niesharad - Hello Poetry

She has looked over balconies, Her glossy eyes-catching Glimpses of all the daddy’s girls. She has watched men plaster Supermodels on billboards. Their skin and bones smell of ivory. I have seen her in the mirror. She has ripped the ebony off her skin Like her ancestors did not die for this. The media has placed price tags On her body as if the scale did not Tell her, her worth this morning. He gutted her out like a grapefruit, left her with nothing. I have seen her in the mirror. She crawled to the bathroom, Turned on the water. Sinking into the dark pool of self-hate. Killed her with chemical criticism. Her skin and bones taste of honey. I have seen her in the mirror.

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Apr 13, 2020

Apr 13, 2020 at 7:35 PM UTC

niesharad

in the mirror

She has looked over balconies, Her glossy eyes-catching Glimpses of all the daddy’s girls. She has watched men plaster Supermodels on billboards. Their skin and bones smell of ivory. I have seen her in the mirror. She has ripped the ebony off her skin Like her ancestors did not die for this. The media has placed price tags On her body as if the scale did not Tell her, her worth this morning. He gutted her out like a grapefruit, left her with nothing. I have seen her in the mirror. She crawled to the bathroom, Turned on the water. Sinking into the dark pool of self-hate. Killed her with chemical criticism. Her skin and bones taste of honey. I have seen her in the mirror.

20

We stopped at the corner of, Tangerine street and Steveson drive. We stood there, locked in the Shackles of death, waiting for the Next light of hope. We shuffled across sidewalks Filled with cigarette butts. Neighborhood children riding broken bikes To the orange grove, they knew there Were no oranges left to be picked. No fruit of Eden. We watched them from the corner of, Tangerine street and Steveson drive. Our bodies colder than mamas icebox. The gangs that run the circle pass Mr.Odie’s Stopped by our corner, they offered us some candy. We held our hands out for communion, We chewed on the tainted candy of Eden. The streetlights went off, we looked at one another, Wondering if we were slaves of the system. We bowed our heads in prayer that the ghetto does not take one of us tonight. We stopped at the corner of, Tangerine street and Steveson drive. We went our separate ways down the Wicked streets of the hood. Checking the shadow of death, following Each one of us to the grave.

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Mar 6, 2020

Mar 6, 2020 at 9:04 AM UTC

niesharad

The Orange Grove, a Memoir

We stopped at the corner of, Tangerine street and Steveson drive. We stood there, locked in the Shackles of death, waiting for the Next light of hope. We shuffled across sidewalks Filled with cigarette butts. Neighborhood children riding broken bikes To the orange grove, they knew there Were no oranges left to be picked. No fruit of Eden. We watched them from the corner of, Tangerine street and Steveson drive. Our bodies colder than mamas icebox. The gangs that run the circle pass Mr.Odie’s Stopped by our corner, they offered us some candy. We held our hands out for communion, We chewed on the tainted candy of Eden. The streetlights went off, we looked at one another, Wondering if we were slaves of the system. We bowed our heads in prayer that the ghetto does not take one of us tonight. We stopped at the corner of, Tangerine street and Steveson drive. We went our separate ways down the Wicked streets of the hood. Checking the shadow of death, following Each one of us to the grave.

28

Clearly, I am a woman. I smell of honey and oats. I am curly hair laced with laughter. I am a little black dress. I am curvy, Legs thick as a tree trunk. Skin of the earth. When they fear my heritage I chuckle at their ignorance. I am active brain. I am lips of language. My mother’s tongue spiced with sass. I am mother natures song. Radiating melanin at the cheekbones. I taste of Sunday soul food. I smile like them but for different reasons. I shout like them but, Clearly, you will never understand what it means To be an angry black woman.

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Mar 6, 2020

Mar 6, 2020 at 8:57 AM UTC

niesharad

I, Too am Woman

Clearly, I am a woman. I smell of honey and oats. I am curly hair laced with laughter. I am a little black dress. I am curvy, Legs thick as a tree trunk. Skin of the earth. When they fear my heritage I chuckle at their ignorance. I am active brain. I am lips of language. My mother’s tongue spiced with sass. I am mother natures song. Radiating melanin at the cheekbones. I taste of Sunday soul food. I smile like them but for different reasons. I shout like them but, Clearly, you will never understand what it means To be an angry black woman.

