race nightmares

sometimes I think about race and I start panicking and sweating.
I hear a dog bark, and I start praying.
I see people and I start weeping.
Where do we go anymore?
Where do I find some hope?
I am the least of them yet I sweat the most.
Here I lie.
Here I lie.
A testament to a father’s hatred of his himself, and a mother who was lost to time.
So much was lost, but what remained was indelibly marked both on my skin, inside the soft parts of me that tore forever those quiet winter nights when she was fast asleep instead of keeping me safe, and in my mind eye.
I was a testament to all that he hated in himself. All his girls were.
Hindu names but faces that betrayed origins that made him hate himself far more than we ever could.
or wanted to.
I am the least of them.
Yet here I stand. I sit.
I lie.
I sleep.
Here I am.
There is he is somewhere.
I hope out of the two of us its me that sleeps dreamless.
Let me die just for tonight so I may finally rest well.
If I promise to wake the next morning to work again may the devil take my forsaken soul.
Let the white man wear it as a flimsy garb stained in my blood.
Just so I can sleep tonight, a life lived long worn.
I want to wake up in a hotel. Back packed by my bed.
I want my hair to be unnaturally soft to the touch and my head filled with the knowledge of driving and a plan.
Maybe I have a job that takes me across Turtle Island. Maybe its something simple but needing to be done.
Maybe its so dull it forces me to relax.
Maybe it forces me to find the dark spaces to run in.
sleep
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Kelly

“your thighs are the perfect density,” I mumbled trying to valiantly (in my mind) capture the wonder of her legs.
White and aglow. Really smooth, almost too smooth. Like alabaster, but living and soft to the touch.

For some reason her skin never made me feel insecure, nor brought a storm of comparisons to rain down on my mind. Clouding out the simply joys of first getting to know a lovers body.

With her it was just touching, naming, seeing.
My skin brown just as normal as her white skin.

I mean, it wasn’t perfect. She was tall, white and thin, but as far as pretty good gets. Well, I was thankful.

I felt like a person around her, and when she would laugh – my stomach would swell up with a feeling that pressed up against my heart.

Butterflies? Humming birds, maybe? Who knows, bats even. My feelings soared, so whatever was flapping against my belly it sure made me take notice.

The flapping stirred my heart just enough that when I looked at her face I had to blink extra hard and I felt myself licking my lips.
I couldn’t let myself look away.

The funny part is I am not in my twenties even, but around her I felt 16 and just completely enthralled with getting to know someone.

Wishing for freedom

brutality on black bodies

Even a blue dust bathed bra soaked in the sweat of my sun soakedĀ skin bites.
Bites into tender sides
Pinches soft parts
A wire to my lung
A sternum on fire with irritation
BoundĀ 
I am bound.

Stuck in the illusion of safety – when the very things that cling to my sides could kill me at any moment
I must hide my breath and hold my heart…

A bright bird wings beating
Bashed in, time and time again
As the ways of the world claw into me.
Crack my rip cage open between the sobs that rack me
And grab grab grab my frightened bird
Always trying to dash her in the dirt.

Sometimes I think it would be easier to let her fly away.
I wish I too could join her.
Away from hands that pick
Bindings that poke
And the terror to breathe full breaths as I fly so free.

Coffee Island

Exposed brick faces me as I wait for words. I run my hands through hair that feels like summer grass and I chew my fingers

Each nail is stripped of its paint, bright and bitter
For a minute my mind drifts into a memory of spring berries bursting sour in my mouth.
I never could wait for summer to ripen.

I sit in the wooden forest of chained benches on coffee island.
Sitting over rocky pavement and surrounded by roaring concrete I remember the baby bird we nudged towards death.

We chipped away, peeling at the shell with hungry prying fingers, even as the chick lay shuddering and cowered from the light. Relentless in our need to complete the harm, forcing it to hatch faster than I could keep it alive.

The colour are even correct.
Greys of every shade and wood being transformed into ghostly boards at the appallingly slow pace of destruction this intersection of the suburbs and city can handle.

It is here I hide. Watching desperately interested in finding out about each person that walks by.
My cup hides me.
My phone hides me.
My drink hides me.
My gender presentation hides me.
Hides my gaze.
Maybe even something twisted that can feel like power in the shadows.

The chains on the bench at coffee island make a kind of wretched sense that is far too stark to give words to.

As I lie waiting

Remember when the drinks stopped pouring and I came undone?
walking home completely sober limbs pulled apart
concrete under finger nails I dug in desparation
past any point of return
dug a grave shallow so all would see my rot

What prayers were said?
who stood vigil as I returned to earth?
did you sprinkle sand and seeds over my greening grave?

Did you kiss the memory of loving me in the dark?
the softness of my skin seared into your fingertips.
How many tears were shed?
did you count and collect them all?
A quantification of a life lost…
a callous number to round out so much incomplete dreaming…

footsteps never taken
passports never stamped
but so many stolen kisses
So many words bleeding heavy over poorly bound books
purchased in the absence of real direction

grants unfinished
unfollowed up on
without any hope of panning out
effort to what end?

now I am the bones ground away by time
the marrow that feeds worms
the earth
now I wait for the sun

Swelling

I don’t want my people to forever be apologizing for existing.
Shrinking down our magnificence.
Silencing out proud voices.
Forced to forget our languages.
Shying from praise.
So I will swell.
Become so much that all may eat from my abundance and become large with self love.
Climb on my shoulders.
Build nests in my hair.
Declare our freedom on my back.
We are geographies of possibility
Pain and several centuries cannot erase us oceans