I was going to marry the mother of my daughter.

I was working a regular nine to five.

I had just got promoted to supervisor and everything.

I came home early one day and there she was, smashing the homie.

The whole time I was fucking dude up, she was saying

“you’re always working!”,

“you’re never home!”

While I was choking old dude I kept thinking “that bitch just didn’t love me!”

I was hurting him, because it was hurting me.

When I was in county jail, she kept visiting me saying “I’m sorry”, this that and the third.

She even told me how much she really needed me.

When I got out I went over to her house and there she was,

pregnant by this other dude and he was kicking her ass and shit.

It almost made the GPS bracket worth wearing.

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Why I Am Gay

My mother and father used to argue and fight a lot, so one day he left us.

My mother got so caught up chasing after

no good,

no account negroes

that she completely forgot about me.

I grew up really wanting her love,

wanting her to love me.

I never got it.

I remember it started long before freeze-tag. I always like to  put on

my mothers shoes.

You remember the Road Runner Show, the one with Wile. E. Coyote–

well that’s all I was thinking about.

I wasn’t even thinking about “hide-n-go-get-it”,

when these so-called men started touching on me.

The whole time they were doing these things to me they were telling

me that it was love,

that it was right.

“If you don’t do it, I’m ah tell your mother.”

I learned and was told shit that I shouldn’t have known or done until

I was grown.

I tried to tell some family members, but they didn’t want to talk about it.

It was like I deserved it,

like I asked for it.

So I grew up afraid.

I hit puberty and my feelings of love for my mother turned sexual.

And all of a sudden

I was attracted to her,

her,

and her,

but anger is what made me perpetuate it.

Somewhere along the line a part of me liked the feelings the sex brought.

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It has to be a spirit that makes you beat your children for no good damn reason.

A spirit that makes you tell them to keep their legs closed,

while you keep yours open.

A sick ass spirit that makes you tell your children that they ain’t going to be nothing.

A spirit that makes you call them,

nigga,

a coon,

a monkey

and a ho.

A spirit that makes you yell be a man at your son,

when you ain’t being one.

It’s probably the same spirit that makes you mad when a white person

says the exact same things you’ve been saying.

Instead of giving a child love,

they get hugged by these spirits.

In these possessed houses all they talk about is the white woman this,

the white man that and there aren’t any white people in the house.

You never hear them saying the name of Martin Luther King Jr., Marshawn Evans,

Langston Hughes, Spike Lee, Phyllis Wheatley,

Bell Hooks, Percy Ellis Sutton,

Dr. Cornel West or  Muhammad Ali.

All they watch is black and racist movies until that is all they know.

How are you going to teach a child how to love,

when you don’t know how to.

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(After dinner Lance walks Princess to her car)

Lance– Sometimes my passion brings fire, but no warmth.  I have been thinking about, telling you that I feel like everything I do just isn’t enough and that maybe I’d be better off dead. And I know I get too deep for some, but I also know that what’s said needed to be said.

Princess– [Softly] Say it then.

Lance– You know how many nights I have spent alone.

How many days I have felt like giving up, getting gone.

Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my grip.

Tired of being the villain, and I got this chip… right here on my shoulder.

I laugh only to keep from crying, but you know what I don’t get.

Is how come you are the last piece of the puzzle, but I still don’t fit.

And I need a prescription cause I be on caps lock all day, ready to take off and just fly away…

Princess-Take me with you.

Lance– For now I live between death and success.

On the corner of fear and no regret.

I long for someone who revels in my strengths and accepts my faults.

I have found myself, but sometimes I still get lost

in your eyes, I drown.

You know my life story, my history, I love it when you around.

I feel so awkward when I hug you, because it seems like home to me.

I can feel your heart beat, like it is the same one within me.

My life, my soul and sometimes, sometimes, at night I want to cry,

but I can’t.

So even when the day is dark you are my only light.

