Belly of the whale
Dragon's Breath
crimson lips, magic tricks
a knight in shining armor
let’s go home
and play a game
the name?
don’t worry, You’ll love it
unhappiness? no
just pain
a jester in disguise
smeared crimson, dragon’s breath
damsel in distress,
witch hunts and charades
let’s get dressed
You’ve made a mess
a queen
who still needs saving
no–
don’t say Her name
spit it out
give it back
She is Her own keeper
never weaker than Her pride
how dare you try
to come center stage
barbarians and slit throats
the fourth crusade
stop the brigade
the sack of Constantinople
give it back
fingers down your throat
force it up
let’s call the medicine man
crimson tissues,
lipstick and blood
a quick escape
crimson capes
white horses and severed heads
crumbling castles
drained moats
there’s a renaissance to be had
Sleep Walking
She hasn’t eaten in days,
so Her insides feel like a carved pumpkin,
sitting on the porch for all to see.
It’s unsteady
Trees shudder
Wood skeletons
and malting leaves
A chill snakes its way
through Her house.
For a moment,
She wonders if the bed beneath Her
has been cushioned with hair.
She asks Herself,
how am I to lift them up
when I can’t even hold myself?
I’ve been betrayed.
Dancing at a masquerade ball,
a tornado of faces without names,
of faces painted with façade.
Still, I am
afraid to see what’s beneath
for fear that
I will see myself.
Treasure Maps
no one except Her
can see the scars on Her face
forged by self-doubt
and the pain of Her ancestors
they protrude from Her forehead
and yank at the surrounding skin
they nestle into Her cheeks
and frame Her eyes
on days when She is forced to have
conversations with the mirror
She occasionally has to look away
repelled by what
society has made Her see
hypnotized by their words
scraped into Her flesh
but then on other days
when She is vibranium
She looks Herself in the eye
and sees nothing but
treasure maps
drawing a path home
Breonna
She knows that hope is something
that can never be put into words
so when they broke in the door,
and bullets came through the windows,
and a soul floated from the room,
She was able to catch it,
cup it in Her hands,
and breathe her in
She held hope in Her chest for a few moments,
letting its curative properties
enter Her veins,
and then breathed out,
letting her go
Rabbits
Someone is knocking.
Somewhere upstairs.
And they sound like they need to get in.
The noise leads Her to Her bedroom.
The door is closed,
but someone is knocking from the inside.
She’s been afraid of
how heavy the world can be–
that is, until She found hope.
Inside the room,
She tries to get a sense
for what is in the air,
but it only tries to suck Her in.
Finally, She opens the door, just as
another hand pulls on the other side
and finds Herself face to face
with Herself.
She, or She, stares at Her, or Her.
She wears red, but She also wears blue.
So They say,
“Thank You for letting me in.”
She lets out a breath of relief,
yielding Her soul.
One
​
Upstairs, She knocks on the door frantically.
She needs to get in
and become whole again.
She’s been locked away for too long
inside Her room
with the drapes pulled shut.
She’s been afraid of what would happen
if She gave up on Herself.
But there is hope again.
Outside the room,
She can feel Herself
trying to find Her.
So, She does the same, breathing Her in.
Finally, the door opens, just as She goes to
pull it open Herself,
and becomes reunited
with Herself.
She, or She, stares at Her, or Her.
She wears blue, while She wears red.
And She smiles as She says,
“Thank You for letting me in.”
She takes a deep breath,
gathering Herself.
At last.
Nectar
She looks like
personified Nectar
Her skin glows like dark honey
while Her gaze drips slow and sweet
Her hips draw you in
and keep you coming back for more
Her hair hovers around Her head
yet also dewy, heavy with cream
Her eyelids are painted with gold
and glimmer when She first wakes up
Her legs draw paths to the center of the earth
and Her shadow turns in pirouettes
Her lips cause people
to take too much
as they borrow Her strength
to strengthen themselves
She smells like dreams
just before they come true
and She tastes sweet
raw, smoky, and wet
​
and when She opens Her mouth
Her honey turns to taffy
strong enough to
cradle the world
Vibranium
What is a Black girl if not vibranium?
Kryptonite
What is a Black girl if not kryptonite?
I’m confused. How can a Black girl be both? Vibranium is strong and Kryptonite is weak.
Baby, Kryptonite is strong too.
How is it strong? It hurts Superman.
It’s strong because it’s the only thing powerful enough to stop Superman, remember? And in Black Panther, vibranium gives T’Challa his strength.
So… Black girls can both strengthen... and weaken? That’s how strong we are?
Hm, yes and no. Black women sit at the core of society, we give it strength. But we are also the Achilles Heel of society because we are so mistreated. Hurt us and we can bring all of society crashing down.