Dear Rosie

I wonder, what kind of black woman are  you?
Because as we discussed various -isms, you refuted your womanism, you refuted racism, you refuted sexism. You are "Rosie"

Dear Rosie
I want to know where you come from. Who taught you to tear down women that look like you, that came from a black woman's womb just as you did. Where did you learn to silence us in that confused mind of yours where you said our opinions irritate you and are worthless to your education?

Dearest Rosie
Tell me how the oppressed became the oppressor. Because as I look at your dark chocolate skin I am curious what you see when you look in the mirror. A reflection of privileged whiteness? You say oppression does not matter. You asks for facts. Well, statistics show us that people that look like you are dying whether you acknowledge your blackness or not. Women like you are being silenced and underrepresented in the public sphere regardless if you take it for face value. Women like us have lost sons to officers, husbands to cells, brothers to jails.

Dear Rosie
Wake the **** up. Each time you slice our tongues from the black reality that black women may not matter as much as they do in this safe space, each time you preach of your humanist kumbaya resolution that separates us from race gender and sexuality, each time you say our opinions do not matter, they win. The system wins. Because they'll use some token like you to represent our mass majority and say "She agrees with us so all black people do too." I refuse to be represented by a peer that denounces my womanism, my feminism, my black nationalism because it's not white enough for her (black) skin.
Not inclusive enough to a white population that has excluded people like me for centuries. It is not my duty to make some ******* feel comfortable with my blackness ,to relieve them of guilt when they've perpetuated guilt on me because of my blackness.

Dear Rosie.
Don't let them win.

I love a black man
I see his laugh across my face,
my childhood in his eyes.
I hear the paternal love each time he calls me "baby girl"
even though I'm pushing twenty
I love him because half of his DNA runs through my veins
just as half of his heart was once in my mother's hands.
Oh how I love him.

I love a black man
The last thing he said to me was "I love you"
before he passed the same week.
He was a lover raising an excess of sons and daughters
and fathering kids he was not the father to because
He was a lover.

I love a black man*
He's called me superstar since I was born and always
tells me how I get more beautiful each time I see him.
I remember how I ran into his athletic molasses brown arms each visit and how he always lifted me high above his head.
He fell in love with a lemon yellow woman and
thus I was born peanut butter all over.
His ears rest on the sides of my face, just as big as his
And I wouldn't trade them for any silence.
I can still hear him accidentally calling me by my mothers name.

I love a black man.
My partner, my equal, my friend.
Grateful for the hours on end we spent in late night conversations trying to figure each other's story
Tell me who you are
He was always better at showing
The big brother in him always saying his little sister is his best friend
Always at peace because he casts all his anxiety on the lord and is teaching me to do the same.
Noticing when I appear less than like myself
Always speaking through his actions until he says
I love you at random
I'm so lucky to love him.

I was taught to love a black man simply because I was loved by black men.
My father, my granddaddy, my granpaw, my friend.
I am so lucky to love them.
I am so lucky to be loved by them.

worth me walking at 11:30 at night to be with you come midnight just to be the first to tell you happy birthday.

worth the throbbing I feel between my legs when you hold me, pressing yourself against me so I can't think of anything else but this throbbing.

worth early mornings spent watching you sleep. Feeling you feel my back dimples, as if your hands are fully conscious even during your slumber. Pulling me in closer until our legs are completely intertwined and I have no choice but to give in to you.

You're worth me giving in to you.

I heard his voice before I saw him.
Just seconds before I was telling ol Asha
"He's annoying me. I didn't even talk to him today."
It was the first time in 4 months.

Just as the words left my mouth
I heard his voice telling someone he was coming to see me.
Me

I wondered how he'd known where exactly I'd be.
In my same ol corner, in my same ol chair.

He stayed there with me for four hours.
Sitting across a table we laughed until we choked
We revisited all the things we hadn't been able to say via text or FaceTime.

Oh how I missed my friend.
I vented about my struggles
We laughed at my tenderness.

We discussed sexuality, race, black women, black men.
We discussed our history, and how this moment was really all we needed.

