Lizz Straight

Mudpies – Filmed live at WMNF 88.5 Studios on November 15th, 2008

Elizabeth “Lizz” Straight has been on the spoken word scene nationally and internationally for the past nine years. This 28 year-old native of the Mississippi Gulf Coast is not only one of the United States’ top spoken word artists, but she’s also a radio personality and activist. She is currently the host of a weekly poetry radio show titled “Poetry Is…” broadcast weekly on WMNF, 88. 5 FM, out of Tampa, FL and on the web at WMNF.org. She was WMNF’s Programmer of the Year for 2007. She has been applauded for her work in correctional institutions throughout central Florida, bringing poetry into the walls of the prison system. Some of her other accomplishments include winning First Place in the Southern Fried Poetry Slam in 2003 and 2008 as well as placing 7th overall at the Individual World Poetry Slam, 2008.

Origami

You know one of the women told me

Why don’t you take up a hobby like origami

Cause when you fold the shapes they take on spirits and you can name them

And all I could think about was where do the spirits of dead babies go

Probably to that place that their mother’s keep trying find by folding themselves

Inside of themselves

Until their stability wears down to paper thin

Right corner down

Left corner down

Right side over left side

Bottom up – top down

Right corner down

Left corner down

Right side over left side

Until it becomes impossible to make your world any smaller and it is then

When people begin noticing your suffering

And how dare you burden others with all of your emotional dribble

That’s just like a woman

How dare you put a damper on their water cooler conversations

That’s just like a woman

How dare you let your reality show during their uneventful weekday nights at home watching reality shows

How dare you interrupt glances in to their children’s eyes

Cause well…

You know…

God forbid you mention it

God forbid you replay the images of your gut wrenching sadness over and over again

Finding yourself daynightmaring but that’s not even a word

Day dreaming is so much further from absurd but that’s usually the case that there are no words in existence to describe how it feels to be living

And dying

In chorus

In synchronization

At least you’re doing something right

And that gentleman on the street thinks that he’s so polite when he says

Baby girl

Why you look so sad?

A pretty lady like you would look so much better smiling

You better turn up the corners of your mouth and be quick to dismiss the thought of responding with brotha

You could never know this sorrow that I carry around with me

Maternity clothes riddled with moth holes

Womb empty

Arms empty

Demons tempting to invade me and persuade me to lock the door

Run the water

And pray that suicide is not the only unforgivable sin

Oh god I just want to get there

Be there

Stay there

Where no one can bother me

Or slobber on me with their words of encouragement

Or vomit on me with so called understanding

Or stab me through the heart with condescending gazes

Or suggest a replacement for the motherhood I was planning

They try and turn my pages

And rush me out of this grieving chapter of my life

And force me in to the light when

I know that my third eye’s sight is not developed enough to bask in the brightness of

Yesterday’s transformation in to today

But I keep seeing visions of tiny fingers and toes in my head

No sugarplums here

No sugar coating this

And no this is not the remix

It’s the raw uncut version

It’s the stuff you don’t hear on the radio

It’s the b side

It’s the truth that even a few good men couldn’t handle

It’s the scandal whispered throughout wooden church pews by gaudy hat wearing gossips

confused bout their own Christian b.s.

Do unto your neighbor as you would have him do to your hypocritical ass

That’s why I put in this poem whenever the collection plate is passed

Cause I want the amalgamation of this congregation to hear me scream out loud

But in my support group they tell us to practice screaming without making a sound

In a room full of white people who could not fathom the nothingness left

When another black man is forced to take his last breath

Even if he was just two hours old I still began to fold

Right corner down

Left corner down

Right side over left side…

_________________

Out of the Sun

i look to the east

horizon dull and long

you are gone

the mountainous pillow clutching the imprint of your face

an ironic indication of my denial

because i knew that i was falling in love

but i hid it so well

had a different pair or shades for everyday

cause the sun has a way of illuminating signs in my eyes that the night sky helps disguise

and my affection for you travels on like the viable vine that it is

he’s got a wife and kid too

dabbling in the evil that men do

if i had a dying wish

it would be that none of this ever existed

that i’d resisted my immature desires

to get to close to the fire

i’ve reached the limit

back against the wall

four years till thirty

and even then i don’t have to get it all right

just gotta learn not to like the looks of disbelief

and disappointment when i do stupid shit

coming from people who expect me to admit

and accept blame for decisions made

i live with myself at all times

within the company I choose to keep

and on the nights I can’t sleep because the siren of silence competes with the emptiness in my sheets

