the world folded in front of me when Collins said, "Nevertheless"

TO claim womanhood and 'championing' the rights of those left
lifeless, left
behind
left to give birth without choice, to rot inside

and at the turn of a comma, disregard your
people. your state. your country(wo)mens' fate.

to turn a key
to throw your sword to him,

a ******

there is a ****** in the highest court of the land
it is not 1514

on TODAY of ALL DAYS
when the streets are teeming
with rage and age-old wounds,
re-opened, gushing
with truth for you.
we bellow our truth for evidence. we are living PROOF FOR YOU.

when half of the world is screaming, from their front lawns
classrooms, desk jobs
to the ruling class, we
p l e a d
write letters, leave voicemails,
wait outside til they return,
get arrested, demoralized just trying to get a word

So, we wait
cross-armed
Patience, is the strategy they say
"We’ll get to you one day! You chose us, and it’s our duty to listen!"
they say,

well look at where it’s brought us today
TODAY
a ****** is our president
two rapists on the court of courts
they run our media outlets, they pay off the people in charge
and pay off their victims to silence us
all

and here we stand
in our 'Homeland'
survivors of the daily toil, just trying to eat, to make a safe home
we shift and pay our way through this unending maze

and WE ARE THE ONES WHO ARE *****
we are walking wounds
and I do not feel safe
if this is home i want to GO
very far away.

We are silenced, our voices drown out.
We are beaten in our own homes.
Our opinions are unheard or unwanted. Our lives are unwarranted.
WE live and breathe this unjust air.

This is not when men had birthright to the land and a hand of a wife
this is not when black men were a fraction of a person
this is now
and it is the same.

when rich men have the birthright
to the key to our tomorrows
our childrens' and our childrens' children
will suffer
this system has us suspended

merely a change of scenery
but not one rule has changed,
fundamentally, it is clear to me
we live a rigged game.

it’s all eyelids and teeth
skullcaps and rain drops

and less and less of me

January 15th, I had a dream

I dreamt the mountains split open
and of rain,

rain on an early wedding day
too foggy to see who was taking my hands
I dreamt of lightning reaching out to wake me
I dreamt of a world where weather could overturn this
human devastation

One where the words of men
didn’t leave people barren

theres no grief like another day
with each foot
sunken into the sand-hills of contradictory continents

straddling this divide of time and language
the ocean has been colored red
from our aching hearts
since they hammered these border walls up

i’m crying at my computer waiting for my best friend to answer
i’m crying while i write this letter to my dying grandmother,
under her covers
an ocean away

i’m hoping for a call to me
a distinct answer to which
side of the shore i belong

each time i look at my reflection half of me is gone

pieces

strewn across unforgiving terrain
the stretch of an abyss
only as far as the stitches on my left hand

the six hour time divide, waiting for my sister's awakening
to tell her a dream of us holding hands,
which i won’t recall by
her morning

what is the divide anyway?
except an inherent part of my heart

i carry the world within me-
spilling rivers
crushing waves,
but it still feels so far apart

Ripping hands from around my throat
prying greasy thick fingers out from
my mouth

screaming inside
grasping the tired air for a chance to speak
to breathe
to take up space in this room I pay to learn in.

men standing their ground
men taking my ground
men raising their voices
men shouting above my words and trying to prove me,
prove this theory, prove this gay professor
wrong
not just here
but
around every corner, behind me in every parking lot, too close in every line, every bus seat, every elevator ride

breathing down my back
always there to contradict, take back, rephrase
laugh
laugh louder,
humiliate then divide and conquer

sitting in the front to hear the words first or
sitting in the back like a king at his throne
superimpose these whacked out standards for my clothes,
my *****, my tattoos, my smiles
my frowns

bench pressing their superfluous beliefs that they’re under attack
when I flip them off, when I lead them on, when I run away, when I talk back

hard headed and white knuckled
clutching to their masculinity,
just like my throat

fireworks explode over lawn chairs
anchored to the summer grass
it is family tradition

like the the cringe on her face
as she is being shaken awake
deafened by explosions--
a war

that she did not agree to wage
born into a fit of rage
the ****** of a tidal wave
the red and white striped lawn chair reclined
atop a native grave

but we’re looking away
clapping our hands rowdily
amused and swelling with
pride

cupboards clash and bounce
startling my heart
the sounds of this empty house
waking me again

already weary by the very thought of daylight coming in
goosebumps ride my skin
and the compost rotting inside me churns
i tell myself these days will end
but there’s not an end in sight
i
wash myself with bristled brushes
and rinse the pans with care,
watch the water drip through the ceiling
but the neighbors upstairs
aren’t even there

my feet tread circles
small trajectories to map my self contained
madness
stick my head in the oven
just to see how deep the dark goes

let me replace the people i once knew
let me
blanket my misery,
air freshener over mildew
tablecloth soaking up spots of blood
cover my face in make up
to mask the fear
i don’t dare to show