ‘goodness’, I will tout.
You are evil personified and though I may drop dead first,
at least I’ll have the pleasure of knowing that your ass is accursed.

You will lie beside a man who hated you to the end.
Your youngest died years ago and she was a dope fiend.
And yet you blame us for problems we never placed at your door
even though you share the blame because we are what you bore!

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2019 Shelby I. Courtland

I am going to attempt to find the words to convey just what emotions you evoke in me mother; hate, disgust, loathing and yes…pity, for you are so despicable, nasty and hateful that no one wants to come around you and I actually pity you. I spent so many years trying to gain affection from you that was never yours to give because you hate yourself. You loathe yourself for why else would you stay with a man who, when you were pregnant with me, your first baby, threw you a quarter when you told him you were hungry and he said, upon throwing you a quarter, “Here, I wouldn’t want to see a dog hungry.” And yet you thought so little of yourself that not only did you continue to lie with that slug, you brought two more children into this world to be condemned to live with two people who hated each other. We learned to hate as well.

I used to think that the house we lived in was haunted because all of a sudden, everyone inside it would go the fuck off and get to cussing each other out for no apparent reason. I watched on so many occasions, that sperm donor we were supposed to call, “Dad,” come in and beat your ass! Every weekend it was, wasn’t it mother? And what did you do? Why you went to the police station, pressed charges and three days later, your husband…our father was back inside the house. And it was going to be just a matter of time before it happened again and again and again. And yet, you expected us to grow into healthy, mentally strong adults when we had no guidance whatsoever from the likes of you and our sperm donor dad. I sit somewhere posting poems for a sister who you showered with whatever your brand of ‘affection’ can be called simply because she was lighter than myself and my other sister. I remember you making us go to bed when the sun was still out in the summer just because dad hadn’t come home from work and you knew where he was. Like that was our fault. You would get us up in the middle of the night and take us to illegal ‘nip’ joints that sold bootleg liquor just because you saw dad’s car parked there. Small children we were and in our nightclothes and yet you told us to “Go in and find your daddy!” You knew what would happen when we did because any attention from him was better than no attention from him. You were mentally ill then and you still are. We just didn’t know it. We longed for you to leave. We’d have been better off if you had. But no, you had to continue to tell anyone who would listen just how put upon you were, just how long suffering you were. Oh, the pity parties you threw. How I hate you! And though so many of your ‘acquaintances’ have dropped dead, there you still sit, in your misery and hatefulness and spitefulness, you manipulative control freak. The saying is, “You can’t kill the devil!” And ‘they’ must be right because you’re still sitting above ground. The devil doesn’t even want your foul ass and no wonder!

Well mother, I could continue in this vein, but you know what you’ve done. I needn’t display ALL of what you think are your dirty little secrets. But newsflash mother! No one has ever bought that bullshit! No one! So save it! That is why no one comes around you anymore because they don’t want to hear you laud yourself to all and sundry when everyone knows what a miserable piece of shit you really are. Deal with what you are and come to terms with it. The rest of us have. And so with that having been said, “Go to hell mother!” oh and, “Happy Birthday!”

“…And Tomorrow, There’ll Be Another Murder….”

there will be another murder

I am so tired, I almost forget to breathe!
And when it is time to join the dead
will it be because we chose guns
over love instead?

When have you ever picked up a kiss
and killed someone with it?
Did it hurt them when you hugged them?
Or to you, am I just talking shit?

How many times have kind words
planted someone in the ground?
And can you remember the last time
you laughed? Can you remember the sound?

We live like strangers with heads bent low
over smartphones and IPods, just texting
and hashtagging and fussing and fighting!
It’s all just so depressing!

But we display our solidarity
with the murdered on Facebook.
But we don’t even know who our neighbor is.
How do they look?

Have you ever stopped and asked
if they needed something….ANYTHING?
Or do you just assume that they are just like you,
striking out at the people in the world with a scorpion’s sting?
Stuck in their own little world, incapable
of feeling, immune to the suffering and the pain
until the media alerts you to another death;
another life lost, just as these words are….in vain.

Now you can turn away, the cameras have stopped rolling.
The blood has been cleaned up, the crime tape, torn.
And tomorrow, there’ll be another murder;
another senseless waste of human life….to mourn.

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2016 Shelby I. Courtland

You’re My Man And You Are Black!

together

That voice of yours, so deep,
the walk you have is so you.
You’re my man and you are Black
and I give to you, your due.

That skin of yours, so dark.
Those lips of yours, so perfect.
You’re my man and you are Black
and I give to you, my respect.

Those eyes of yours, so brown.
Those teeth of yours, so white.
You’re my man and you are Black
and you look good enough to bite.

That back of yours, so muscular,
those shoulders of yours, so strong.
You’re my man and you are Black
and together, we can’t go wrong!

Don’t think this is all about sex,
Look in my eyes and know the truth.
You’re my man and you are Black
and together, we must raise our youth.

The heat from your body
must never grow cold to my touch.
You’re my man and you are Black
and you must know, I love you so much!

Written by,
Shelby I. Courtland
©2015 Shelby I. Courtland

I send this one out to ALL my strong Black brothers! I want you to know that I love you ALL! There are none in this world like you and though they try and emasculate you, not all of you will buy into the bullshit and for those of you that stay true to who you are, this one’s for you. I love you!

Love Is Not A Game

broken%20heart

 

My feelings were untouched until you came and broke the seal.

How can I forgive you when I had no time to heal?

You took from me my all and then led my heart astray.

I believed your many lies until the day you went away.

 

I have loved and I have lost so many times before.

I could never play another just to even up the score.

The pain is never less when each new love is gone.

As love is not a game and a heart is not a pawn.

 

Heart strands are torn apart as if entwined by fragile rope.

I look towards the heavens for just one glimpse of hope.

The nights, they are the longest with none to fill the void.

No light shines through the clouds, my trust has been destroyed.

 

Who knows if I will love again with a heart in mortal fear.

As I place the broken ruins upon its sacrificial bier.

Forgiveness was not mine to give; I tossed no love aside.

Who will comfort you at night; you with your everlasting pride?

 

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland

© 2013 Shelby I. Courtland

 

 

 

 

Yield Not To Temptation!

yield not to temptation

Our capacity for love will flee the human spirit,
if instead we shelter hate inside a heartless billet.

Hate will fester in our soul and corruption soon will follow.
The results are what we see, a deluge of human sorrow.

From every human heart, love should flow in perfect rhyme.
What is past should not return, but it does so every time.

The breath of love should whisper softly and become a gentle breeze.
As we peer inside the forest ; we only see the trees.

No light touch doth we feel, and not a hint of love’s sweet scent.
For love we have not earned, not one dime on love was spent.

With hardened hearts, we turn and toss hate into the wind.
It spreads its wings as it takes flight to steer us towards our end.

Crossing oceans, climbing mountains and plunging into valleys,
hate slithers on the ground and crouches in dark alleys,

An all-encompassing plague that will consume the human race
if we yield to hate’s temptation and forego love’s sweet embrace.

Written by,

Shelby I. Courtland
©2013 Shelby I. Courtland