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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?
You will not capture my personal ghosts make them your public prize
our bodies fell in love before they could hide the evidence
the ocean is our most authentic photo album tide don’t lie
death is A commitment we all make.
the reach is deep & southern & midwest shadows the east lands in the west
Texas—you will always be Mexico in denial.
I’m resurrecting my body in new forms daily watch for me in your deepest sleep
We need you to outlive death. In all its forms. Live Live Live So patriarchy can finally die.
Because if i don’t write You will write for me tell historians black girls were crazy invisible lost in time Wishing to turn our bodies inside out Become unrecognizable to our own mothers Desecrate our faces because we hated our own mirrors
Because if i don’t write I will live in fear die with hope Never laugh fight or dream just cope. Because if i don’t write You will write me off Or academically erase me
maybe all those hurricanes Are the Indigenous Burial Grounds Waking up.
She felt the trauma inside the freedom
How do i know the sound i hear is the sound You make?
Opposite of extinction Indigenous resurgence Laughter a simple prayer a crossing over Children are the new Gods
Only oxygen is omnipotent Hold onto your illusion As long as you can Convince the world the sea is blue Sometimes blues are necessary, in order to see. Inheritance is not safe Is not protected Is not for sale What will you sell to receive it Who will you deny, colonize, build over? In order that you walk. free
Some choose to forget Others feed the pain to their children The beneficiaries The storm inheritors What is your sacrifice
humanity is not just oil, it is blood it is the amazon thrust of traveling stories beating,
Tell them, I am writing for them So they won’t disappear without a fight.
We know we are possible we know we can be gazelles on a planet surrounded by wolves Is his voice the sound of water Is her smile the perfect moonlight Do you remember when it was all a dream ?
The problem with loving a poet is she never Stops loving you, even when she says she has. She may hate you, but she loves the poems You inspired.
she is hungry for a language she won’t want to turn into waste
sorrow is for the old.
flowers are not to be worn to simply mourn a death. they are an extension of the living. their branches form from our mouths, the seeds of our thoughts, our actions.
take a moment to laugh & remember to always write.
say them backward sometimes just to see if the story ends the same way.
if she loves you, you already know
language is weapon & tongues are sharpened swords.
Woman. arms stretching Daylight so the nights feel less heavy. She has decided to live, despite the post-traumatic stress Racing through the veins of so many of us. Warriors. Survivors. Artists. Who break poems in half for decades to feed an audience But must budget food for our children
I’m on display Always on display Exactly what does being a Legend pay?
I have to stop crying and write this poem But this is not a show This is my life God. this is my gift
Poems. This is what i have to give. I’m eating poems today. I’m thankful I’m humiliated I’m embarrassed I’m surviving I’m writing
Whose hands will claim the victory
I am young but my bones remember everything We are the ancestors’ blink in the eye of future storms
We are all we have left These hands These voices These colors These stories Those light ones, those dark ones, Those dreamers, those indigenous, Those yellow ones, those red ones Those young ones, those old ones Our bodies Our hearts Our minds We, too, Sing, America We, too, Sing. America Are You Listening?
Why do you write about the future? The future needed me. Too. Stars are the brightest light of this world Night sky blurs into sun’s reflection We become Days, undefinable
Some of us preserved our art Like southern peaches in grandmothers’ mason jars. When opened, history, pours out.
Love is not a metaphor, but the way we always say Hello & goodbye
The trailblazers who dared to consider Breathing & building beyond the clouds
Our future will never become a thing of the past
