FlexWriters Creative Network

Bully

“If you can make it through the night, there’s a brighter day.”  - Tupac Shakur

I see your tears crawling silently on the stairs of fear, alone
no one is near but your cries are heard young child.  Emotion
black & blue from the punches of their laughs/the commotion
inside your mind baring scars from the lacerations
 of loneliness you feel  -- searching but finding no way to deal
with the internal pain that throws you up against
 the wall of difference and trips you onto the curb
of your own self-expression.  

I feel your heart calling out for someone to grab your fall;
 someone just to see that you are someone other
than the names they call you and you are someone other
than the shouts of abuse that has you afraid to step out into a harsh
 world and someone who sees that you are someone
 other than the echoes of humiliation that threaten to tear
down the walls of your mental stability;
you just need someone to show you that

 within you there is an ability to escape and fight back
with the force of just being you.  Young child let your individuality shine
because every inch of your soul is someone proud and fine.
Walk strong because no matter how hard the world kicks you
 your bones will not bruise.  You will not limp
because your mind will not fracture through their attempts
 to try dislocating your sense of self.  There is always a better day
waiting to show you that you will be okay
and I know now your nights are long
 as it is your fear that tomorrow will be cruel
 but just remember you are filled with worth and a voice

born to be heard.  Believe in you
 
  because life is not a bully.

© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan

A Little Boy Weeps

Flooded by the scars he cries a little boy drowns
 in a sea of pain all alone.  The innocence
of his youth reaches out,
  but no one is there
to grab his hand; there are no open ears
listening to understand and no one hears the drumbeats
of a heart thumping and desperately calling 
 for just one person to stop the tears
from falling.

 Silenced by abandonment he orchestrates
the song of a little boy lost—somewhere
 out there
he is on his own  trying to find himself a home
 where the lacerations of his mind can heal
and the numbness of love can once
 again feel. 

 Abused and emotionally used he shields
himself from the horror behind a life filled with rage
and wonders why he was brought
 into this world.  Tight to the night he holds
a prayer to be saved;

 he wishes to be seen
inside his own dream where a child
can escape the wild and just be a child. He wishes for a place
where his growth no long bleeds from verbal whippings
and the heavy handed slap of neglect.  His loneliness
whispers for someone to find his voice

 for the internal sadness is not his choice.
Ten years of age suffers in silence
 because as the world sleeps
a little boy weeps.

© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan
The FWCares Project

One April Morning (The 36th Song)

  Written April 27th, 2012  10:31 A.M.

A howling wind regurgitates through the reflection
of soft sunlight that is peeking through the eyelids
 of my bedroom window.  A gentle air whispers
into my awakening as I rise to a new song.  One April morning
I experienced the magic of birth and on this April morning
I celebrate thirty-six renewals of defining that birth.

 On this day I share the remembrances of a soul once challenged
to fail; a soul born to be written and inspired through the compassion
 of growth.  There have been days I have cried silently
because I didn’t think there was no one who wanted to hear
the tears of my mind, but my greatest fear
 was recognizing my being and reason for being here—
in a society that once aimed slurs at the skin color
of my Blackness and still today there are some who
 blindly understands the genetics of my sexuality.

 In reality,

I’m not the only one who have strived to become someone
but as I look back I could’ve been one of many
who could’ve feel into that hole where dreams collapse
 and seen by no one.

On this day I am appreciating the process of becoming
 through the lyrics of the past and the many hopes of tomorrow.
There have been many losses – in this life – that still gives me sorrow
but each face who has shown me the love to rise above
 gives off the sunlight of promise;
a promise that a mother communicated by gazing  into the eyes of a new born
 child on one April morning

through her eyes he was told he would never be alone
 and through her smile he was given a name
 that will always be known

as courage, confidence and pride.  One April mourning he
 was shown a new world ready to embrace
and hold him deep in its bosom.  All he had to do was reach back

 and on this day, my thirty-sixth song,

    I am extending my hand.

© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan

Able

and ready to believe.

  As I sit and watch transient sunsets fade
behind the fatigue skyline of a city, I remember the once proud
façade of progress;  the many years dedicated blending minds
and educating hearts to become one focus and join hands
in the togetherness of equality.  Before I was born there were many
men and women of different shades able to defeat
the freedoms of hatred despite continuously being
knocked off their feet.  Before I was given a purpose
in this world there were survivors able to find the strength
of recognition founded on these same beaten down streets.
Before I knew how to cry there were many tears able
to reconcile with faith as they strived to sacrifice
their own blood for a better tomorrow that has become
today.  Before I had dreams there were dreams out there able
to achieve and willing to try again and again to redefine
a skin that remains smooth with scarred memories
of shackled expression.   As I sit and listen to a night sky
whine through the shadows of history I hear the voices of today
echo through abandoned alleyways and shout above the steady
pollution of sirens ready for a solution.  So many out there
are willing and able to breathe growth again and build
a society temporarily in digression/

                           through the eyes of progression
there is a brighter future and we all must be ready and able
   to believe.

© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan

To Live Again

To progress one has to remember to live.

One night I sat alone listening to my past pain
unhealed whining against the coldness
of yesterday’s window.

It was a stuttering sound
that startled the waves of silence that giggled
amongst the hours of truth;
a truth that whistled for time to pause.

And in those minutes I remembered
the deep amnesia occurred from the many days
I forgot to live/for reasons
being my hesitance to step forward
and move on; my own reluctance
to step upon the horizons of tomorrow
and breathe beyond the scars that concealed me
from progression.

That night I remembered to live again.

