stormy weather pt 2

look at me,
while my eyes look like
raindrops falling down
never softly..
because i never knew how hard
the wind could blow
until it caused my soul
to shrink
from fear and worry,
i was almost ashamed.
i'm waiting for the sunshine.
i'm waiting for the rainbows
to decorate my crown
and keep me from stumbling
into muddy waters,
and deep puddles.
my pants have water stains
crawling up
the back of my legs
from all the hearts that i've tried to save
that left me
swimming in
violent waters.
with life,
i'm trying to stay afloat.

stormy weather pt1

they like to think
that the way the
words spill out of my
mouth,
i believe that life is
beautiful.
that the way my lips part,
and teeth show
when loving someone
that i have had it easy
loving myself.
they have me confused
with a rainbow,
when in reality
i am the storm
before it,
breaking apart
homes in my
mind,
setting things on
fire,
letting things
get destroyed.
they like to think,
that i think
the world is
beautiful.
it's hard to whisper to them,
that i do not.

Skin

I have worn my
skin for
as long as my
physical being
has existed.
watching it be stitched
with feelings
and moments almost
too unbearable to
remember.
massaging the melanin,
all the way down to my
toes,
bare,
to be closer to the earth
that birthed my
spirit.
living hand in hand
with the wind,
taking joy rides
to rid the pain from
the long nights
and the mornings
filled with so many tears,
I thought my eyes had flooded.
but I was here.
watching my skin take
curves and dips,
and still stay intact.
My soul takes notes from this

homecoming

dancing around the city lights.
smelling the fresh flowers
and blooming love.
i dream of being
in a city
where the lights walk me home,
and the art comforts me on
rainy days.
i want to taste the rain before it
falls,
fall into wine shops,
stumble into restaurants
where the food
leaves my soul warm.
i recognize the beauty
within me
when i fall into a place,
unknown.
a place that hasn't
been prepared,
just for me
and how the city
enamors my soul
when it finally becomes
my home.

carefree and black

cute black girls,
that like black guys,
that love their nappy hair
and how the sundresses fall over their waists.
that still love their size
even though
they don't have a complete peach behind,
instead,
maybe a little tight booty.
that can stand in heels for hours,
still move their hips and
bend their knees
and swing their hair,
even though, its a fro.
they speak blessings from
the fullness
of their lips,
yet are able to
shut the disrespectful
up,
and walk away with pride,
melanin rich body,
proud in the sun.
full of sass,
of royalty,
of beauty,
of journey.
dipping her hands
in a flowing river,
letting the water,
run out of her fingers,
like her problems.
she is able.
she is.

untitled

i would walk through
a sandstorm
for you.
you could leave me in the
darkness,
but i can accept
that my own light will never let
me go cold.

names

my mother should have
named me happy.
because i really want to be.
i really want to wake up
and feel like a field of
daisies..
no, sunflowers.
I want to feel the sun shining
without it beaming and burning
down my back.
I want to carry the
happiness around
without the fear of
dropping it,
watching it crack
like humpty dumpty,
and having the fear
of it never being
put back together
ever
again.
she should have named me happy.
because even when sadness
takes over me,
i will still be able to say,
that it is what i am.
that despite all odds,
my name reflects what
i would want to be.
happy.

dreaming

i've got lullabies
nudging me on my pillows
wondering why a
sad song
grew from a sweet dream.
I can't shake a nightmare
when it's about love.
I'm stuck grasping
at the air
hoping to wake up
and forget.
so that I can remember
my love in my
dreams.

rape culture

when you say that the length of her skirt
determines whether or not
a man lets his fingers take a
late night stroll up her thigh,
you are verifying that little girls
in pink onesies, deserve
to have their innocence
ripped from their bodies,
and to be tortured
for the rest of their lives.
you are saying that every man
who says no, and receives
an uncomfortable silence,
and a grab at his junk,
deserved it for turning down
what "makes him a man",
when we all know,
what makes a person an adult
is way beyond how many times
they let their heart stop beating
and allow sexual tension take a ride
through their mind, on a possible
one. way. street.
Yes will never be always.
Yes does not mean forever.
No does not mean maybe later.
No is not, never has been,
and never will be,
the beginning of a yes.

write

taking a second
to place words
together
like water
in a sink
that drains too slow.
waiting for them
to overflow
and leave the bathroom
a mess.
keeping me on the floor,
writing
writing.
w r i t i n g .
massaging the kinks
out of my neck.
providing the strength
to roll out of bed
and make a fresh cup of
tea.
allowing me to look
my ex lovers
in the face
and barely
remember their names.
i do this for you,
for the pen,
for the paper.
for my mind.
writing.