I might not know much.
But i know just this much about racism.
That it hurts.
that it scars and tears wounds apart.
that it kills and murders.
steals and slanders.
breaks and ruins.


Different people.
Different beds that they sleep on, is this how it is?
That some feel cold in a thick winter jacket.
That some feel starved even when they have enough.
putting labels on beautiful jars.
filled with the most beautiful of hearts and dreams untold.
words that burn.
burning them like paper.
are you one of no heart?
or perhaps a heart that simply has no sense of love.
that simply doesn't understand.
you say "its just a joke"
but it still burns them up with fire and smoke.
how those flowers die slowly i might know.
but i would need your help so that you don't have to know.
so that, you could put them back together and make them whole...

This broken teacup of mine,
Lays on the floor.
Pieces scattered and crushed into the carpet.
A mosaic of pain.
This broken teacup of mine,
Stabs and slices,
As I pick up the shattered porcelain.
White stained red.
This broken teacup of mine,
I can’t put back together.
I remember it fondly from when it was whole
And admire its new beauty
As I wait, patiently.

I know you shake and squeak,
I bought you cheap,
Parts of you dropped below,
Down to the road,
So, I slowed,
To rescue your parted pieces.
Then back inside,
With limited tool supply,
I’d scratch my head,
And knot my brow,
As your rusted threads,
Spun round and round,
But I’d make you whole again,
My shaking, squeaking friend,
With you there is no end,
For every time your handles creak,
Any rush of air that peeps
A look through treads run bare,
I’ll carry you home,
With care,
And make you whole again.

If p-people were forms of l-language
I-I am a stutter of a p-person
I am h-h-hesitant
I can't s-seem to ex-express m-myself
It t-takes me a while t-to get m-my p-point across
People laugh in mock-mock-mockery

If people w-were forms of language
H-he is a s-s-song
He flows
He st-stirs the bl-blood in my veins
His rhythm i-is the only thing ke-keeping my heart bea-bea-beating
People s-sing along

I-I am over-overlooked
He i-is surrounded by admirers

I am st-staring at him,
dazzled, st-struck to the b-bone in wonder
He-he-he is laughing,
warmly, dance-dancing to his own b-beat

I am an un-unfinished thought
He is th-the beauty of a-a million harmonies

I
am
b
r
o
k
e
n

He
is
u
n
t
o
u
c
h
a
b
l
e

I am not woman still healing
from scars,
from wars,
from lives,
I’m not yet ready to talk about.

I am not beautiful nor broken
I am not a poet trying to stitch together my mind in a way that makes sense...

I am not a doctor
I am not birthed as healer,
As nurturer
I am not the light,
The darkness.

I am not black woman who leads
Black woman who dances for hearts that are too afraid to beat a little unruly
I am not at all dripping lonely
Or mimicking the sun when morning comes again
I am not both enamored by life and saddened by it

I am not the lighthouse
The storm
The final destination

I am not everything you’ve ever wanted
I am not the woman who got away
I am not what you stole from you.
I am not waiting to be whole here.