you left such a sweet taste in my mouth
kind of like this swisher sweet
you left me suspended in air
between thinking and being
breathing and not
you're the never ending stream of smoke
that caresses the corner of my mouth
still in my lungs
but constantly leaving me
why this has me feeling nostalgic
i really can't say
i don't know if i can trust it
i've always heard nostalgia is a ***** liar
that tricks you into believing it was better then
but i feel like it was better
when you were solid
and in front of me
i can't hold you still now
remember you're the smoke from my mouth
you dance in front of my eyes
with a smirk teasing to show
forever disappearing yet present
how easily smoke drifts away from me
you do the same
i miss the sadness
from the day you left
at least i was still feeling
vanilla incense burning  
and the smoke has me fixated
nothing tells it to disappear into the air
it just knows
you're like smoke
but aren't at the same time
nobody told you to disappear into the air
you decided it yourself
you chose to become smoke
and constantly leave me
and i just want to know why

my how beautiful black bodies are
your black body
my black body
is oh so beautiful
our melanin glows and sparkles
because we contain the stars
but it also highlights the scars
we are not allowed to love our black bodies
why is that?
the strong, dark brown lines that zig-zag
up and down
side to side
to form into the skin of my mother
is the pure definition
of an ethereal being
with locs cascading down her back
and dark brown eyes that sees all lies
and hands that when they hold you
they hold all of you
yet she is not allowed to love her black body
from a young age we are told that
our black is ugly
to be light
is to be right
young babies begging for skin lightening cream
mothers yelling at these same young babies
to get out the sun for fear they will become too dark
we are raised to hate the very sun who gives us life
the very sun that feeds our melanin
that same sun who's sole purpose is for our existence
our black bodies are a gift to this world
but they raised us to hate them
why?
I'll never forget what my mother told me
that when she found she was pregnant
she prayed and pleaded with God
"please let my baby be pretty.
Light skin, pretty eyes and long hair. Everything that I wanted to be."
and she sat there
and smiled a sad smile
with so much longing in her eyes
as she gently pushed one of my braids out of my face
and I stared at her with so much
shock and confusion
because I wondered if she even knew
how often I would get on my knees
every night
and beg and plead with a God
that I still question the existence of
to make my skin darker come morning light
and I would awake with excitement
"maybe He answered my prayers this time."
only to feel disappointment and betrayal
when I raised my arm
and still saw this cursed light skin
staring back at me
taunting me
all I ever wanted was to walk down the street
with my mother
and not have our relationship questioned
not have people assume that she's my aunt
or as I got older
my "friend"
all I ever wanted was to make
those wretched kids
shut their putrid mouths
as they pinned me down
and forced their words down my throat
and nestled them into my very nervous system
that it was obvious I was adopted
there was no way I was fully black
or according to one boy
not black at all


I hope one day soon
but I know it won't be today
I can look in the mirror
and love the way
this lightly dusted brown hugs my skin
ever so gently
I hope that one day
my darker skinned kin will no longer
be demonized for what they shouldn't have to change
I hope that little dark skin girl
looks herself in the mirror and smiles
at the skin the color of a raven's feather
and realize that every bright color
was made in her favor
I hope that one day
that little dark skin boy
will see how the dirt he was just playing in
resembles galaxies across that ember skin
this is your skin
this is my skin
this is our skin
this is our blackness
we are valid
we matter
and we **** sure are allowed to love ourselves