This is my second week into the self-posed challenge of writing a minimum of 3 lines per day, every day in 2018. I'm happy to say that I've written every day in 2018 so far ;) The challenge has also had an unexpected (but good) surprise: the more of a routine I get in, the more and more I am writing. Multiple times a day. They are coming out something like poems. Here they are.
i want to cradle my face
in the deepest crevice of your neck
and sigh into the heavens of the collarbone,
the homecoming that you are.
the latest company
to drape a black boy in the word
monkey. . .
i will burn them down
on behalf of my son.
a lump jumped into my throat bump
the other day,
somewhere between West Oakland and embarcadero.
pins and needles joined it as company,
lighting flame into my shoulders and curving to trickle down into my spine,
the cacophony of wheels on rails
the soundtrack to this horror flick.
i could’ve been be sick but i reached down
until i exhumed calm.
as i settled into an unmarked corner
of a beloved restaurant
with a journal in tow,
the bronze-tinted waitress greeted me with,
“you’re the one - with the pretty handwriting,” and a timid smile.
some months later, another brown skinned woman remarked,
“your handwriting should be a font.”
: yes, tender nimble hands take care to curves.
i have grown several extra limbs
to love you with,
and some extra sets of nerves -
sometimes it is more than i can juggle.
feel the sweat gathering like morning dew on your skin
utter your deepest desires to my parched soul
crescendo and again and again until the four walls vibrate to shatter
know yourself then let me know you.
and you look at me
with a universe in your eyes
and lift your mouth into
a crescent moon –
this is what it is to feel alive.
i hear what you are saying, i do.
but i do not know
if i can hold it.
i was born so full of water
an ounce more of truth and i may overflow.
musings of a Black, queer and genderqueer activist, educator, musician.