Free, free
Had someone told me the journey back
to ourselves was so long, I would’ve
packed lighter. I passed up three
signs that I couldn’t read
think they were in a different language
couldn’t make out the meaning
did not know how to recall a constant sound
a roll of the tongue, the pronunciation
unbeknownst to me.
Away, Away
Though I am young
I’ve been brave enough to travel alone
in search of myself
in forests, rivers, and savannahs.
It’s inside of me
it lives in my heart
in my brain
in my mouth.
It is the product of my life
the baby of mine who would nourish me
keeping me from being aloof, from being hard.
Its love is a gift not to be given unwisely
given only to those who request it, need it, deserve it.
It governs my happy place from the simulation
where fears are thought over and made to be goals
and fulfillment is like mimosas runneth over.
I’m offered mercy and compassion
and judgement against me
falls on stuffed ears, because love here
for me is law.
It is the very thing that moves my feet
and sets a fire in my eyes.
Born with it so it’s been mine since the beginning
my solo act
a gift from unknown,
my light
and the theme to everything.
How could I give it away?
As the seasons change, so does my literary tastes. For Spring, my book list consisted of a lot of magic related, romance centered, and quick reads. Along with binge watching Grace & Frankie on Netflix, entertainment for Spring was great.
We have the ability to blend in
to our background spaces.
Our black faces
black bodies
black clothing,
black romance
black rules
black manners.
We’d believe we were free
and act accordingly.
Relaxed inside our dark blueness,
when truly we are dramatists,
wanting purple, fuchsia, and gold
flaunted realities.
Some of us
find the diamonds underneath
the subtleness and find ways of
performing our true selves
that once held us captives.
We’d eat our cornbread,
fish and collard greens
with silver spoons, and
drink Hennessy out
of jeweled-encrusted chalices.
Keep our Jambalya recipes
in the family
and teach our babies magic
Give our elders their proper
reverence and tend to them.
’cause with their death comes
our resurrection,
the access granted to
emerge from their shadows
adorned in silk and fleeces.
We’re taking our pleasures
that were meant to be forbidden
and making it our new livelihood.
Giving the swine back and demanding
our pearls.
The shy pink of a grapefruit,
the twisted twirling
of a thirsty tongue,
hunger brews
in the belly
and summarizes on the
mind.
I take my fruit to my mouth
and sink my teeth in
the bleeding flesh. It
sticks to my teeth,
leaving a film on my lips
one two three droplets
on my white shirt.
Setting my tiny feet in the dirt
soiled by morning rain.
The untamed blades of grass
loop around my ankles
as i dig pink toes in the earth.
Mary jane girls is playing
on shuffle
and a dream from lastnight
on replay
one of common language
and local color.
This is one of Sunday’s luxuries.
I’m in charge of the narrative,
the song choice and the energy.
Today i’m starting off
outside and eventually
i’ll be upstream.
Felineisms 