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Womxn

The womxn in my family don’t understand why I spell womxn with an ‘x’.
It’s because I watched these womxn honor men in spaces far too
sacred to be tainted by misogyny.

Passed down traditions of letting vile creatures break us down until
we are nothing but atoms fleeing persecution.

Continue reading Womxn

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Indomitable Woman

that badass Black Queen
fluttered across those keys,
matching the grooves of her
scars, the heart of her art
beaming at war

scaling buildings of thought,
mauling the gaul of contention,
shattering mirrors of sought
insecurities & indecision

skipping across the creamy
dusts of nebulas, tapping
the tips of her toes on
starry mists. Continue reading Indomitable Woman

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A Walk Behind My Heart

I walked behind
my heart,
Covered up to the thighs
in its rivers,

freezing from the chill
that it became since 
life served it grief
beyond winters,

only seeing
the calm of blood that 
passed the rest of my 
body on the inside.

we learned to flow
together,
to search for ourselves
On the walls & floors 
of my flesh,
 Continue reading A Walk Behind My Heart
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Writing for the Calm

It seems like the correct time to share the poem that reconnected me with my passion. “Writing for the Calm” propelled me back into writing; it enabled me to own up to all that makes me, me. The energy I describe has the ability to cripple me, yes, but I have learned to embrace it, be proud of it, use it–the piece of me that I am finally comfortable with. Sometimes, I need a reminder that I am power if I just believe that I am. After all, I write to know I exist outside my own mind…

_____________________________________________________

I’ve always had an unexplainable,
Unnamed mass of energy inside,
Much like a tightly drawn bow,
A jostled can of Coke,
Or an eerily tranquil evening,
When the air suggests that everything
And nothing exists at once.
This has led to my greatest victories,
And the most paralyzing defeats.
I couldn’t accomplish anything without it,
Yet it has coerced me into villainous situations:
The contradiction of my life.

Anything to curb the position of this anxiety.
I can even say it’s easy to gravitate
Towards beautiful destruction.
And so, I grip the pen and feel the paper.
Yes. I want others to admire my work.
Yes. I love manipulating language.
Yes. Our stories must be told–preserved–
So they survive the abstract notion of time.
Why I write though, is so I can take a true,
Satisfying, uninhibited breath.
In the aftermath of a group of pen strokes,
I free the air I wasn’t even aware I held inside.

I write for the calm.
I write to know I exist outside my own mind.

 

 

 

[Thanks to those who help me find my calm when it goes missing.]