Floetry From the Heart

Without Knowing Her You wanna touch galaxies in her thighs but never studied the constellation of her eyes. Speak of "infinite possibilities" like she’s some uncharted map but you never bothered to learn the language her soul bleeds in. You want to dive into the deep sea curves of her hips, crave the current, but can’t name the storm that shaped her tides. Wanna inhale her skin like sacred smoke, but choke when asked to sit in silence and listen to her mind combust. You marvel at the architecture of her form but ignore the architect the mind, the memory, the moment she became a temple not just a body. You call her "mystery," but never read the prologue, never traced the sacred texts etched in her stretch marks or the scripture sewn between her insecurities and strength. You want her body without dancing with her shadow, without facing the mirror she becomes when she loves. Without holding space for her stories that scream and whisper in the same breath. You speak of...

  For the Kueens Who Catch Me They call me wild offbeat, maybe a little too loud, thinking too much, feeling too deep, and loving like storms that don’t ask permission. But you you never flinch when my thunder rolls. You, older Black women, my walking, breathing, royalty you been through fires I ain't even imagined, and still, you show up for me with a love that don’t crack and a patience that humbles my chaos. You hold me in the curves of your arms like gospel, speaking healing into my tired soul with that tone that only women who been through the wilderness can carry rough and sweet like blues, soft like cornbread, strong like oak trees growing in concrete. You see me not for who the world says I should be but who I am in all my sacred, struggling, stuttering becoming. And you still choose to stay. Aunties, Mamas, Godmothers, Elders Queens in headwraps and halos, with hands that healed generations and eyes that can cut through my mask with one knowing glance. You don’t need to un...

Your Walk with God You... You are more than just man, you are divine evidence of what happens when the soul learns how to kneel before the throne and rise again, still holy , still human, but laced with heaven’s fingerprints. You carry God in your breath. Every word you speak ain’t just language it’s living water , refreshing the desert places of my spirit that I forgot were even dry. I’ve watched the way you love the Lord in silence and in sacrifice, how your hands build without boast, how your prayers reach places that even my tears don’t know how to go. And somehow by just being you’ve made me better. Not by force. Not by fear. But by being the kind of man whose life whispers, “This is what grace looks like in motion.” Your walk with God has made me want to walk straighter. Your truth has made me confront mine. Your patience has quieted storms inside me that I used to think were just part of being alive. You have shown me that love doesn’t mea...

Let Go, Let God  "In most cases holding on does more damage than letting go I know this in my head, but tell that to my soul."    I’ve been clenching pain like a lifeline, Fingers wrapped tight 'round the thorny vine, Thinking if I hold it long enough     It’ll turn into purpose, or peace, or love. But pain is not a seed that grows good fruit. It depletes and poisons the root.  And God’s been whispering, "Child, it’s time… let it go." “Cast your burdens on the Lord, and He will sustain you.” (Psalm 55:22) But I didn’t want to I wanted to understand it. To analyze the ache, To make sense of the betrayal, To replay every scene of my heartbreak Like I could rewrite it through regret. But all it ever gave me… was heaviness. And God… God don’t speak through chains, He speaks through release. Through peace that surpasses Even my trauma’s loudest screams. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) My test...

"Undress Me" Don’t take off your clothes yet I want to undress your silence. Unbutton the guarded places in your voice, let me hear what your past has whispered when no one else was listening. Undress me with your truth Let me press my palms against the windows of your thoughts, watch how the light changes when you speak of your dreams, the ones that never made it past the paper. The ones too wild, too tender for the world’s blunt hands. I want to touch you where no fingers go in the cathedral of your mind, where your logic meets your longing. Show me how you think, how you build your truths like bridges even when your own weight is too much to bear. Your soul… I want to taste the pages of your becoming. Read your story aloud until I forget where my breath ends and yours begins. Trace your pain with my presence, not to fix it just to witness its shape, hold it like something sacred, because it is. Tell me about your mother. Tell me what broke you, what mended you imperfectly....

  “Blessed Earth-strong Day” Today ain’t just another notch in time, It’s the mark of your legacy—divine, etched in rhythm, in skin kissed by sun, In the breath of your being—Black man, you’ve truly won. Not because life been easy, not ‘cause you ain’t known pain, but ‘cause you stand with shoulders back through the thunder, and through rain. You are the morning after storms the quiet strength, the calm in norms, the kind of man who carries nations in the hush between his contemplations. You… are a King. Not ‘cause the world crowned you, but because your soul rings with royalty that systems can't bind you. You rise. Still. Always. Again. A rhythm the world don’t always comprehend. Your smile got gospel in it your laugh, like drums that been prayed over. Your walk commands respect, like ancestors hover every time you step into a room. You are a bloom in a field that tried to stay barren. Yet here you are, spectacular and dare'n. Daring to love. Daring to hope. Daring to cry and ...

