When the earth swallowed me whole
I remember thinking,
“Nothing will ever be the same”
And I was right.
His possession became an obsession
And I was trapped within his walls
Decorated to look like my childhood room.
I felt sick.

How dare he take the most innocent parts of me,
And taint them with his hellfire.
How dare he steal the most delicate parts of me,
And crush them between his teeth.

All I wanted was to pick flowers.
To sing and dance in the breeze.
How dare he choose me.

I starved in silence
Until I couldn’t feel anything
Except the rumble in my stomach.
Numb to the screams around me,
Paralyzed by dead dreams.

I wish I never went outside.
I wish I never smiled.
I wish I never was born.

You know what it is to lose,
And to be lost.
But most of all you know love
And all that it costs.

I daydream of swinging
Alongside you
I nightdream of falling
And slipping from youth.

I used to think you’d save me,
Swoop in at last.
Now I know that is silly
Because far too much time has passed.

I’ve spent my life
Hidden away
Buried in strife
Longing for easier days.

And although it was hard
Enough to steal my breath
I pushed through the dark
And my patience was put to the test.

I woke up one mornin’
In my own peace
Nothing was perfect
But it sure was golden

they carried the insufferable weight
of invisible sins
on their backs and we worried
about our own suffrage.

we demanded to be seen
as strong
while refusing to let them be
seen.

we were coddled into submission,
baby-talked into babies,
and cried for our own injustices
back turned to our sisters
who needed us most.

and even now,
with this poem written in past tense
we still look passed the tension
yelling in our faces.

we chase after self,
celebrate “progress” in the name of
white accomplishments
and most belong in hell.

we ignore the truth of our history
hide behind the riveter
for stepping up to the jobs
that black women were already working.

inlay of shimmering white guilt
denial saves us from remorse because
voting is to a white woman what
blinders are to a horse.

The knife’s worn handle is solid against my palm.
Sharp edges, dull tip,
Stained with resin.
It has lived far passed it’s lifespan,
But it sits in my drawer.
I hold it some nights when
I want to feel the weight.
I use it now and again
When my scissors are misplaced,
But mostly it sits.
I wish you could see the life that I’ve made.

Dark and dreary are my favorite nights,
Hiding me amongst the stars.
I dance between realities and
I gather notes left by Mars.
I allow them to hold me whenever I tire.  
Your future I could tell you,
But you’d rather not know,
For you were not made
For something so dire.

Curls frame my face the same way they framed yours, and now it is hard to look in a mirror.
Curls that you loved and
Curls that you made, you said I was a lucky girl to look like you. That truth
Curls around my throat and makes it hard to breathe. The way your arms would
Curl around me is no longer comforting. I mourn and I grieve, but never can I leave the
Curls that remain with me. My fingers
Curl around the bit of you that I have left. I hate admitting when I’ve wept.
Curling my pride, making it small, I hate more to admit when I haven’t wept at all.