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Niesha Radovanic Apr 2020
She has looked over balconies,
Her glossy eyes-catching
Glimpses of all the daddy’s girls.
She has watched men plaster
Supermodels on billboards.
Their skin and bones smell of ivory.
I have seen her in the mirror.

She has ripped the ebony off her skin
Like her ancestors did not die for this.
The media has placed price tags
On her body as if the scale did not
Tell her, her worth this morning.
He gutted her out like a grapefruit, left her with nothing.
I have seen her in the mirror.

She crawled to the bathroom,
Turned on the water.
Sinking into the dark pool of self-hate.
Killed her with chemical criticism.
Her skin and bones taste of honey.
I have seen her in the mirror.
Niesha Radovanic Mar 2020
We stopped at the corner of,
Tangerine street and Steveson drive.
We stood there, locked in the
Shackles of death, waiting for the
Next light of hope.

We shuffled across sidewalks
Filled with cigarette butts.
Neighborhood children riding broken bikes
To the orange grove, they knew there
Were no oranges left to be picked.
No fruit of Eden.

We watched them from the corner of,
Tangerine street and Steveson drive.
Our bodies colder than mamas icebox.
The gangs that run the circle pass Mr.Odie’s
Stopped by our corner, they offered us some candy.
We held our hands out for communion,
We chewed on the tainted candy of Eden.

The streetlights went off, we looked at one another,
Wondering if we were slaves of the system.
We bowed our heads in prayer that the ghetto
does not take one of us tonight.

We stopped at the corner of,
Tangerine street and Steveson drive.
We went our separate ways down the
Wicked streets of the hood.
Checking the shadow of death, following
Each one of us to the grave.
Niesha Radovanic Mar 2020
Clearly, I am a woman.
I smell of honey and oats.
I am curly hair laced with laughter.
I am a little black dress.
I am curvy,
Legs thick as a tree trunk.
Skin of the earth.

When they fear my heritage
I chuckle at their ignorance.

I am active brain.
I am lips of language.
My mother’s tongue spiced with sass.
I am mother natures song.
Radiating melanin at the cheekbones.

I taste of Sunday soul food.
I smile like them but for different reasons.
I shout like them but,

Clearly, you will never understand what it means
To be an angry black woman.
Niesha Radovanic Mar 2020
Where is the market that makes Sunday?
That makes soul food.
What are the broken buildings?
With boys and street corners.
Stop signs plastered with milk cartons.
What are front porches, what are they?
Grandmas in a flowery silk dress,
You can smell ebony.
Children wrapped around Mr. Oniels house.
Mama is cooking Sunday dinner.
Where is the culture, it is here.
Skin is not skin,
Only a threat is a threat.
Styrofoam plates aren’t soul food.
Collard greens and baked beans
Are police sirens.
Funky blues blaring is a target on his forehead.
Only a blue and a red are a mug shot.
When the reporter asks where?
A neighborhood distinguishes it.
A neighborhood just distinguishes it.
Niesha Radovanic Oct 2019
The town of the grateful yet,
soon to be dead,
receive one last glance of the universe.
The radiant truth stills voices
and tranquilizes breath.
Eleven fireballs illuminate the moondust sky.

The grim sapphire hills wicket the town.
Is this the way to heaven?
This is the way to the stars.
The black tree's hair is a moussed flame,
a pin-point on the absent map.
An imaginary itinerary to starry night.

The orange crescent moon sings
lullabies to a silent town,
trapped in Bardo.
As the wailing spirit of death
slurps the brilliance from the stars.

Eleven stars, eleven souls.
Soothed gratefully to death
on a starry night.
Niesha Radovanic Sep 2019
when i met you
clocks stopped.
infinity relapsed
like dragon tales in 2002.
wave caps bury blurry nights.
we resurrected with the tide.
mother nature created two constellations
that puzzled,
purposefully together.
i always felt like a choice.
i never felt like an option.
Niesha Radovanic Sep 2019
suppose you stop listening to your mother

you could say ******* to curfew.
suppose you tripped on shrooms
you would feel colors bloom.
suppose you birthed eggshells
the coop would have a new chicken.
suppose you read a book
you might learn some valuable ****.
suppose the sinners went to church
they could drink Jesus's blood for free.
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