and i’m ok…

doing fine…

just gimmie wine and weed

space to breathe

blank pages

interaction with other sages

eyes to see the changes in the world

time to write them down

strength to keep my soul open to the truth

and enough daily distractions

to not think about you when i’m not supposed to…

there is nothing right about this

except that you do leave

headed back to barter and trade mistakes you’ve made

with the demons that invade your silence

and you hide it so well…

one day, in a poem, you’ll reveal how it felt

to look responsibility in the eyes

knowing you weren’t ready;

and to watch what you built on nothing

crumble into the nothing it was born from

i’ll send you an email after years of unspoken dreams between us

giving you some advice in hindsight:

should have stayed your black ass out of the sun…

_________________

Backwash

i can see it
though you wear the veil of time and suffering
your eyes grab me but my smile runs in the other direction
my thoughts are erratic
offering u friendship like my last swallow of soda at the bottom of the bottle
its really just backwash so you pass
guess u couldn’t stomach that
but it’s all i can afford to give as i fight to stay afloat
you smell like new orleans in june
and i don’t want to like it
u laugh and i scold my heart for dancing
can’t keep you outta my prayers
b/c u are a constant reminder of why my life is fucked up
frankly its cause i’m not strong enough when it counts most
i failed to take your love seriously
so now that i’m ready and willing
she repeatedly shows me how vengeful she can be
when you say my name
i feel the pain it stirs up in side of you
and its awesomely sad
uncontrollably frightening
but since four years ago i have become a woman
so i deal with it
respecting her
you
and myself by letting you choke on this platonic awkwardness
and damn it i just can’t save you
gotta let our connected spirits fly away from each other
yours flails with no rhythm
like you were pushed off a cliff
with wings clipped
andi don’t happen to keep parachutes in my pocket
so i begin to compose this series of thoughts
stiching them together to be filled with the hot air of a poet’s ego
and right in front of you i let you go
swallowing our memories and possibilities
swiftly so the disgust on my face
from this aftertaste
won’t show

________________

Atonement

There is nothing I can do with these decisions I’ve made

Burned bitter sweet in the stillness of clarity

Blackened by brazen truth

Disappearing in the entanglement of mamma’s whispers; paying her dreams forward

…and paw paw’s strong black hands

They held up our family name as if on a marquee

Glowing in goodness

Entertaining the other families in this small town, dwelling

This place painted the conviction on my face

And the diligence in my hands when kneading dough

peeling yams

And the welcoming sign reads:

Good things don’t always happen to good men

And when they do; they arrive soaked in gin

and Catholic prayers

Caked between cleats with the red clay collected

As the poor children we

Played on the derelict diamonds

Barely able to make out the lines we were supposed to

stay within

When running

back

home

I run to you still

Between the halves

of what I pass off

as a heart

When suitors approach

looking for the poet

finding the woman

scoping our personal gains between my teeth

when i speak

Not listening to my pain

at all

as it whistles

through

the breezeway of your

legacy

Calloused over with blame

covered in motor oil

slick with shame

the blood on your hands

was not your own

i write this poem to atone

________________

Untitled

Here we are
Together and apart
Close but not enough
Hope is the humidity sticking to our skin
Dried in by the sun
i am looking for new life
found nothing but water on the other side of the equal sign
Hummingbirds sip the dawns dew
thankful
Fore they carry the weight of singing our prayers to the heavens
Wings fluttering just as fast as God’s wrath
and i sent one with a prayer for u
and this
and us
minus the messed up parts
guess god ain’t to keen to pickin’ and choosin’
Like snow says to leaves hello remember me
we are allowed familiarality
whispers tip-toe-ing on the backs of necks
hands on waistlines slow windin’
to the intensity of heart beats
remembering africa
baths in each other’s acceptance
under the watchful eye of a full moon
we dry off with blank pages

tattoo ourselves with each other’s
insecurities
fantasies
memories
love
unbroken
friends plus a little more than
every blink is a bow of humility
cause i’ll be damned if i beg
so i inhale pride
exhale appreciation and blow you a gun
thankful for the moments when i become my mother’s only child again
bringing her that purple ceramic fish
my first poem written to her in red crayon
all leading up to here
counting the kisses before you are gone again
prepared to gather up all the woman that I am
and drag her home again
feeling suicidal
when it’s not appropriate
on a saturday afternoon
birds chirp
sun shines
i should’ve saved this for a monday
that smelled like rain.

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