"Remember that awkward talk we had?"
"Why would you bring that up?"
"I was so mad at you"
"Well we're here now"

And I'm just falling right here.

I love reading poems about love.
About sisters like me
finding love
failing at love
not giving up on love
tired of love
grateful of love
needy of love

I love reading about those people that change them.
In their words I find their love as if it's mine too.
They give me a safe space to share my love
or lack there of

And even if each week our opinion of love changes
I know someone out there will read about my love
or lack there of

This week my love lives.

"An impossible dream. Others dream that they are millionaires. I dreamt that a woman loved me."

"Cinderella was not written about the ***** woman."

"They would nod at my empathy and rarely point out that growing up did not mean and never has meant the same thing as getting better."

"Everyday she felt herself losing things it was unacceptable to mourn."

"There was love, and then there was suicide"

"She's the wrong kind of pretty, the kind that's soft but not fragile, the kind that inspires the impulse to touch."

There's something in you that intrigues me, but it's overpowered by an urge to pull away. I don't even have to pull anymore because it feels like a push. I've always wondered what it'd be like, being yours. But it always seemed like one of those lifelong crushes that just aren't meant to be cemented, not meant to be permanent.

It gets confusing though because you're the only person that can make me smile so fast when this heart is so angry. It's just that sixth grade girl in me all over again He noticed me, he noticed me

In reality anyone can be noticed, few remembered. I just wanted to be remembered, even if it wasn't as yours. It's always so easy when it's just the two of us in our own worlds. So easy to pretend that i matter so much. you're gonna make a great man out of someone one day waiting for this man I'm supposedly going to force to change his ways for me.

I never wanted that though. I wanted someone that I didn't have to worry about. Mine. A person that I can openly love without feeling ashamed, disloyal, secretive, or left out. mine

They've all had you.
And maybe they've all had me too.

Just be you
In this world of us
Doors closed

Trap them all out
Let's just stay here
No one will have to know

Hopefully they'll forget about us
Just for a few more hours
Have to savor these moments of you
And me
Just being us

Breathe. No one to listen.
No one to repeat.
No one to judge.
Just us
Being us.

I see lonely hearts and falling leaves.

Falling, but I am not a leaf.

Where do those hearts go?

Trying to find a place for my heart, she needs a home.

Maybe she's best with me.

But she wants to be loved, she wants to be loved*

She's best to be loved by me.

Dear

My dear friend.

It's hard not to think of you all the time when you're constantly blessing my ears with your laughter, and my heart with your warmth. I daydream of you often, waiting for the day our mouths will meet, until then, I'll just breathe next to you. Inhaling your smell, feeling you as you feel me breathe. I'll tense up when your knee grazes mine, and over think if it's meant to be there because you never moved it. I'll get through my weeks by knowing there is someone out there whose hands can remove all the stress that piled on during those hectic seven days, whose words can temporarily remove me from them as if he worked the miracle of time travel. Your presence turns my stomach in knots as I can smell you before I see you. "You smell nice." "Thank you mama."

thank you for making me happy.
I can't thank you enough for these laughs I can't stop sharing
These smiles I can't stop bearing
Thank you for holding me up
Literally
Laughing at my messiness as you help clean up the mess
You really are something.

because i defend you when they can't seem to understand
holding on because i know what they don't
and it's possible they never will

because when i laid in your arms, i looked in your eyes and asked
where did you come from?
wondering how we got here
when just a week ago i was panicking at the thought of not being able to ever go there

because i watched you sleep and my heart sped up at the sound of your breath
and my skin went cold at your every touch
how did we get here?

because even as the sun rose you wanted to stay in that moment
why are you leaving?

oh, but honey

i would never.

Hopefully one day you'll listen to you & i by john legend and think of me the way i always think of you.


*out of all of the girls, you're my one and only girl. ain't nobody in the world tonight...you don't have to try.

