Tell me if this doesn’t feel like honey gold strung by series of stings.
Tell me if this doesn’t taste like bud
bursting into a thousand petals of sun.
This heart has felt the march of a million unknown feet some were gentle
others were rushed,
A few explosive
and some were even a little soft, emotive.
lick this skin. inhale. breathe.
And tell me what prayer looks like I will show you how answers come to pass.
And show me how blessings carry tears above navy-blue waters I will speak in tongues like God’s prophets.
lick this skin. inhale. breathe
These scars are badge of commitment that warrant promise
ushering steady breaths.
I am honored to reflect you.
And wrapped in assuarance,
one with the one,
licking skin, inhaling air, breathing.
I, blackness, space
What is your blackness?
do you fear my blackness? My saturation? Are you not colored too?
No, I am sorry I am not sexually promiscuous because my vulva is black.
No, I did not have space or time to interject
No, my story. Mine Only. I, I, I.
My hair curls are assertive. they are this way, entangled and gentle with one another.
Yes, my skin. I ran from it for far too long.
Yes, I wanted to be you.
No, I am not you.
Yes. I am black _ blanket term.
…but what does that mean?
Poetry Slam - Vancouver// My First First Place