My body bewildered and depleted,
Fragile as the needy me that fed it
Nothing and everything,
Ravaged through the raw, wet decades
Of abuse, and despair.

Bile-tainted, anger-stained
I gazed up, up, and into myself.
Those were the eyes of a determined dreamer,
The heart of a lioness,
Slowly curving mouth prepared to roar.

I am a woman who has learned
I am not this belly, I am not this body,
It is mine, and theirs, and yours.
I gaze upon it, gladly now,
Finding something
Finally worthy of love.

my pen has fell in love with you
now the ink writes in your favourite color
my heart does back flips whenever you smile
cause of the joy you bring me
my arms are ready to warm you up
my mind is ready to always think of you

my pen has fell in love with you
now the ink writes in your favourite color
my soul sails gracefully into you
searching for the potent subtlety
swimming in your pond of desire
my mind is conscious of your weakness
for it develops a secure kindness .

I wanted to out perform performance Art
so I painted a splash of colour to your dress
but the revellers were like City drones
deciding this was unbearably light,
so I moved back to Molly, who still unbowed
performed her theatrical reprimands
but the Labyrinth was like a pulse
translucent.

"I wish you were real."
She kept crying every night for days and for every restless, sleepless moment you could ever count. It felt like an eternity before this ever had to end.

She never knew that one day
she would wake up and realize that she's had it with all these damp cheeks, dried up tears, clogged nostrils, and sniffling pains.
She never knew that she would throw the very thing that meant the universe to her into the black hole, into the oblivion.

I never think much about the fact that I am black.
I know I am black.
Like I know I am a girl,
Like I know I am an American,
Like I know I am nineteen.
It is a fact; I am black.

I hate when people say I am not.
My parents are black.
Their parents are black.
We are black.
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not be black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I don't 'act' black.
How does one act to be considered black?
How am I acting? How is it not black?
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not act black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I speak like a white person.
A way of speaking is not exclusive to race.
I am not white.
I do not speak like a white person.
My words are coming out of my black mouth.
I speak properly,
The way my black parents raised me to.
Look at my skin,
Its dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not speak black?
I am black.

I HATE when people say I am a white person trapped in a black body.
I have NEVER heard anything more insulting.
I am NOT trapped.
This color is NOT a cell.
I wear it proudly.
Look at MY skin,
It is DARK and it is BEAUTIFUL!
How could I ever be trapped?
I am black.

I am in no way white,
Nor do I ever want to be.
I am black
And black is beautiful

Take it Back
She don't know how
The room loses light
Sound vanishes, no faint echos
Just silent and dark
Take it Back
Breaks the silence
She don't know how
Through the dark she feels a stare
Frigid and demanding
Take it Back
This is her last chance
She tries to say it
She don't know how
All warmth gone
Take it back**
This is all she regrets
The absence of this action
Leaves her to be on her own
She don't know how