Tears so warm
And thick
That you have to catch them with your tongue just to make sure you're not bleeding from your eyes.

class in 3 hours meaning I have to wake up in 2, but I woke up suddenly.
The way you do when there's a streak of lightning or rumble of thunder that catches you off guard. Well, I must've dreamt of you, because I awoke asking Is this really happening? Trying to deny the words soon as they left his mouth. Sitting there with a smile just so he wouldn't think I hated him because he knew the words were going to hurt. Him avoiding eye contact as if that'd lessen the blow. There's nothing that's changed about the way I feel about our friendship. I can't say the same. Because it's 6:02am and I had to leave the room so my roommate wouldn't wake up to me crying, blowing my nose. Just like I had to leave the room and cry in a stairwell last night. I tried reading Warsan Shire, tried listening to Jhene Aiko, I tried, but as I watch the sky looking for something, anything, there's nothing. I'm sick of nothing. I'm so sick of men reeling me in just to drop me off before we make the destination. Sick of me being someone to pass the time with. Something's wrong with me. The tear that just nipped my right ear verified that. I am no ones lover, maybe I'll never be.
I just thought he was different.

*whats wrong love? you look like you've lost your best friend...

whats wrong love? you look like you've lost your best friend...*

one of those endings that hurt because it wasn't suppose to go that way

same song different note

except

He's rare.

no one there to walk me home safely
so i linger in the darkness
my darkness
wandering aimlessly
although i know where i need to go
just wish that there was someone that cared enough to get me there

so the strangers watch me as they laugh the night off holding hands
holding someone
and i clench my belongings
that's all i really have
just to hold something
if it can't be someone

stalling trapping myself in my 4 walls because i know i won't be able to find you there
better off wandering these roads dangerously
even though they warn me that its not safe at these hours
too bad there's no one to remind me
a lot of people will see me
but they won't notice
they'll assume i'll make it home
i always do

there are more important people in this world they have to tend to

so i clench my belongings walking home
continuously pretending there's someone for me to come home to

I fell in love with him the way you fall asleep: slowly at first, then all at once.

How did it get harder now that you're so close?
Geographically.
As in we share a zip code.

Missing you being far away just so I could imagine the great many ways life would go once we were reunited.
Sharing phone lines feeling more in sync than ever, even when connection failed us *Poor Connection, call will resume shortly

Then you'd reappear, sometimes a tad delayed and blurry,
but there.

*what's wrong love? you look like you've lost your best friend…

he doesn't know that the only reason I'm smiling is because talking to him, no matter the subject, causes me to do so.

*got me lifted, shifted, higher than the ceiling, and ooh wee it's the ultimate feeling. got me lifted, feeling so gifted. sugar how you get so fly?

there is nothing more rewarding than when a person is genuinely happy to see you.

unafraid to release the anxiety that was the waiting for their return.

hug me.

happy fall.

exactly a year ago, i was here.
reflecting..packing
feeling as if i'd outgrown these childish bedroom walls
anxious as to what the following year would bring

its scary how all the problems i had then seem minor to what i face today.
so very few people that remain consistent then and now.
looking in the mirror
weight gained
along with experiences
people
knowledge
and healed wounds

i left these childish walls striving to be great
today my goal is the same

i won't try to fall in love
i won't try to make someone fall in love with me
i won't fake what i can't feel

i will let go and let god.
as always.

Have you ever heard my grandmother laugh?
It's like smelling breakfast waiting for you on a Sunday morning, the sound of coffee pouring as the steam wafts above it.
Watch her face change from serene to that of a newborn baring it's first smile.
Oh when she laughs, I can only laugh harder. She's contagious.
A sound that solidifies that you're finally home.
Just like when grandpa comes bearing those oatmeal cookies he's so proud of.
A sound that reminds you who you do it for.
A sound that encourages you to just keep going.

I don't too much buy into those social media romances.
Reminding us every Monday and Wednesday
Guess whose it is

Well
I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Because pictures always last longer
And all those emojis become cliche
Hinting at all this love that may or may not exist

See
I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Although I always have moments I wish I could bare to the world
But they're better off left with me

Scrolling through these photos
See I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Because I know things are not always as they seem.

Maybe deep down she'll always be that girl that wants what she can't fully have.

Loving people that'll never know how to love her, really love her.

And a few times she'll realize her worth but then she gets consumed in this futuristic land of fomo.

fear of missing out

That wide range between reality and what if.

