They see our culture as / Contrary / to my light skin.
Browsing: Poetry
even now
you still don’t know whether to call yourself a ‘victim’ or a ‘survivor’
we might bow down to each other and hold each other like newborn babies connecting our umbilical cords instead we use our bellies as swords waiting for the opportunity to strike
He looks like
Lipstick on a coffee cup
He looks like
Daisy chains
I wish you would
Understand
how haunted I am;
how haunted we are.
We are your children.
Scattered and lost on this earth.
Kidnapped and robbed from you.
No contribution to this morning’s national story
No presence in your history
We send you our children, our hopes, our dreams and futures. You return them bent and broken.
Not long ago the rain was joy.
y’all were always so quiet
forgetting it was sylvia and marsha who started this fight