Between Bleeding and Breathing

I want to love you

But I can’t

There’s something sensual

And quite offensive

In the youth of your hands

Sometimes you’re fantastic

And I’d gladly lie by your side

Take up your mantle

Riding with you till the end of the line

Shadows in the foreground

Never scare me, never steal time

When I’m dancing with your darling

Sometimes you’re staunchly impossible

And I’d gladly take your life

Watch the crimson run from passionate eyes

You were never meant to go on

Only die by my hands, in every possible

Rendition of time

But time does tell me, you’re somewhere

In between

Killed and to be killed for

Beating and breathing


From the finality of lust


From the hatred of your breath

And I turned you to dust


Bring Me Back From The Comatose

Sit on me and grind away
Eyes closed, face down
My mind isn’t here, it’s miles away
And I’d run away if it wasn’t for your lips
Red with the blood of my future
Eyes dripping with the black of my present
and my past
I’m such a miserable mess
But you bring me back to a comatose life
You go down and the bandwidth comes up
I’m shaking now, I’m electric now
And everything I touch quivers in shame
Because you’re through, I’ve unloaded
And now there’s nothing but odd silence
And buzzing emotions
We go again
And again
And again
And again
Each time it feels the same, but it’s like
I fell in love with you all over again
It’s not the repetition or your twitching thighs
It’s the things we learn about one another
Spoken without words, no framework or time
No heartache, no lies
Pure, unadulterated loving
I wish other people had in their lives