Reality existing in hands other than her own.

What if being behind those closed doors that make reality worthwhile.

Fearful of abandoning reality because there's that small chance that what if comes through.

Fear of missing out.
On you.

Just 3 months ago I thought I was falling in love, my neophyte.
Ha.
Now when he tries to talk to me, I'm annoyed.
Where was he three months ago?
Busy.
So when he asked if he could see me before I left again if felt good to say
Too busy

I think he's getting the hint that maybe it's really over.

Sitting in this room mad as hell.
It's raining outside. I'm jealous.
Why?

I was deprived of my O.
Selfish lover he is.
I was ****** that she gave him a teaser of water and he just ran with it.
All he needed whether I was in tune or not.

I don't know why tonight I thought it'd be different.
Welp.
He invaded my insides as I begged for compassion.
Came as a courtesy as if that's what I wanted.
WHAT ABOUT ME

Always about him
His positions
His requests
His needs

What about me

I should've gotten drunk for this
Depriving me of my O.
I could've stayed at home
Gave myself my O.

I wonder how he'd feel if he woke up just to find me fixing the mess he made.
Is that rude?

Because Maxwell is playing in the background saying
now his part is over
BUT WHAT ABOUT ME

Thundering outside
Then there's me

The good thing about God is that he keeps preventing me from leaning on my past crutches no matter how hard I try. So while I think he's letting me fall, he's really teaching me how to stand. . .

I'm dark because I couldn't say no.
Letting him kiss my face, my shoulders, my arms, wherever place his lips could meet, I let him have it.
Those kisses keep me warm, make me illuminate as if I am a reflection of him.
So when you tell me I'm "black as ****" while I used to flinch, now I do not stir.
But now I realize you my friend are the lonely one.
The sun finds me, loves me down all over, leaving traces of his prescience as if he doesn't mind if my daddy comes hunting him down.
You search the sun out, maybe he'll squeeze in time, but my sun. Oh my sun.
My sun has a way of seeping deep into my skin, leaving me marked each time he comes and goes. No matter the season, his kiss remains. Tan lines that have marked his territory.
My friend, you fear for that real love that has no limits. You search out something more temporary such as the seasons,
While I open myself for all love he gives.
"Black as ****" you may exclaim when my pretty brown brown drives you wild.
Well, the sun and I have an eternal love affair.
Each kiss just adding more beautiful to my brown.

You are someone I've never known, but somehow your laugh brings me memories that I wish I could remember. Strangers that have each other's stories etched in our souls before we could be one. Who could you be?
Mine.
BLM.

So fascinating black women's crowns are.
For so long we couldn't accept them,
Well if Jesus can wear a crown of thorns
you sure as hell can wear those curls, those naps,
that glory, relaxed or not.
Your crown, your choice.

"Yas natural." No.

So why is it my hair is automatically deemed less beautiful when asked if I am "down with the creamy crack" or "all natural"?
My crown loses its glisten when another black women tears me down for not bearing my natural thorns.
And yes I've always considered going back every 8 or so weeks when my curly new thorns start sprouting back in.

"You should try this product. Great for natural hair." But...

It's just that, if I am not my hair
why must it matter so much what stage it is in?
No I am not rejecting my blackness, no appropriation needed
my curls still rejoice, even if i didn't wake up that way
contrary to popular belief
I do not like my hair straight.
"Your hair gets so big. Are you natural?" No.

You call society racist for being so fascinated by our hair.
Racist for asking us to limit our hairs
heights and widths to accommodate their dress codes
Racist to change ourselves

"I love your hair. Are you natural?" No.
Well it is prejudice to deem me insecure, unnatural, and "bad hair"
because of how I "choose" to wear my crown.
Poor assumption that just because my hair is often curly and is thick that I must in fact be natural.
Hair is beautiful is various forms.

Please let me relax with my relaxed crown.

19 year old woman killed in fatal car accident on 76th and Hampton.

5 blocks from my home.

I drove past the scene.

It was someone I knew. A someone that always spoke when she saw me, a kind heart. She was beautiful with youth and so many knew her as she will be remembered.

