Poem Jan 3

It took three years to sweat you out
To rid myself of the poison I took for you
I never imagined that I would every be back here
crawling back to you
begging for forgiveness

At this point I thought
I'd be happier
Freer
Or dead.
And none of that happened.
Instead, I'm stifled again
While you smother me
While I smother you
As I stifle your happiness
your freedom
as you wish for death.

You begged me to never come back
You never dreamed that I would be so foolish
As to crawl back to you
After getting rid of my poison
for three years

May 5th

To the Beckys and Brads who say fuck common sense and black feelings

It is not a paper towel,
Nor is it a tissue.
I am not a painting in a museum
Nor am I a sheep in a petting zoo.
My strands are not down for a pillow.
It is my hair.
That grows from my scalp.
For you to treat it any other way
Is Disrespectful

The brown expanse that stretches over fat, muscle, and bone
Is not chocolate
You will not eat it
Or lick it
Or caress it.
WE are not lovers
My skin, for everything it holds in, the cracks and bumps it showcases, is not for your consumption
For you to act any other way
Is Ridiculous

My eyes have seen a lot
My mind has endured so much
I have so much more personal growth in my path.
I do not have time to facilitate your personal growth as well.
Just because you didn't learn it in school, or you forgot
Does not mean it is my job to elevate you.
I am no ones mother, or Mamie. 
I have nieces and nephews to elevate before I even consider helping you.
We are adults
And just because your privilege keeps you sheltered, does not mean I am out of pocket when I tell you you are wrong.
For you to act any other way
Is Insulting.

Personally, I am done.
I have no more patience to devote to the cause of comforting Caucasians. Today, I start looking out for number one. This is your warning.

April 24

Cut open my stomach
Thighs
Arms and breast
Scrape out the sadness
Self loathing, hurt feelings
Make myself new
And staple myself shut