On Swift Wings


Sitting alone

By the window sill

It’s late into the night

Wind is sleeping

People aren’t stirring

But her eyes are open wide

Yawning loudly

She checks her watch

First customer of the night

Adjust her straps

Folds her hands

And breathes in deeply

Hoping she’ll get another chance

To say goodbye

Walking down steps

Darting glances in each room

Full of sex

But short on love

She waits

By the front door

Hoping her death

Rides on swift wings

Only My Guilt Knows


I descend a staircase

littered with shreds of newspaper

and leftover condoms

the lights are dim

and the air, stale

but the memories are bright

and here, rise high

my leavened bread

eaten everyday by anguish

shoved in my face, they know I need

the drain in the center

is rusted and clogged

with people I left long ago

they tried to buy my love

a piece of my fire

so I cheated them time

now look what they made me do

surrounded by my muses

pale white skin and shrouded face

silk curtains her backdrop

virgin ignorance is a see through robe

I draw from her eyes

lonely telescopes into the vast blackness

of my pirate heart

I weep from her part

a lonely ballerina on a stage

and silence her only spectator

I take what I need and leave

as she breathes alive and well in me

made and broken at what she sees

I don’t love her but can’t let go

so I lock it inside

for only my guilt to know



Playing To The Beat Of The Winds


silent rolling hills

grasses still

as the trees standing above them

watchful soldiers

on the eve of battle

there’s a flower garden too


and purple petals particularly pushy

each inching higher than the other

for light

red brick preventing

further advance

Stonewall Jackson

come again

there’s a pretty little girl

dancing in the middle of it all

serenity mixed

with delicious vulgarity

as played with herself to the beat of the winds

enveloped me

fully clothed

yet confidently nude

in expression

and in awe of wonder

there’s no one to tell her

how to dress

or how to live

so she danced

she danced

and everyone that came near her

became white as the milk

that dripped

from her bosoms



The Menace Inside Makes Me Young Again


Shadows convene

at the edge of every alley

one foot planted in reality

the other against the wall

smoking cigarettes by the carton

breathing in the toxic waste

of a choking humanity

and out come black fumes

so sensual in wafting

from nostril to nostril

even the prostitute looks up from her slumber

and pleasures herself once more

together in twilight

they burn the ashes of dead dreams

and light the fire of forget

roll in the cunning of a serpent

and blow it as sweetly as a promiscuous witch

sweeter than the honey

that drips from hardened nipples

hanging lower than the blade

of guillotines sent to punish the adulterer

strip me bare and beat me blind

I scream I’m yours, I’m yours

as the skin peels back, dancing

to half time

throwing fuel around my feet

the soul gasping for air

raises itself higher on the cross

while the aborted fetus bleats

I love the menace inside

every day I age

she makes me young again



Mysteries Among The Melodies Of Silence


Sudden warmth arises

a soul

drunk on restful slumber

to a sea of green drapery

teasing the eyes away

from the naked beauty underneath

fawns bouncing among the meadows

when touched by misty morning air

rays of sun crown a head

as the lunar glare dusts feet

when sliding underneath the heavenly arc

birds rest on tan shoulders

like trees, strong but gentle

I come upon her

and discover a flower

pretty and pink

this is mine, my shining time

I watered it each day

until a seed was born

and carried our name

throughout history


A Black Man’s Views On (REAL) Black Problems

Image: A man walks past a burning police vehicle The forecast calls for rain

mixed with a little bit of snow

The winds come and go

and they hum a slow beat

along the trees and buildings they meet

The puddles, birthed by the rain

overflowing and blanketing the lane

in a mirror like sheet

The blood of this city

the sins of this city

are the carried by the rain

The cries of the child

and their footsteps measured in miles

are washed away by the rain

I write it down

I write it all down

as the rain pour

drowns out the abused mother’s crying sounds

Pull up on my block and see what I’m made from

See the bullets and lifeless eyes on the ground

and find a witness? There are none

No hope for the teenage girl

trying to be pretty but classy

cause the others are jealous

and insults they hurl

Night and day, she’s hounded by boys

just looking for another jerk off session

winding their arms up like little toys

Loud mouth politicians in ugly pant suits

try to tell you about the struggle

but they never tell you what the struggle is

It’s more than drugs, it’s more than crime

it’s why we need drugs and crime in the first place

Broken families

from dad’s who want to play both sides

and mindless school principals

who are a waste of everyone’s time

Putting a white man in charge

doesn’t take away

from the fact that we still act as if

we’re slaves

Gold chains and ebonics

a tiny reminder of the old days

when a black family could be rotted

with a bid, a token

and that vicious cycle

it has yet to be broken

The city stares at me

they say

The city sits watching me

at play

What I knew

and they could never see

was already drowning thee

and what they know

grasping which, I was slow

and I sunk under the currents heavy flow


(Ever notice how there’s almost no national media coverage regarding black on black crime, particularly involving inner city incidents? Did you even know that four people were arrested after TWO non-fatal shootings in Baltimore, today alone? Bet the Today Show didn’t talk about it. Well, I did, and since I tire of people who have no concept of the struggle trying to tell you how it is, I decided to tell you how it is. Not above the battlefield, but ON it.)


Dancing Dirty To Morning Light


Standing in the window

she gazes at the morning light

reflecting off skyscrapers

hair in a bun, top undone

she awaits her newest client

unsuspecting her voracious loving

he’ll take too many bites

unbeknownst to her cunning

she lies on the floor in front of a mirror

admiring two outrageous peaks

peaking out from cut out latex pants

smiling at her sexiness

she twists and turns her body

staring seductively at the ceiling

as if to make it come over her

imagining him undoing

bronze buttons

imaging him breathing down her neck

as he pushes deeper inside

her youthful appearance

was betrayed by a slutty soul

knowing things

only harlequins know

Kissing the mirror

the reflection of herself

she’d leave a trace of her beauty

and another notch on his belt


Black Dahlia Prose: Special Words For My One Hundredth Post



Oh man, oh man, oh man. One hundred posts? Really? You kidding me? Really?

Yes, really. It’s real.

I’ve been through everything on this blog, from love and tempting teasers to Aspergers and raw pain, grief, and desire for a “normal” life, to my porn addiction and what I’m doing to overcome it (I’m going on nearly a WEEK without it, by the way). I haven’t always had a lot of followers, and I’m SO THANKFUL to the 387 (and counting). You are amazing. Your comments are encouraging, and your peace and kindness encourage me to go on.

But I must confess.

I don’t do it for likes or comments. I do it because people need to here my voice. People need to hear and see that not everyone on the autism spectrum is rude, emotionless, and unable to do anything in society. People need to see that Aspergians…we have a voice. We are NOT all in our own heads. We can see outside ourselves, outside our anxieties, and make an impact. I think I’ve chipped away at that goal, and with one more post, I’ll continue to. My role doesn’t stop, and my job is for life. I will do this until he calls me home, and I’m thankful to you for listening.

YOU make Creative Writing of A Baltimorean possible. YOU make my job easier. And YOU make it possible that others like me can see who they really are. THANK YOU.

For my post tonight, I’m doing something a little special. On Twitter, I’ve been participating in Kendra Lynn’s #BlackDahliaProse prompts , and I’ve written some great poetry in response. I’m going to share them here, and you can follow me on Twitter @marylandpoet and follow her as well, @DVcrusader

(The prompt will be in bold)

12/9/16 Prompt

Red, brown, and yellow

Feelings anything but mellow

Wind whistling pleas

from fluttering copper leaves

Language of trees

12/6/16 Prompt

Vibrant heart

love branching out

petals of a rose

but you gave in to toil

now you lie among dormant flowers

in frosty soil

12/2/16 Prompt

Love comes

& love is gone

Wait your turn

be taken along

ride up & down the story of life

happy & mourning

in the dusk

of a grey goose morning #BlackDahliaProse

11/29/16 Prompt

Blood & knives

Tablets of stone taught tribes

Thrones of white marble

enemy ships pillaging harbors

The legend of humanity #BlackDahliaProse

Prompt 11/25/16

A broken bed

and your ripped dress

Moaning and sweet ecstasy

Sweaty palms

and a sticky mess

The morning after #BlackDahliaProse

Prompt 11/22/16

She was pressed

until her core became liquid

and a heart of daisies

became grey ashes

She gave in

Her chemical meltdown #BlackDahliaProse

She threw up poison

and bled carcinogens

She ran to her lover

choking on curses

My chemical romance

Her chemical meltdown #BlackDahliaProse