19

Where is the market that makes Sunday? That makes soul food. What are the broken buildings? With boys and street corners. Stop signs plastered with milk cartons. What are front porches, what are they? Grandmas in a flowery silk dress, You can smell ebony. Children wrapped around Mr. Oniels house. Mama is cooking Sunday dinner. Where is the culture, it is here. Skin is not skin, Only a threat is a threat. Styrofoam plates aren’t soul food. Collard greens and baked beans Are police sirens. Funky blues blaring is a target on his forehead. Only a blue and a red are a mug shot. When the reporter asks where? A neighborhood distinguishes it. A neighborhood just distinguishes it.

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Mar 6, 2020

Mar 6, 2020 at 8:52 AM UTC

niesharad

Sunday Morning

Where is the market that makes Sunday? That makes soul food. What are the broken buildings? With boys and street corners. Stop signs plastered with milk cartons. What are front porches, what are they? Grandmas in a flowery silk dress, You can smell ebony. Children wrapped around Mr. Oniels house. Mama is cooking Sunday dinner. Where is the culture, it is here. Skin is not skin, Only a threat is a threat. Styrofoam plates aren’t soul food. Collard greens and baked beans Are police sirens. Funky blues blaring is a target on his forehead. Only a blue and a red are a mug shot. When the reporter asks where? A neighborhood distinguishes it. A neighborhood just distinguishes it.

21

You dipped your fingers in the honey *** Your rose lips dripped thick. You squirmed with sweetness You knew this hive was yours.

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Jan 22, 2020

Jan 22, 2020 at 10:31 PM UTC

niesharad

friday

You dipped your fingers in the honey *** Your rose lips dripped thick. You squirmed with sweetness You knew this hive was yours.

4

The town of the grateful yet, soon to be dead, receive one last glance of the universe. The radiant truth stills voices and tranquilizes breath. Eleven fireballs illuminate the moondust sky. The grim sapphire hills wicket the town. Is this the way to heaven? This is the way to the stars. The black tree's hair is a moussed flame, a pin-point on the absent map. An imaginary itinerary to starry night. The orange crescent moon sings lullabies to a silent town, trapped in Bardo. As the wailing spirit of death slurps the brilliance from the stars. Eleven stars, eleven souls. Soothed gratefully to death on a starry night.

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Oct 18, 2019

Oct 18, 2019 at 8:14 PM UTC

niesharad

starry night ekphrastic

The town of the grateful yet, soon to be dead, receive one last glance of the universe. The radiant truth stills voices and tranquilizes breath. Eleven fireballs illuminate the moondust sky. The grim sapphire hills wicket the town. Is this the way to heaven? This is the way to the stars. The black tree's hair is a moussed flame, a pin-point on the absent map. An imaginary itinerary to starry night. The orange crescent moon sings lullabies to a silent town, trapped in Bardo. As the wailing spirit of death slurps the brilliance from the stars. Eleven stars, eleven souls. Soothed gratefully to death on a starry night.

20

when i met you clocks stopped. infinity relapsed like dragon tales in 2002. wave caps bury blurry nights. we resurrected with the tide. mother nature created two constellations that puzzled, purposefully together. i always felt like a choice. i never felt like an option.

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Sep 17, 2019

Sep 17, 2019 at 6:41 PM UTC

niesharad

piece

when i met you clocks stopped. infinity relapsed like dragon tales in 2002. wave caps bury blurry nights. we resurrected with the tide. mother nature created two constellations that puzzled, purposefully together. i always felt like a choice. i never felt like an option.

11

suppose you stop listening to your mother you could say **** you to curfew. suppose you tripped on shrooms you would feel colors bloom. suppose you birthed eggshells the coop would have a new chicken. suppose you read a book you might learn some valuable **** suppose the sinners went to church they could drink Jesus's blood for free.

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Sep 17, 2019

Sep 17, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC

niesharad

tuesday

suppose you stop listening to your mother you could say **** you to curfew. suppose you tripped on shrooms you would feel colors bloom. suppose you birthed eggshells the coop would have a new chicken. suppose you read a book you might learn some valuable **** suppose the sinners went to church they could drink Jesus's blood for free.

10

the old woman scrambles an egg, the man at the corner fries his brain.

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Sep 15, 2019

Sep 15, 2019 at 7:23 PM UTC