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. 

Holy ground.

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.

Right here,
feel it
know it
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.

Right here,
feel it
know it
lick this skin. inhale. breathe

These scars are badge of commitment                                          that warrant promise
ushering steady breaths.

I am honored to reflect you.

Right here
Right now
Feeling this
Knowing how
And wrapped in assuarance,

At last
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