may your tears soak through my skin

                                                           ­            as your head lies on my chest
may your fears pour down my throat

                                                         ­           as your head lies on my *******


                           may i steal some of your nights?
                             as you steal some of my light?


                                                        ­        may your pain be shared with me
as your head begins to rest

12:31 no one cares no one picks up the phone
        12:31 no one cares no one picks up the phone


1:33 no one cares no one picks up the phone
      1:34 no one cares no one picks up the phone
            1:35 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                   1:35 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                          1:36 no one cares no one picks up the phone
                                1:36 no one cares no one picks up the phone

little black girl

whenever I see a little black girl, I can't help but stare
and wonder

when is the day she'll begin to hate her hair, her personal garden, her roots?

when will her mother hold her soft cheeks in her tired hands as she weeps, for the kids at school told her to go back to Africa?

when is the day she'll purchase the creamy crack, destroying her roots but believing she shouldn't go back?

when is the day her mind will succumb to the beautiful golden locks of rapunzel or the heat kissed hair of our own idols?

when is the day she'll stare in the mirror and think: i hate my blackness?

i ask not if there will be those days, but when

too many of us black women can relate
we've been taught not to love, only to hate
our garden, our history, our personal roots
afros are bad, being a ****** is not cute

if given the opportunity, will we stand together and rise?
will we tell little black girls their hair is not their demise?

My worth is not measured on what grows from my head
Your worth isn't lost if a white boy leaves you on read
our worth is embedded in our ancestors' sacrifice
love your hair and embrace this life

in very late July,
i observed a firefly
pulsing their neon light
while in the dark, they did take flight

in very late July,
there isn’t many fireflies
they pulse their neon lights
find a mate, and say goodnight

in very late July,
i tried to catch that firefly
wished my hands would be their home
so they’d know they’re not alone

tldr

poems contain pieces of my soul, captured by clicks of fingers on phones
the scratching noises within my pen
the giving ups and the starting agains

i wasn’t aware that when i shared some with you
i wanted a piece of you in return
not an applause or a compliment
perhaps an acknowledgement of what you learned

did you feel a melting sensation? did my pain seep into your soul? did you become more educated? did i help you become more whole?

quite literally, my poems are a book,
a journal, a diary possessing bits of my life
moments that cause you to emit a giggle
all the way to experiences i hate to give light

tldr, it kind of hurts
when you ask to go beneath my skin
from now on, I’m wearing a jacket
to keep the careless from within

some species of plants close their petals at night
as the sun greets the sky and begins to warm the world,
each petal begins to slowly uncurl itself, as if to welcome the warmth of its radiant companion
it isn't exactly known why our self sufficient friends tuck themselves in for the night
one theory says they're trying to conserve energy
another says they want to protect their pollen from not so pollinating others
i wish i could learn to be like these flowers
able to open my soul for others come inside
able to shut the gate when too much of me is being used up
it's been quite awhile
my leaves are beginning to brown and i can't even stand up straight
the sun asks why i can't rest for a while?
close up shop until i'm strong enough to try again?
my answer:
i will remain open for minutes upon hours upon days
hoping he'll show up, hoping that he stays