© 2010

The 33rd Song
 Written April 27th 2009

Thirty-three years ago I had no name, no dreams
no emotion  -- they say I was just a ten pound bundle of joy
pushing my way out of a sixteen year old womb.
 It is safe to say I don’t remember
but the sting from being smacked on my naked little ass
 woke the world up to my first cry.
I told the world I was alive
 and thirty-three years later I give the world my thoughts
as I sit here in this bar
at quarter past five.

It’s amazing how life changes as we grow;
almost as amazing as our mind suffocates for exposure
 after just two sips of Hennessey and coke.
When I was born it was just thirty -three years since
America’s Bicentennial – a year when gas cost 59 cents per gallon
 and the average rent was two hundred and twenty dollars

Imagine that.

New York City was introduced and terrorized
by the “son of sam” and some genius decided we needed
 a two dollar bill.  Jack Nicholson was the one who flew over
the cuckoo’s next
 as Sylvester Stallone became the Eye of The Tiger.
Robert DeNiro was one scary dude in the movie “Taxi Driver”
 and Disco took over the radio.

Imagine that.

Thirty-three years of thinking but not knowing; thirty-three
years of reflection and wondering who the hell
 I’m supposed to be while discovering who I’m not
supposed to be.  Thirty-three years of finding my place
in this world of many destinations while
 challenging myself to create a path many
will strive to travel.

I guess what I’m hoping for is just to be known
years from now when someone just like me looks back
 and dissects the celebration of his own thoughts;
I hope to be that memory or that moment (perhaps even both)
that changes and creates a movement
 that will evolve through the next thirty-three years

and as I continue to sit here and reflect, think
 and dissect I toast back to that moment in April  --
the year 1976 when at 3:53 A.M. a child was born.
 He was nameless and without words but filled with expression;
He was born hungry to make a difference
and raised though many tears to be a difference;
 to maintain aggression and to stand tall
with influence and I toast to now

 thirty-three years of finding my meaning.

© 2009
Tarringo T. Vaughan
Revised 2012

(Rebirth) The 32nd Song

  Written April 27th 2008


To be born again is to release yesterday’s fears
and rise from the recycled shell we call existence;
 it is the freedom to capture our own reemergence
as we explore and face the unknown
by redefining it into another year of knowledge;

 to be born again is our ability to rewind
the hands of time and embrace the sands of the hourglass
 that have yet to flow  in this revelation we treasure
 as life – it is our energy to reach new journeys
through growth, strength and sacrifice;

to be born again is to reward the challenges
of this world with a renewal of self – it is a celebration
 of guidance and a reincarnation
of each connection we’ve created through each year
 achieved. 

To be born again is to awaken in a new age
 of youth while finding truth
in our inner explorations --  it is our moment
of reflection as we study our place,
    our soul,
     our meaning,

and the transitions of rebirth.

© 2008
Tarringo T. Vaughan
Revised 2012

Argument With A Poet

As he studied my attention
 I refused to blink.  He told me things about my-
self I tried to keep hidden under a coffee stained
American Eagle sweat shirt
 that found me on the Clarence rack.

I told him to fuck off!  But he continued
 to weave his words through my intelligence.
He was such an inspired bastard; cruelty
 bunched together in fifty-seven pages

of brilliance.

There was no winning against his intellectual
 abuse.  So I let him have the last word.

I closed the book.

© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan
Beyond Rainbows & Yellow Brick Roads
http://www.tarringovaughan.net

In Dedication:  A Poem For Stella

When I think of her, skin a golden bronze
like the ancient shine of an African treasure, I see
the perfect illustration of a woman; a chiseled face
of courageousness with a strength in her heart
no one else could measure.

She was a portrait of hope; gray hair like sparkling silver
glowing in the early August sunlight’s glare
still reminds me of a woman with so much flare.  Her eyes
always told the story of a woman fueled with passion
as every tear she ever shed filtered through many
years of compassion as she taught everyone around her
how to heal through failure and how to dream
through darkness.

She was the foundation of our creation; hands like a fine
structure of a rough gentleness gave birth to each of our
souls.  Every time she held each child there was a pleasure
in her heart beat which still reminisces as the perfect
lullaby that keeps us brave and standing tall
on our own two feet.

She was the victory of human condition; a soul fine
like the fragrance of an aged wine who
demonstrated balance despite the many hardships
of struggle and lived each day as a challenge
to continue singing lyrics written through her heart
and translated through the memories of each of us
who she had left behind.

She was the bond that held a family; she was the beauty
of forgiveness and growth and she was the genetics
 of generosity and prosperity –

she was everything defined through the spirit
of greatness.  She was a wife, mother, grandmother, sister
and hero.   She is the fabric
 of inspiration; an angel named Stella.

© 2012
Tarringo T. Vaughan

Like A Bird Without Wings

Sometimes I feel like a bird without wings,
unable to fly; no strength to glide,
no way to escape, emotions hidden inside.

Like a bird I was born to soar
and fly through the winds of challenge.
I was born to spread my wings
and rise to the greatest of altitude
accelerating through the skies of capability
but when unrecognized becomes my ability
I become captured and sunken,
held down and broken.

And everyone walks around me
wondering why I won’t fly
they stare at me with concerned eyes
but seldom do they see the hidden tears
because I shield them --
I shield them behind the bars of constructed fears
that hold me to the ground
stuck in place
and feeling like a bird without wings.

© 2009
Tarringo T Vaughan
From Beyond Rainbows & Yellow Brick Roads
http://www.tarringovaughan.net