It's scary. It could've easily been me. I'm scared. These car accidents are becoming more fatal, these bullets are losing names, we're losing faces. God is calling us home so rapidly I'm terrified. Is the world ending? How am I still here.

I woke up and prayed.

It is in these moments of utter nothing I know I am not meant to be here. We are only missed when we are far from home, far from others' convenience. Far, I want to be stretched across the borders,  full moments spent exploring. Take me somewhere where my mom can't call me back in a heartbeat and friends can't stop by on their way home. Away. Because I, by myself, do not measure up enough to be missed if I am within distance. By anyone. So only 1 person will call, probably because he's so far... I just want someone to play cards with me in the grass, walk to the park with and talk about life. Breathing with the breeze when there are no words left to speak. People lack compassion, not realizing sometimes you just need to be in someone else's prescence besides your own. They deprive you of this. Leaving you with a solitude that was once so sweet that it rotted before you. Now brown, once the ripest green. One day I will be missed, that's why I always want to leave.

I fell in love with him the way you fall asleep: slowly at first, then all at once.*

He is 6 hour skype calls until the sun comes up, laughing at how my upper lip looks like a mustache and his nose looks like the bell on the Taco Bell logo.

He is the lover of black women that says my poems are beautiful and my tans are healthy.

He is a conversation that never ends but never strays to flirtation nor awkwardness. A listener of my stories and the laughter that gives them meaning.

He is comfort in a place that is unknown. He is the unexpected friend that feels so close to something I've always known.

Oh how he is.

running on my mind*
Flowing through the river of day old conversations that still make me laugh like the moment the words left the lip of your mouth

If I could remember I would.
Remember who you were before this
Find myself in your face
Feel the pattern of my skin in your palms
It shouldn't be so hard to find your memory
Especially since you keep recurring
But I don't want to remember
No point in traveling down that road again because there's no guarantee the destination will in fact be the you I once knew. I won't know if the journey was worth it until it's too late. I threw in the towel early yes, but where did you expect me to go?

This is especially written for you.
Out there.
For the colored girls.

The girls that are insecure with their lovely brown tint
in between the deep chocolate and lemon yellows.
you'll never hear the term red or yellow bone
You don't know what color your bones possess

The girls whose hair used to naturally curl but couldn't hold the press and curl long enough to feel like its meant for you to look like that all the time. So you agreed when your mama offered to relax your hair so you could relax too. That way even if you couldn't be as light as the mixed girls and the red bones, at least your hair could be as laid as theirs…

I'm writing this to the girls that weren't blessed with the hips nor *** black women are forever praised for. Questioning why our figures aren't as exotic as society tries to generalize. We aren't fit to be the token when we lack the true characteristics that are associated with our ancestors, right? I'm writing this for the tokens that have lost themselves in the crowds they've tried to fit into. Don't lose yourself forgetting to be you.

I'm writing this for every colored girl that questioned if she was beautiful, as I used to do. Always assuming  everything bad that happened was because you simply weren't light enough for good things to happen to you. No light girl, white girl priviledge. I'm writing this to resurrect all the ill feelings i've ever thought about my blackness before I realized it was okay to be so, in hopes that maybe I can ease a colored girl's mind when she feels like she's too black for the world.

This is for her.
The beautiful colored girl.

It's coming to an end.
A month of new people, experiences, tasks, students. It's ending. I came in just ready for a job, now leaving with so many new outlooks on life, so many new faces that will appear in my dreams, so many more people that depend on me. I came in ready to do whatever it took for the guaranteed $1500, leaving blessed to be receiving a check from doing a job I rarely thought of as such. As if I was being paid to laugh with students, answer their questions about myself, keep them structured, just to be there for them.

Don't get me wrong, I was stressed often, but it seemed worth it the first heart to heart I had with a student. It was beyond worth it when I participated in the fashion show wearing my clothes and they all cheered for me. It was the moment I got my counselor reviews back and all my students said my personality and energy was "lovely" and they knew they could come to me for whatever reason.

