My eyes met the Sun and we rose Crack the sun-kissed knuckles Sink hand to waist Handful of tattered tee Raise above head it plummets to familiar floor Skin exposed Eye-fingers inspect Know every
She is a noose still soiled with rotting chips of bloody skin She is the floor freshly mopped for the wrong man to stand on She is a maze a lion’s lair and a labyrinth She is the prize in the
I will not write this poem to you againYet this will not be the final timeWhite men refuse to keep their handsLanguageGodCurrencyBiasTo themselvesHow is that different from yesterdayNot everyoneBut a
Silence your first languageWho taught you this tongue?Taught your spirit to dumb downTo fit with these bite sized american syllablesWhy do you not resent it?The oppressor on your tongueSqueezing a
Poetry does a terrible job of making us forgetAnd soThis will not be a poem aboutThe pedophile who raped my student The mental illness that took my motherOrThe emotionless vacuum that breathed