"Seen" Let me be seen not just the surface sheen but the sacred scream beneath the silence. The me I’ve buried beneath laughter and light, the raw, the cracked Lalique  aching for touch that doesn’t shatter. I am not just skin and story. I am scripture a verse etched in scars, a prayer whispered through clenched teeth at midnight, begging God: “Please, send me someone who won’t flinch at the mess.” I want to undress not just clothes, but centuries of a guarded soul, pull back the armor I wore like second skin because this world taught me survival meant silence. But you… You walk like you’ve met divinity and shook her hand. You look at me like the moon looks at the tide not to own it, but to move it. You hold space like it’s holy ground, and I wonder... could I pour myself into your open palms and not be dropped? I want to speak to you in truths too tender for small talk. Tell you how I flinch at love because I’ve only known it conditional. Tell you I cried during a song once,...

Just a Moment in Time He is not mine. ..nor was the last... nor the one before him who lingered too long in the corridors of my mind, whispering sweet philosophies like borrowed lines from a book we both forgot to finish. You see, no man is mine. Not even the ones who touch my thoughts with the gentleness of knowing. Not even the ones who pull up a chair in my psyche, sip slowly from the chalice of my intellect— and call it "communion." We connect— yes. Words like bridges. Ideas like wine. The buzz of thought, shared in late-night dialogues, our minds entangled in something that feels like forever... but always smells faintly of temporary. And when they say, "You're different..." I smile like a woman who hasn't heard it before, because I have been the spark in too many thunderclouds to mistake a lightning flash for something that stays. He. Is not. Mine. Not in body, not in bond, not in the way his gaze lingers a second too long on the architecture of my kno...

“The Underlying Truth” Spoken Word by N'game' Gray There’s a saying I live by etched deep like graffiti on the soul of my silence. And it goes like this: "The Underlying Truth Reads:  What a person believes determines how they live, and how a person lives reveals more clearly what they believe  regardless of what they say." Let that sit with you. Not skimmed on the surface, but swallowed whole like truth with no chaser. 'Cause everybody’s talking these days, Spitting doctrines with hollow tongues, Preaching peace while waging private wars, Wearing crosses but crucifying with their judgments, Talking love but laced in control. See Belief ain’t what you post, It’s what you practice. It ain’t just what you preach, It’s what you persist in when nobody claps. Belief shows up in the choices you make when comfort costs you your convictions. Do you believe in justice, but only when it favors your kin? Do you believe in grace, but only when you’re the one falling short? Do...

  “Sanctuary of Trust” I have wounds I never showed daylight, Bruises beneath the skin that never bruised right. Secrets folded in the corners of my soul Origami pain Shaped from silence, Pressed by shame. There are parts of me Even the mirror has never met. Whispers I hush with laughter, Tears I rehearse when the world forgets. But I… I want to trust. Not just the feel-good, peac e-sign kind, But the soul-baring, storm-sharing kind. The kind that opens my rib cage like stained glass windows So someone can pray inside. I want to love without trembling at the hinge of vulnerability. To say: “Here I am,” unpolished And not fear abandonment will echo back. See, I have been The safe for too many confessions, The box that locked down brokenness To protect everyone else from its mess. But now I long To unlock myself. I long to believe That someone can hold the parts I hide And not shatter under the weight. That divinity don’t flinch at my darkness, That Spirit can dance in the very place...

  "WARSHIP" This is not worship… This is war-ship. Not just hands raised, but swords gripped. Not just hallelujahs, but battle cries in the Spirit. Because every knee that bows Does so in the face of fire, And every tongue that confesses Shouts through the smoke of spiritual war-zones. I don’t sing to stay pretty I sing to stay free. I don’t pray because I’m polished I pray because hell’s after me. Because demons don’t flinch at cute devotionals, They retreat at bloody knees, cracked voices, Tongues burning with Holy Ghost fire That can’t be rehearsed, Only lived. So I armor up. Ephesians 6 ain't a metaphor It's my dress code. Helmet tight, breastplate bold, Shield up for every dart flung at my soul. The enemy comes camouflaged In doubt, desire, distraction But I stay posted on the deck of my Warship, Eyes locked on the Captain, Christ crucified, risen, and still commanding. This ain’t just praise, This is strategy. Every song is a sword. Every Scripture A sharpened s...