as a youngin, sometimes deliberately… but more often just haphazardly falling into my self, poetry and writing saved my life as often as i needed her to. why haven’t i engaged in this self-care more often in my adult life? well that’s a whole ‘notha post… but this poem fought its way to the fore…so here it is.
buried treasure –by asha zenzi
our skin, my skin
‘diabolic dye’…Phillis wheatley penned
one minute weighs a metric ton
next minute, light as cotton spun
they see it locked, they see it loaded, looming & black,
gun blast exploded…humanity eroded…Tamir…Trayvon…Philando…Sandra…Bryonna
the loss? i’m enraged to behold it…
but damnit they might like your look!
(God help you)
big and black on stages and fashion books!
bought and bossed and…on the hook…should be shook…it would have me shook…
wet coat heavy or featherweight when with kin
from one moment to the next, this is the skin i’m in.
here i go!
life on tuesday 