Hookup culture is a beast I cannot tame.
Drawing at my insecurities
again, picking and gnawing.
Nothing will be left now,
except the empties from the party.

My cellphone rings,
and it feels like nothing.
Pushing buttons and
overdrawn lipstick.
Bite it anyways,
apply the waterproof.

I’m gonna get it tonight.
Catch a feeling or two
Teach a lesson or three,
And for the first time –
Teach you to understand human emotion,
empathy,
and too often the human cry.

I won’t steal your keys,
and make you walk home.
But if you leave me with the Cherry pits,
the bill, or the half-smiles,
you’ll be lucky to leave with your sweater.

I am a terrible girl,
but a great date!

There are more women
unseen.
Doing more work than you'll
ever have to do.
Asking the right questions,
to open fields.
Kissing glass ceilings for
spots at table ends.

Despite my skins translucency,
I am seen more.
In T.V., Magazines, Movies.
If Black women are "loud",
it's only because you're not listening.

Suicide by pesticide,
Guns to police.
Sold to be a wife,
Don't put up a fight.
Getting your nails done,
by a stereotype,
you look at your T.V.s.

To see you,
the same consumable ****.

The state of the consumer,
as long as your
pretty,
impartial,
straight,
able,
classed,
and most of all,

white.

Technology raised me, a single truth,
A distant voice calls a subconscious blues?
Need not give lessons, need not to give proof.

My Children’s children Google from a roof,
Built into our blood, a gift, or a bruise?
Technology raised me, a single truth.

A full set of pearls, yet somehow a spoof,
Was it ever something that we could choose?
Need not give lessons, it’s merely abstruse.

Will the children read underneath a spruce,
Their youth affected by iPad’s in use?
Technology raised me, a single truth.

Is it hidden just like a chip in your tooth,
We turn to our computers, say our “I do’s”?
Need not give lessons, we’re unwashed, uncouth.

The T.V. confusing, full of untruth.
Dreams of a world, can I get out of this blues?
Need not give lessons, need not give proof,
Technology raised me, a single truth.

We lay in it. A king?
A queen? The daffodils,
a side table. Etching white lines
on your dark skin. Cashmere.
Clouds are pillows. Moss is fabric softener.
I am tumbling out of my - drawers
are thick blades of grass.
You think trees are equations.
Masterful and wise. I think they are god,
pure and solved. When I was born,
they planted me firmly. You plant a kiss,
the wind brushes, my cheeks are red -
You smell like apple crisp.

I'll always remember summer,
from the comfort of my winter solstice.

This is my brother.
He is thirteen.
He has darker browns.
Bigger ears,
and Greener eyes.
He's wearing black,
a shirt too big.

He's holding a donut to our heads.
We are smiling.
He's holding my
neck in place,
showing me the camera.

Parents tell you
what you're suppose to see.
Not me.
He's telling me to look.
I've never been good at
paying attention.

My fathers holding
the camera.
My mothers still
at work.
Brian is hiding
in his room.

Mark is here,
with me.
And this moment is
wholesome.

I will always remember the curve of streambank drive. The way the definitive black Pontiac would make any neighbour incapable of getting home. Always sitting there blocking the entrance of my street. Swerving into oncoming traffic was a chore, but something about it made you feel alive.
Charlotte and Hannah Tarr's house was 37 and a half steps from Saginaw. Their driveway was winding and inviting to my gaze. I was never far. I remember when I ran away from home at 4am on an unusual Sunday morning impulse. I spent a whole hour throwing on my warmest red fleece sweater and packing a backpack full of Dunkaroo's and fuzzy childish socks. I went out the back creeky tin door from my basement, and made my way.
Charlotte was asleep, and her blinds were drawn. I spent another hour tapping light enough on the glass to wake her and not her dad Bruce. She never woke up.
I ended up walking through the crisp morning to Woodeden park. It was only 5minutes from me, but I knew it could be a dangerous venture. As I walked slowly and quietly down the street, I had passing strangers on runs question why a small little girl might be up at 5am:
"Is there anything I can do for you sweetie? Are you lost?"
"I'm okay thanks", and I ran. Just like that my attempt to prove a point to my parents was over. I ran all the way back home.
My mom asked how I got up so early and I told her I was outside testing the weather.
"It's cold Laura. I could have told you that."
"Sorry."
"Go get ready for church. DigaDiga is going to be over any minute."
DigaDiga is my grandpa. He smells like Nutella and has a button nose. He's not quick like he used to be with my 20 year old brothers, but he chases me around and yells DigaDiga until I lose a shoe. He's the only person I like.
"Is everything okay Laura?"
"I'm okay thanks."