"exulansis" poems
How can I explain to you
What is within me?
I am African
I am American
I am both
And I am neither
I am something
And I am nothing
And yet…I am everything.
But I cannot be like you
Trust me.
I’ve tried.
You say “Welcome back”
Like my roots are in this soil
But how can I explain to you?
Yes.
My body originated here.
But not my soul.
No.
My soul was born in the arms of Mama Africa
She is not the ancestor of my skin
But of my spirit
And my roots run deep in her red earth
Her drumbeat, my hear.
Yet here I am…
I look like you.
I sound like you.
But I am not like you.
And when I try to explain
What I’ve seen
And done
And known
And how I became
You feel as though I am big
And you are not.
But it isn’t true.
I am not bigger.
You are not smaller
We are just…different.
I contain a vastness
That is misunderstood
That vastness holds so much
Yet often feels so empty.
And I cannot be like you.
Trust me.
I’ve tried.
But when I do it feels like chains
Shackles of iron
I try to deepen my roots
For you.
But when I try
I can only seem to spread my wings
And I am sorry.
I am sorry that I cannot make my home in you.
I am sorry that I make you feel small.
I do not mean to.
I am sorry I cannot find the words to explain
What it is like
To feel as though your skin is too tight for your soul
To feel as though you are always
Nowhere and Everywhere
Nothing and Everything
No one and Everyone
Too much…and never enough
I am sorry.
But I am trying.
So when I try…
When I share with you these tangled feelings
When I crack open the door
To the whirlwind within
Do not ask me to shut it.
Please, do not ask me to hide away
Because you cannot relate to the chaos behind my eyes.
Don’t see the mess.
See me.
And love me.
For the mystery that I am.
To you.
And to myself.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 1:29 AM UTC
these sheets so incredibly warm
wicked, yes, i think the window is shattered
like everything else in my writing, my
pain
it is shattered
covered, tossed aside
i feel better alone
there is nothing of value in the present
i am the 5 am paranoia kicking in,
the work lying there on my desk
as time ticks past its due date
each line in the wood floor
watered by tears
there is
nothing of value
anywhere
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 8:37 PM UTC
exulansis.
the tendency to give up talking about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.
exulansis.
the moment i finally built up courage to come forward about what you did to me.
the moment i told my parents and was only met with anger as i refuse to name my abuser.
the moment as i freeze up anytime the experience is mentioned.
the moment i still haven’t been allowed to heal from this excruciating trauma as you are still in my life.
the moment i cannot talk about this experience as those who attempt
to console me only meet me with pity and sadness.
the moment i realise i am alone in this recovery.
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 8:31 PM UTC
Hold it in
Afraid to bother anyone
Keep it in
Hoping the pain will soon be gone
So i held it
But found its way out my eyes,
I kept it
But not the whimpers and the cries
To hold it i tried
But my mind is now breaking,
Did my best to hide
But can't keep my heart from bursting
So my pen did the crying
When my eyes could not
It poured what I've been keeping
In scribbles and in blot
It expressed my pain
Like the tears on my pillow
Pouring like rain
In ink, that no one else know
On a sheet of paper
I laid pieces of my heart
Rearranging them together
Into a simple piece of art
Hoping this will be the start
I wrote to No one
- the cries of this aching heart.
Hoping . . .
this poem reaches everyone
Mar 25, 2022
Mar 25, 2022 at 8:23 AM UTC