I never held so much responsibility. One of my students was legally blind, I took it upon myself to always ensure her safety, medications, and accommodations. It was the first time someone really depended on me. I loved her like my own.

I realized why some people don't always take the job that promises the highest wage, because now that I think of it my work was worth more than $1500, but the experiences make up for it. The moments you look forward to greeting your students and them laughing at the awkward moments you too went through in high school. I wanted to cry when they told me I had to return next summer, when they had no trouble reminding me that I am beautiful inside and out as I ironically preached it to them.

It's a bond that cannot be broken amongst staff and students. We survived together on this island, and now that it's over I can't even remember what I was like before this.
I love these PEOPLE like they were my own.

I never noticed, or thought about him in "that way". Never really took a second glance until I was asked "Is that your boyfriend?" Wondering why exactly she would get that impression. I brushed it off until she asked days later "Is that your best friend?" Where was she getting these notions? She clearly hadnt known. I ignored her until two more said they were discussing how we have chemistry, how we always can be found laughing, the pleasure we have just talking to each other. Always greeting "Hey B" as he responds "Hey Al" .I never noticed because I was too busy laughing at his theory that Vaseline can cure all, his admittance of not showering, laughing at the way he really doesn't care what people say, the way he convinced all of staff I had sharted that afternoon and should be called booboo leg. He always keeps me laughing, even that time I was crying and he looked at me and laughed, just to come back and eat mangos as I cried, saying "stop crying" in the same way he says "shut up".

I never noticed.

Her lips are dark like purple.
I stare and wonder how they got that way, not shocked when she whips a lighter out when it's requested.
Her boyfriend is a stoner so I'm not utterly shocked. I'm just shocked at the music that flows out of those purple lips. From high to low from hums to raps she keeps going no matter the song, so
easy. Just as easy as it is to listen. God
bless the DJ.

Fifteen year old Alanda got a boyfriend over the 4th of July weekend. "His name is Snow."
I marveled at the pride she had in saying his name. She might as well have had "Property of Snow" stamped across her forehead. And I knew if the opportunity presented itself she would.

"Awe, how cute. I was your age the last time I had a boyfriend. Wow that was almost 4 years ago."

"What!? But you're so pretty, and so nice!" She said it as if that was the recipe for being with someone. As if pretty and nice equals never having to say you're single.
I tried to explain that it's difficult finding a black man on this campus when black women outnumber the men. I tried to explain that many of these men know they are capable of many women. They know it's okay to love selfishly. The same way I know my worth.

"So you're gonna go on
blackpeoplemeet.com?"

Always proving me right. I won't mind him though because soon enough he'll see how ****** up one can feel watching them pay more mind to someone else. I didn't interrupt him, I didn't throw one ounce of shade. i danced, I laughed, i continued my night as if he never had showed up. As if I didn't see him in my peripheral vision whispering in her ear, dancing pelvis to pelvis. nah. It wasn't worth me breaking a sweat because I know I don't want that much. I may not even want him at all. So it doesn't bother me because on the off chance that I maybe would want him, he would be ******* it up each day. Taking advantage of being cared about. It's obnoxious. I throw in the towel easily, and his cockiness does not attract me. It's amazing how someone can look so different in a matter of weeks, and now I'm not really sure what I'm seeing, but I know I'll forget about him once I've left. maybe then he'll be able to see.

Just when I was thinking my crush was one sided, he asked me if I wanted to dance. Usually I only dance with someone when there's enough people dancing that it doesn't really matter, but this time I didn't care. I wasn't (that) drunk, and there weren't that many people there. I wanted to dance with him though. So as he grabbed my hand as R.Kelly played I felt his hips behind me, his hands keeping me balanced, his back slipping lower as his legs opened wider. I saw people looking but I just didn't care, he didn't either. And before the song ended we left because his hands kept wandering to my **** "So you're just gonna keep caressing my *** huh?" "You never said stop". I didn't.

So we snuck out into a stairwell for him to stare at me until I smiled, telling me how weird I am in the best way. And I stared back until his eyes wandered down to my lips, my chest, my hips. Finally.

