They screamed about liberty
They ranted about rights
They yelled about communism
While racing far right.
And then on a Wednesday
The first of the year
They pushed past police
And incited fear
The party of law and order
Of the “All Lives” banter
Showed it wasn’t All Lives
Just their lives,
The white lives that mattered
Broken windows and papers
All over the floor
Bloodied faces and vandals
threatening notes at the door
The hypocrisy is blinding
Glaringly obvious
They don’t give a damn about America
They don’t care about all of us.
Pissed off about loosing a lawful election
Angry that America voted against
Blatant oppression.
They were stopped and forced out.
Although not as fast as they should have been
Had some of them been black
They would have never made it in
Democracy still won that day
The first Wednesday of the year
The wanna be dictator
Will be removed without fear
So fuck em
Fuck racists and sexists and especially fascists
You failed mother fuckers
You will never rule here.
-b.e.
Armor in America
I don’t have the words.
I have anger.
I have shame.
I have pain.
Anger over the hypocrisy.
Shame over what has happened to America.
Pain knowing if the people had been black they would already be dead.
The most protective armor in America is white skin and a MAGA hat.
With it you can break the glass windows of Congress.
You can rifle through offices and walk out with the furniture.
You can yell at the police and walk away.
This isn’t the America I fought for.
This isn’t the America I love.
America be better than this.
-b.e.
Emotional Typewriter
I’m too angry to write.
The feelings are there, but the words escape me.
Gritted teeth, the forceful tapping of fingertips.
Absolute frustration exploding from my thoughts.
Incoherent strings of words are all that’s left.
And then, a gasp,
A release of coherence, calm and collected.
Words untangle the mess of emotions.
Words give an identity to feelings otherwise trapped.
Words begin to manifest peace.
-b.e.
Poems in the Dark
I write my poems in the dark.
Tapping away on the dimmed phone screen.
The tiny computer in my pocket holds my deepest thoughts.
Soft music lulls my children to sleep
While I type away my thoughts
Feelings of the past, moments in the present
A passing phrase or word floats in my mind
Until it finds its way through the keyboard to my notes.
My babies tucked in their beds beside me.
My life, my inspiration, my thoughts all float freely here.
I write my poems in the dark
It’s where I feel the most like me.
-b.e.
The Hive
My mind knows it’s not worth it.
That it’s not worth getting angry.
But my body hasn’t figured that out.
My body is tired, tired of constantly being in fight or flight mode.
Tired of choosing fight and regretting it instantly.
The persistent buzz just beneath the surface of my skin.
The swarm of angry bees ready to fight.
My body exhausted, using up energy to smoke them into submission.
But if I don’t,
If I knock the hive and let them loose,
I won’t be the only person stung.
-b.e.
The Crown
Life will not get the best of you.
You have to fight it.
Prove it wrong.
Prove to the universe that you will not be toppled like a fallen kingdom.
You are worthy of the battle.
You will take a hit and then swing back.
Life will kick you down.
Shove your face into the mud.
You will fight back.
You will push your way back to your feet.
You will triumph over the bruised and bloodied field.
You will be stronger, wiser, smarter.
You are worthy of the crown.
Moonshine
It wasn’t love.
Not even for a minute.
But it was just enough to make her forget.
Just enough touch to black out the hurt.
Fueled by a lonely heart and moonshine.
Just enough to make her miss him even more.
-b.e.
Just Be
Who you are in this moment,
Is exactly who you are needed to be.
Embrace it.
Embrace you.
Live within yourself
just be
-b.e.
Painting by the Sea
Salt in the air
A fresh breath of life.
The soft give of sand under foot,
Warmth of the sun across my face.
Shades of blue and gold along a blank canvas of amber.
I never was more at peace than painting by the sea.
-b.e.
At Odds
It’s terrifying really,
Knowing that what you want to do
And what you need to do are at odds.
Realizing that what you think you are called to do isn’t really what your passion might be.
Sometimes you just have to find the job that lets you do what you love.
Sometimes it’s the same thing, sometimes it’s not.
Sometimes you struggle with who you really are; outside of a wife
a mother
or a daughter.
I, myself, am a writer; despite my best efforts to prove to myself otherwise.
b.e. poetry: A place for my words 