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"publicness" poems
This is a poem for nobody’s eyes About my students my flowering black and brown baby girls more bud than human, saying all singsong how black is ugly ugly ugly holding their arms up to one another, comparing hues About the instant I realized I loved women too and sagged hard against my bedroom door while dread and hope danced a strange dance in the pit of my gut About the college kids I see in class everyday popping Aspirin and Xanax and the pill with their headphones and angry publicness and **** off **** you **** this and notebooks and pens and soft privateness and I love you I need you I need you About the boy I couldn’t speak to for years without feeling sick or small or unrequited About Audre, Toni, and Maya teaching me how to start revolutions with a word About how I dream again and again of kissing the girl I am in love with and sometimes we are the in the dark and sometimes we are laughing and sometimes I am moving breathless into the room saying I have never loved you more than I do at this moment and lips are on lips are on lips About how I can’t look at this one pink nightgown because I was wearing it when my father said he was cheating and too many tears fell on those tiny satin cherries About Holden Caufield and that ******* merry-go-round About a crazy, unquiet and utterly illuminated self Me, spoken yet unspoken
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Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
claire-mcculley
Poem for Nobody's Eyes
This is a poem for nobody’s eyes About my students my flowering black and brown baby girls more bud than human, saying all singsong how black is ugly ugly ugly holding their arms up to one another, comparing hues About the instant I realized I loved women too and sagged hard against my bedroom door while dread and hope danced a strange dance in the pit of my gut About the college kids I see in class everyday popping Aspirin and Xanax and the pill with their headphones and angry publicness and **** off **** you **** this and notebooks and pens and soft privateness and I love you I need you I need you About the boy I couldn’t speak to for years without feeling sick or small or unrequited About Audre, Toni, and Maya teaching me how to start revolutions with a word About how I dream again and again of kissing the girl I am in love with and sometimes we are the in the dark and sometimes we are laughing and sometimes I am moving breathless into the room saying I have never loved you more than I do at this moment and lips are on lips are on lips About how I can’t look at this one pink nightgown because I was wearing it when my father said he was cheating and too many tears fell on those tiny satin cherries About Holden Caufield and that ******* merry-go-round About a crazy, unquiet and utterly illuminated self Me, spoken yet unspoken
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They have tried to turn the language of your body into ***** words, calling your strength, grace of motion– your poetry, “Black Magic”. But, Dark Art is that whitewashing illusion. Misdirection. Magic is whatever color you see when you look in the mirror. So, they slip their mirrors into your pockets, commandeer the covers of magazines, and big screens. They costume in your clothing, your words, your art and artifact. Keep you chasing shadows and slurs. I want to say to you, you need no one’s permission to shatter glass, take up space, to outperform the top-hatted man blowing smoke from his stage. Tell him to Move. Over. Unmask his ball-gowned, silent accomplices. If publicness is not being shared, it is being stolen. Carry on. Perform your magic in every spotlight. I will stand aside, and shout down your imposters.
0
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
HernandezBerlinn
An Ally is an Audience
They have tried to turn the language of your body into ***** words, calling your strength, grace of motion– your poetry, “Black Magic”. But, Dark Art is that whitewashing illusion. Misdirection. Magic is whatever color you see when you look in the mirror. So, they slip their mirrors into your pockets, commandeer the covers of magazines, and big screens. They costume in your clothing, your words, your art and artifact. Keep you chasing shadows and slurs. I want to say to you, you need no one’s permission to shatter glass, take up space, to outperform the top-hatted man blowing smoke from his stage. Tell him to Move. Over. Unmask his ball-gowned, silent accomplices. If publicness is not being shared, it is being stolen. Carry on. Perform your magic in every spotlight. I will stand aside, and shout down your imposters.
Continue reading...
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