We Want Our Bodies Back: Poems

by Jessica Care Moore

My body was never an issue for me until I realized other people were looking at it.

If we, in fact, do “choose” to “give up our bodies,” when do we get to have our bodies back?

The door to womanhood can be only entered by a man? Where is the exit?

We all have a #metoo survival story. If not a rape of body, it is a rape of spirit. If not a demeaning comment, it may just be a quick feel.

American terrorism against black bodies happens in broad daylight.

I don’t know What else to do With this language cept Murder it.

Choke the breath out of this alphabet I need more than 26 letters to articulate How I survived you.

You will not capture my personal ghosts make them your public prize

We want our bodies back We want our bodies back We want our bodies back We want them returned to mothers without blood without brains exposed without humiliation without bruises without glass without fire we want our bodies back

don’t cut me down from the noose let my legs dangle for the devil what a spectacular magic show

listen for my songs watch for my walk listen for my voice my black girl attitude watch my body resist your death traps watch me rise watch my rebirth watch us rise up from this new jim crow from these new unspoken apartheid laws we want our bodies back we want our bodies back we will take them. protect them.

Do I look like I am attempting an early death?

When did it become okay to die in this country On our knees?

Black girl magic doesn’t grow between our legs This is the mythology of men.

So, why continue to climb? to write? Because I ain’t ready to die today Or tomorrow.

We need you to outlive death. In all its forms. Live Live Live So patriarchy can finally die.

I used to be a roller coaster girl Wild child full of flowers and ideas

Because if i don’t write black girls won’t know i left them a trail of tears to find themselves So they can get lost again & one day find me.

If you swallow gentrification How many days before you Shit out a strip mall

There is no shelter When the sun is traveling through your veins.

Never asked permission to be who I am Or changed my voice to fit the description land the job not scare away the boys

I earned the right to my own damn mythology What else do we have left

there is a smoking gun down my throat with promises of a post-racial america i can’t swallow the chamber.

our sweat our women our mothers we birthed this nation. built it on free labor and death with no reparations ray in sight.

You can’t be average and brown and girl. That won’t do.

bones breaking When simply walking Truth & teeth & mouths taped shut while speaking.

This body is a landmine Full of dividing lines Waiting for you to walk over Or explode into pieces If you violate its space.

The rewiring of humanity needs humans Requires delicate components that connect people With luxury and dreams

Where is the black imagination located? How much does it cost per square foot To rent there?

Do you still, love to be still. while the world travels at full speed

a crescendo of little girls affording themselves an imagination line up for the front line, polka dot dresses, striped ankle socks & black shoes.

you break the sky open with your sunsets of peace

Skyscrapers replacing the pyramids There is honor in hard work There is no honor in blind patriotism

I am young but my bones remember everything We are the ancestors’ blink in the eye of future storms

We are the mirrors of memory A kaleidoscope of electric jazz & ancestor notes Broken up into waves of head nods & hollow speakers