In LoveSummer bops Warm blankets Room temperature water The perfect night for star gazing. Love used to be long walks quiet moments and meaningful sighs. Hot tea with too much honey Now it's waking up to poems cat naps in the sun and loud laughter. It's smiling at my phone and chocolate chip pancakes. Turning my face towards the Sun in the afternoons and thanking the Moon for illuminating my nights. Love changes as one's heart grows stronger. Love used to be watered down tea, now it's strong and bold like Tenessee Whiskey. Deep and raw like the Dirty South. I wonder if it'll change... What will it be soon, later? ~ For your ears:
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Black WomanBlack women are like figs, not just any fig, my grandmama's figs. Every summer they would be so warm and plump and sweet. Wanna see a black woman in all her glory? Catch her at the beginning of the summertime, skin moisturized, and melanin poppin. Piss a black woman off and she'll turn sour, wondering why you're nauseous. Maya Angelou said it best, we rise. Against the fists and words and violence, damn you and your glass ceiling! We out here! The most educated demographic, it's us. Why do you think ships, guns, planes, cars are all called she? Cuz she is we, and we are more powerful than those misogynistic eyes can see. Got the future of the whole world resting in between our thighs, casually. It's called #blackgirlmagic because even as the most oppressed people in America we still shine. Unapologetically. ~ For your ears:AnxietyThat feeling in the pit of your stomach, when you're nervous. Ice chips embedded into every nerve and vein. The butterflies who promised to stay in your stomach migrate to your heart, persuading it to beat faster than it should. My shoulders and neck stay sore from the stress of living in a chaotically social world. On top of the butterflies and ice is the nausea and sweat and dizziness. Nausea. Sweat. Dizziness. I'm standing in the living room in front of my parents holding my father's open bible. Trying to get out the words, the ones that are supposed to heal me, take away the butterflies and ice. I had done something wrong but I don't remember what it was. I'm nauseous, dizzy, my vision going in and out. I'm being yelled out. I don't remember why. Then the vomit comes. I swear God, I promise it was an accident. I didn't mean to spill my breakfast on the words of your only begotten son, but it's not helping. I'm running to the bathroom, right across the foyer. Maybe 15 steps. I don't remember if I made it. Nausea. Sweat. Dizziness. Learning to control the monster in my stomach is one of the hardest skills I've ever had to learn. Breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth. "You're okay. You're fine. I'm okay. I'm fine." When it was angry it didn't matter where I was - restaurants, airports, school - He would make his presence known. Throwing all the things I had worked so hard to place inside, no matter how much or how little, all of it ended up outside of me. On the floor, on the table, on those around me, on myself. It is hard to be embarrassed by simple things when I spent too much of my childhood crying into public toilets and apologizing to strangers for the mess. Apologizing to my parents for being a mess. I wasn't told the origin of the monster until too many years later. I could finally give him a name and it starts with an A. If I knew then what I know now, would I be further along? ~ Song of the Day: |
J. SeymoneThis is the place for the public consumption of my poems, album reviews, and general thoughts. Archives
April 2019
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