MG Hardie

See more hidden poetry in It Ain’t Just the Size available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and everywhere books are sold.

When I was a younger I Believed in Fairy-Tales instead of making it happen for myself. I was spoiled. A college grad into my hair, my nails, my car, my man, but I wasn’t into myself. I was going through so many things I couldn’t even figure out who Princess really was. I started gaining weight. I was living and being, but that’s all. When I had to use my cleavage to get by I did. I had a man who spent and bought, but treated me like shit and I even allowed him to put his hands on me. Lance, that day you can to see me in the hospital; we had a real knock down drag out. I mean both of us were going at it and over some real stupid shit. What’s worse is that I was a few months pregnant…

I lost the baby.

I lost the man.

I lost myself.

MG Hardie

Find more hidden poetry inside It Ain’t Just the Size

The concert begins

on wood, dirt, blacktop, concrete

even packed snow.

Participants come in all shapes,

sizes and colors.

From all walks of life they come,

They come to show their affection,

Their love.

Do You have the love?

Center stage is 96′ by 50′

The performers are chosen

and take their places.

All eyes follow the orange sphere.

Running, spinning, leaping

Grunting, sweating, passing

Execution, chants, shouts

Breakaway! Explosive.

Timeout…

Do you have the Love?

Offense is Learned,

Defense is pure hard work.

Can you feel the ebb?

The flow?

The Momentum of game one

with 81 more to go.

Old, New, Schooled

Post up, cross over

“Nickname” take over

Pull up jumper, Power, Finesse.

The score is tied with 16

seconds left,

can’t rest.

Slam, Bank

Luck, Skill

Inside, Outside

Block, Steal

Cheers rain down from the sky

Cameras flash from nowhere,

Posterize.

Do You have the Love?

Penetrate, fake, jab step

hang time, foul

inbound, pass, dish

rebound, brick, barely miss.

Half court trap,

full court press?

Drive, Triangle, Isolation

Wrong guess.

Step back Three

silence

…swish.

Beautiful.

I Love This Game.

Oh how we love the cookie.

We love mini cookies even the big cookies.

Devouring handfuls of the make you fat cookies,

and those late night snack cookies.

We love the hard, the soft and the hot-to-the-touch cookie.

The regional, seasonal, “thank you very much” cookie.

And the cookies that cost,

Cookies you don’t touch, just floss.

We love the textured, smooth and over dressed cookies.

The prim, proper and “won’t settle for less” cookie.

The ice cream, strawberries and chocolate you add to the cookie to make it sing to our soul,

Just so you know, those are the cookies that we want to keep whole.

Paired cookies, shared cookies, multi-layered cookies.

Cookies you eat fast, cookies you eat slow.

The every-ready cookie for the grab and go.

The “make you hit the floor” cookie.

The “I just had some, but I still want some more” cookie.

The fluffy cookie, the “never get enough” cookie.

Sprinkled with sugar cookies

and the exotic spicy cookie that evoke.

The Rich cookies who don’t like cookies that are broke.

The “everyday” “around the way” cookie

The barely there cookie,

The cookie that gives as good as it gets.

The “love you down” cookie, the one you won’t forget.

The “hard to keep to yourself” cookie, eat them until there’s none left cookie.

The “no one knows you’re around” cookie.

You Only Live Once cookie that one comes with a kiss.

The “feel like I can do anything” cookie is pure bliss.

After a long day cookie, the “make all the pain go away” cookie.

The “sweet all by itself” cookie,

“I need a little help” cookie.

The “you can’t wait to get it” cookie.

The rare, hard to find, one of a kind cookie.

The make you “think twice” cookie,

The “ain’t nothing nice” cookie.

Black and White cookies.

Middle of the night cookies.

The “make you hurry home” cookie.

Cookies with a little milk, cookies with a side of guilt.

Cookies that come with their own sauce.

Yes, we love the cookie

and here we are reminiscing over all the cookies we’ve had, but lost.

MG Hardie

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