Tell your husband to stop calling me

Tell your husband to stop calling me

I don’t know where you’re at.

He should know this also since you told me he’s got my phone bugged

He should know that you call me all the fucking time

And I never answer the phone even though u beg me to pick up.

He should know this.
Maybe he thinks you're writing to me or texting me.

I hear your voice telling me you miss me and that I was right

And that you’re glad the Packers won the Superbowl  and that you wanted to know with whom I saw the game and to tell me happy valentines day and that you still have every poem I ever wrote you from the days you would have a bad day at work and you would ask me to write either a love poem or a poem about how empowering women are, and that they're smart and intelligent and that I can't live without you,

you said you counted 100, 101, 105 poems

And he knows this and he keeps calling and asking me where that fucking bitch is at

And I keep telling him you aint no fucking bitch

And if he didn’t beat your ass within hours of your wedding

Because you yelled my name alieux during sex instead of amir

Then he wouldn’t be calling me asking me where you are,
'cause you'd be with him
beside him
and not where you are,
which is as far as you can get from him.

Please tell your husband to stop calling me.

And though I’ve asked you 50 thousand million times

before you moved to Australia to escape him,

Imma have to ask you again,

to stop calling me too
so i can move on
finally.
Please.

I'm a fan

I’m a fan of love,

and you,

being the manifestation of love,

automatically makes me a fan;
of you.
directly
&
indirectly.

--alexgeorge

no words

There are no words.

I can’t speak

And if I could,

then what would I say

When there are no words in the English language to accurately define you?

There are no words for you

None

Nada

Zero

Zilch.

No words for your lips

Or the movement of your hips

There are no words.

Just people/things  that are  not man-made

&  cannot be duplicated,

reminding us that there is a God.

So I’ll just be quiet

Letting Him do his work,

And  I’ll continue to be in awe--

       --alexgeorge

untitled poem

sometimes

I feel like my heart

exposed

has been picked apart.

though heavy from all the good it’s caused

-- still left out in the sun to dry up.
people will walk by the dark red pieces

stepping over them

kicking them aside

thinking they’re rocks.

but I know what it is-

what it used to be-

wrong

The definition of a fairweather friend: A friend who is only nice to you when it's convenient....

hey alieux, my friend;

(don’t expect

to have been invited

to the engagement party or the wedding

or any other past social events I might hold
or even future ones

but )
you’re a strong black man

and I need you.

to help move furniture tomorrow.

I won’t even call you to ask.

(I would feel awkward

asking you directly

since I haven’t

asked  you to do anything else, though you've been good
at leaving voicemails, facebook messages and texts- none of which I have responded to)

I’ll ask our mutual friends,
my friends-

those that were invited to the engagement party and wedding and other social events-

to ask you.

you’ll say yes to them because you’re more friends with them than with me and I've been told you're reliable.

right?

Christian Poem

I

deliberately

placed

one

error

in

thYs

poem,

because

only

God

is

perfect.

I chose the letter Y for my error because it resembles a person (Jesus) with arms spread upward.

there is poetry

in your movement:

the fluidity

of

it.

there is creative

expression

In

the way your hands your body caress the air

I watch your lips

your lips

either still

or moving,

the corners curving upwards

or straight across

making my hands my lips jealous

are you even speaking?

I can t hear you

Because I’m stuck on your lips

your hips/

how they move so unintentionally

strong but feminine

As if no one was watching

Is this what bliss feels like?

The beginnings of love

Hopefullness.

Anticipation

Of what is around the corner?

I hope

The road I’m on

Is the same road you’re on.

There is poetry.

Your words are matching mine

How did you know what I was feeling?

Your kiss is like poetry

Match the words my lips are forming-

Can u?

Pressed against yours

L o v e .

I pray

That the road I’m on

Is the same road you’re on.

-alexgeorge