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🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

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Church Doors

The doors

To this church

Are now open.

To love

To prayer

To people

Who only mean well.

They will never be open

To hate.

At least, they aren’t supposed to.

I wonder if people

Have any idea

How exhausting it is

To keep watch

On watch nights.

Black folk

Have been doing this

So forgive us

If right now

We don’t have

The space to mourn

Your pews too.

It’s always amazing

How grace is

Expected

From the people

Who don’t have

Anymore left to give.

[womb360-blog]

2/22/2017

I had a dream about you And when I woke up The first thing I said Was I dreamt a poem. I dreamt a dream I never had before And it was beautiful. I remember your lips most How kisses like feathers Gave me goosebumps How lips so smooth And wet Felt under my thumb. nips on necks Eyes closed And hearts wide open I didn’t mean to. To leave it Unguarded. I remember your face But your lips kept my attention I didn’t know what to do But I wanted everything from them. The words they utter. The breaths you give. I already know what breathtaking feels like. I keep imagining My fingertips just touching you. Just laying down Comfort I’ve never felt In the most magical brown skin I’ve ever allowed to touch me back. So eager to explore But I’m new to this. I don’t know how To say that because of you My dreams are real. -I don’t know how to keep going on this poem.

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“Hostage”

The words hold me hostage.

over and over and over again. 

I must write to set my self free.

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What do we call this?

Would we call this a freestyle In text form. Just going through some thoughts. Am I enough Are we enough. What are we then? I've been told to go deeper But any deeper And I'll lose. Myself. I only skim the surface Because of the comfort. I can float. What do we do when we sink And we can't swim Out of our thoughts. I'm scared of getting Lost in translation Out at sea With nobody but me. I may not be able To rescue myself. At least I might be free.

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#TuesdayMotivation #SorryNotSorry

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The. Villagers

We are known For this. For this untouchable Unattainable strength. Sometimes we are vilified But they don't realize There is truth to the word. What don't kill us Makes us stronger. And we are strong enough To mourn. To feel pain. To cry. It takes a strength unknown To let yourself go. To remember it's ok To remember that this This hurt Is ok. We are our own villages. And still It takes a village of us. To thrive. You are here. You are resilient. You are strength embodied. We are here. We are resilient. We are strength embodied. Strength Is She. S.I.S We it.

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To the T *Late night freewrite*

Sometimes I just wanna write you Love notes Because you deserve them. Just wanna to send you A text to tell you How beautiful you are To me. Sometimes I just want to Let my fingers do the talking. Actually, Love. Ever since I saw your wings I've wondered how your feathers Would feel under these tips. These hips. These lips. Whether you would allow me To trace you. To draw you with my nails. To create art with these Hands. I see you with my heart But I feel you with my soul. And I just want to see how freeing an actual touch could be. I want to see what freedom tastes like.

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Black Magic Woman

Mama

@roseography

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How?

I am not surprised. I am angry. How do you put rage into words? There’s a burning hatred. And I’m trying not to burn myself. To the police. Fuck you. To the silent ones. Fuck you. To the system. Fuck you. To the ppl Who can’t fathom Why we are becoming Who were meant to be. Fuck you. We are warriors. We are magic. We are strength. We are unforgiving. We remember. We see you. We are your downfall. The more you kill us. The more you awaken us. I am not here for white tears. I am here for the revolution. We have nothing to lose But our chains. We are already losing our lives.

[womb360-blog]

Release

I have been bursting. It took me a while to realize I am the poem I’ve been trying To write Mourning memories I can’t seem to remember. Bursting with words I don’t have Breathe girl. Exhale those thoughts Finding pain I never lost My body is a piece. I’ve been stumbling Over all these writer’s Blocks. If my pen would’ve just Picked me up sooner I could’ve had something To put back together A word or 2 Or 3 For me. I am a living poem. The way my eyes see Feelings And the way my ears hear pain I am this haiku. Yet to be written.

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So this Black Tumblr Follow Train?

Like, this needs to get going.

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Lynch.

Another free write.

My head is hot. My throat is sore. My heart is hurting. Sometimes I’ll ride In my car Not realizing I’m driving And I’ll watch the trees. I wonder if they Pass on the pain That they may have held To passerbys. Southern Trees Are singing In the southern breeze. They no longer swing It reminds them of the people. Man made swing sets Man. Made. Swing. Sets. I used to wonder if death And southern trees Greeted each other like old friends. I hope that the trees Handled their involuntary Burdens with care. I hope that lynched men Women Girls Boys We’re rocked to sleep I hope their souls wished away Like leaves falling As the seasons change. I hope that Nature showed more humanity To my people Than humans.

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Knowing.

Another free write after watching 13 reasons why. Haiku.

I used to be like That girl Hannah was. Still am. Lying just helps me

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Ungodly

I just finished watching 13 reasons why. This is a free write. Just writing what I feel.

I don’t think there’s anything Godly About a nothing That’s excruciatingly painful. Where it stems from the heart And you can’t remember Whether it broke recently Or if it’s always been that way. There’s nothing Godly about Realizing that everybody Doesn’t feel empty Like you do. That it’s not common. Or that it’s more prevalent Than any other emotion You’ve ever been acquainted. Depression That old familiar. Like a black cat To a witch My sidekick Comes with extreme lows And pain that Spreads out of my pores Like smoke billowing From a California wildfire. I don’t understand How a God Could create something So hauntingly hollow. Maybe I’m ungodly. Or maybe I’m alive.

Barely.

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NMAAHC

I visited the #NMAAHC yesterday. I can't get rid of the pain I felt in that museum. My last few poems and probably the next few will be me trying to work through these emotions. ...anyway here's a haiku. 

 Memories never 

Forget the pain hidden in 

your great grandma's heart.

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❤️❤️

little natural beauties