There, there, no more

In the wake of the official election results, I decided to channel my energy into my writing. I don’t even know what to call this, a poem, a rant, a promise? I don’t know, but it’s a living, breathing thing. It is the opposite of how I feel at this moment.

However, it is my truth.

We have stood naked, goosebumps pimpling our bared flesh. A sight that was beheld while it was never the intention for the mongrels to ever truly see us.

Shhhhhh, we were told when we were raped into submission.

We got on the boat.

Shhhhhh, we were told that we had to let White women’s pups thrive over our own.

Not even the same breast could be used for ours to suckle. 

Shhhhhh, we were told as alligators chewed our babies like chum.

Git, nah girl, to the auction block you go.

Shhhhhh, we became twisted, laid upon our sons, so our horror could pay for your tinsel and finery

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, swallow your sorrow into the long dark night you precious goose, you. Keep your tears, we’ll take your eggs. 

There, there, now, for Jesus hears you. He shall certainly give you the best place…when you die. 

Come now you bitches black as night with less respect than the kennel,

show up.

Nurse us mammy I got a boo boo,

someone said I whistled at them,

save me,

no one makes cracklin bread like you,

how ever, do you get your hog maws to taste so good?

Rise up earlier,

tote that water faster,

cake walk happier,

cinch our waistlines,

tell us were pretty,

toe that line even tighter,

silk press or naps,

whichever do you prefer?

What you mean you want more,

aren’t you the 1st aint that enough?

More degrees, more perfection, more!

Will that be one lumps or two that you need from our overly supple backsides, you know we got ass for days,

do you want one large payout or annuity for our apologies for turning your sons into strange fruit

what can we say we was hungry.

Goldilocks been in my house long before Breonna Taylor. 

There, there, now you shall sit with the King of Kings… when you die.

Yall picking at a carcass but still won’t us be. Bones ground down to ash, yet you scoff. 

Let it go, how? As you still chain us to your every want and desire. 

Like unleavened bread, we’ve risen and risen and risen and risen 

Yall a lil’ too comfortable to keep killing the phoenix.

Welele, for you now are on the threshing floor. 

My gooseflesh shall be from rage. 

Armor is now my adornment.

Only way I wanna see Jesus is if he’s handing me a sword. 

There, there?

Fuck yo’ comfort.

There, there, no more.