It was just a dream, but I awoke wondering why exactly I would dream of such a catastrophe. Maybe I have a subconscious fear of a hate for not only by race but my *** being institutionalized within my society. I skimmed through my brain searching for events that may have triggered so many tragedies:

My voice is rarely heard.
Swallowed deep into a throat of men who close their ears to avoid
the risk of damaging their eardrums with my pitchiness.
Forever straining to shout a little louder, speak a little deeper, so maybe my message is heard by my counterpart the first time.

Constantly I am undermined.
"it's fine" my male counterpart states to a student that has broken the rules.
He encourages the disrespect of his female counterparts and students simply by being more of a friend than an authoritative figure. He knows his privilege and chooses to sleep on it.

I'm tossed to the side. In a room full of people, I am drowning in myself. Isolated simply because I get frustrated with trying to catch the attention of someone that loves the spotlight. Feeding into his need to constantly be seen, by seeing him it causes him to do more to be seen. He doesn't realize I prefer smaller conversations, inside jokes, lower tones. Those moments when you can hear someone smile and eye contact is unavoidable.

I dreamt of a black women holocaust because I was feeling powerless.
As if my role in the work was losing value. My presence fading away to the point where i physically feel small. Reminiscent of my 12 year old self that didn't know how to speak up, nor how to be strong. My 12 year old self that didn't know it was okay to be prideful of my black feminisms, nor that I can be content in my lonely. All alone in rooms full of people.
But in my dream the goal was to rid me from these rooms, rid these people of me.

Maybe my dream was more than a dream.

They were trying to rid the world of us that day.
Twenty four hours to take us captive long enough to make us hate ourselves.
It was confusing at first simply because it was unheard of in 2014, but this day was an exception.
"What'd we do wrong?" My sister and I exclaimed as the officer lunged at us weapons in hand.
He couldn't answer besides continuing to ensure us that we were a problem just being ourselves.
We ran, made them trip over themselves as we took shelter in a basement of others just like us in hiding.
They didn't know either. Our mothers had warned us to stay put, first time they forced us not to come home just because the risk was too high. Twenty four hours to wipe us out.
I dreamt last night of a black women holocaust.

Full of life
I can't squeeze a word in most times
He can't hear my voice
He's drowning in himself

Silence
In a room full of people I can't be heard
It's rare that I can captivate attention
Just drowned out by my lack of interest

I enter a room and you are unphased
Quick to rush to the next subject
I am not important enough
Whereas once you'd carry me
Told me I was rare
Now you have so much power my rareness is unimportant
Unphased

You remind me of being 13.
That immature crush that takes centuries to progress because I become too shy. So we catch each other at random, and I'm always excited to do so. Always planning what I'll do and say next time, but when it comes around...
My eyes just look or I turn away too fast. Somehow your arms always open at the same time each day though. And mine always fall right below your ears. So soft those arms are around my waist...
Those hugs I used to pray for when I was 13, except now I'm wearing a nightgown and feel this hug more than ever.
Maybe one conversation a day.
Always at least one hug.
Thirteen again.
Yet it's fun, secretly so intrigued.

Little do they know I have small fantasies imagining what life would be like if he were mine.
Not one he in particular, but just someone.

He could not hear me
At my normal tone and pitch
Then I imitated a man
And he suddenly heard.

Each day that passes, I am more proud to be a woman.
I witness the sexism I face in the most basic of conversations but women I aspire to be more like motivate me, remind me
We hold so much power.
I may not have marched with Angela Davis or Audre Lorde,

But a girl asked if I thought she was pretty today.
As I applied man made make up to her face so maybe just maybe someone would notice her like I did,
I thought of how this response could change her outlook.
"Yes. Do you like your hair and make up?"
"Yes. Do you like it?"
"I think you're perfect."

See in that moment no man could tell me that it's easy being a woman or that I'm too uptight or take my job too seriously because these girls look up to me. Knocking on my door for whatever reason because they trust me. They listen when I'm stern and embrace my humor. As a woman I am able to tell girls they are beautiful as they look at me as inspiration. Moments like this I am Audre or Angela simply because I am making a difference, shaping young women. I hold so much power.