AMBER FLAME
Lemonade, as Sestina
Got hot sauce in my bag, swag -
And a brick in my pocket
And a snarl on my lips
And a ring still on my finger
And I'm too good to be true
And I'm too good for you.
All I’ve ever wanted was you:
My cocky fresh and my swag
Your light on my shine should’ve been true
But you carried secrets in your pockets.
Brushed my things with a dirty finger
Made empty the shell of my lips.
Someone else’s mouth kisses these lips.
I show nothing now but ugly to you
We must be more than failure and pointing finger
A frail veneer pride won't let crack, swag
Readied smiles in still-dirty pocket:
Bitterness or joy, both endings are true.
Love is laced always with compromise. It’s true
Betrayal longs to forget the taste of my lips
Should and should not crammed in my pocket.
You remind me again of why I chose you:
Instinctive in your hips is an easy swag-
Er; a familiar pattern made with your finger
Bringing me to sudden flush. Finger
Me as possessive, it’s true
There is a rolling gait when we fuck, swag;
I want this. To devour the ripe fruit of my lips
Again /always/still, I will carry you
R chain & Roc necklace in my pocket
A spell of new promises, clean pocket
Fresh ring on my finger
I’ve only been this kind of fool for you.
I let you come back easy, it’s true,
Now I’m a professional at reading your lips
You stay humble: a stutter, your new swag.
Finger a faded picture of you I want to be true,
An idea I hope to find on your lips.
In my pocket is my swag.
Got hot sauce in my bag, swag -
And a brick in my pocket
And a snarl on my lips
And a ring still on my finger
And I'm too good to be true
And I'm too good for you.
All I’ve ever wanted was you:
My cocky fresh and my swag
Your light on my shine should’ve been true
But you carried secrets in your pockets.
Brushed my things with a dirty finger
Made empty the shell of my lips.
Someone else’s mouth kisses these lips.
I show nothing now but ugly to you
We must be more than failure and pointing finger
A frail veneer pride won't let crack, swag
Readied smiles in still-dirty pocket:
Bitterness or joy, both endings are true.
Love is laced always with compromise. It’s true
Betrayal longs to forget the taste of my lips
Should and should not crammed in my pocket.
You remind me again of why I chose you:
Instinctive in your hips is an easy swag-
Er; a familiar pattern made with your finger
Bringing me to sudden flush. Finger
Me as possessive, it’s true
There is a rolling gait when we fuck, swag;
I want this. To devour the ripe fruit of my lips
Again /always/still, I will carry you
R chain & Roc necklace in my pocket
A spell of new promises, clean pocket
Fresh ring on my finger
I’ve only been this kind of fool for you.
I let you come back easy, it’s true,
Now I’m a professional at reading your lips
You stay humble: a stutter, your new swag.
Finger a faded picture of you I want to be true,
An idea I hope to find on your lips.
In my pocket is my swag.
Ghazal for the Abandoned Child
Or Prince Sings Funk for Seven and a Half Minutes
Sometimes
I feel
Like a motherless child
Sometimes
I feel
Like a
Motherless child
Will you funk me up some motherless child? You're so very special!
Show me the grief you so elegantly styled; you're so very special.
Tell me how she went away, while I dig that fat bass line
How she locked the door and you went completely wild; you're so very special.
Did it hurt to have your daddy's voice
See him in the mirror when you smiled? You're so very special.
Cause you're a creep, you don't belong here
Play-acting like you are so meek and mild, you're so very special.
You turned mother's eyes into seduction
Played daddy's music to keep them riled, you're so very special.
A kiss, a car, a hat, a horse,
You oozed sex and left us beguiled, you're so very special.
You knew we were special
Set us aflame while exiled, you're so very special.
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
You're so fucking special
You don't belong here
Or Prince Sings Funk for Seven and a Half Minutes
Sometimes
I feel
Like a motherless child
Sometimes
I feel
Like a
Motherless child
Will you funk me up some motherless child? You're so very special!
Show me the grief you so elegantly styled; you're so very special.
Tell me how she went away, while I dig that fat bass line
How she locked the door and you went completely wild; you're so very special.
Did it hurt to have your daddy's voice
See him in the mirror when you smiled? You're so very special.
Cause you're a creep, you don't belong here
Play-acting like you are so meek and mild, you're so very special.
You turned mother's eyes into seduction
Played daddy's music to keep them riled, you're so very special.
A kiss, a car, a hat, a horse,
You oozed sex and left us beguiled, you're so very special.
You knew we were special
Set us aflame while exiled, you're so very special.
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
You're so fucking special
You don't belong here
An award-winning writer, composer and performer, Amber Flame is also a professional singer, Hedgebrook alum, and member of The Watering Hole tribe. Flame’s original work has been published and recorded in diverse arenas, including Def Jam Poetry, Winter Tangerine, The Dialogist, Split This Rock, Black Heart Magazine, Sundress Publications, Redivider Journal and more. A 2016 Pushcart Prize nominee, Jack Straw Writer and recipient of the CityArtist grant from Seattle's Office of Arts and Cultural Affairs, Amber Flame's first full-length poetry collection, Ordinary Cruelty, debuted Spring 2017 with Write Bloody Press. Flame co-produces the Oakland Slam and teaches workshops for all ages. Amber Flame is a queer Black single mama just one magic trick away from growing her unicorn horn.