Wild

She's only twelve
But according to you
"Oh, she must be fucking"
"She's fast"
"She's wild"
"She's going to end up with a child".
But she's twelve.
"She better stop wearing them tight clothes".
But they're just shorts and a t shirt.
"She needs to go in the PILL!"
A child who is the victim of all the world's ills.
"Stop walking like that around these men."
But she's twelve.
And those particular men are the ones who to need make amends to their sickness and their sins.

Black little girls aren't fast and asking for sexual attention just because they're undergoing a biological process.
Black little girls don't control how quick or late they get their period and it doesn't have shit to do with them wanting to be touched on.
Black little girls deserve autonomy over their own minds and bodies
Black little girls aren't trying to be "grown" because according to you, she developed too early.
Stop molesting black little girls
Stop calling them wild for developing breasts
Stop calling them fast because their hips are widening
Stop assuming that they're ready because they're releasing eggs at ten.
Stop fearing black girl bodies
Stop treating them like ticking time bomb baby making machines
And start treating black little girls like rain drops of ingenuity and the creative minds of the world.
Start teaching them to clothe their minds with knowledge
Instead of commenting on how big their little butts are getting at twelve.

And how they're "filling out".
Stop treating them like they were born to be just a wet hole for somebody
Simply because they have vaginas
And two x chromosomes
Black little girls are little girls
Black little girls are innocent
They are intuitive
They know when they're being preyed upon
But just too scared to cry out because way too often there is nobody to come save them.
Because they "asked for it"
Because black little girls are really grown women in small bodies and underdeveloped minds.
Because they are told that they're liars
Or asked what were you wearing?
Or looked down upon while they say "you probably liked it"
Or that's what happens when you act fresh.
All she did was smile
And even that is enough reason to think that a black little girl is asking to get raped.
At 5. 10. 11 and 12.
Black little girls aren't fast, easy, or wild at 12.
The community is. The world is. And we can't see it.

PROTECT BLACK GIRLS.

Blood Rose

The color of our passion deepens

As we lay in each other's arms

One thousand moments since the day we met.

It is the dried scars from the times we've cut into each other's flesh with our words 

Harming each other's souls as if we were swift razor blades dancing to the tune of sweet melancholy

They say love is one inch away from hate

But how many times did we love anyway in spite of our war? 

What is really hate when your touch feels so good?

What is really love?

Perhaps it is a blood rose.

Beautiful from our wounds that paint it red.

The magic of us existing with occasional sacrifices of each other at the altar.

Every one of our tear-drops falling onto delicate, crimson petals.

The flower, revealing its desire to protect itself from us and the world through thorns.

But who protects us from ourselves?

Untitled Short Poem

Depression creeps up on you like a sudden sickness
Nothing to look forward to except my bed
Dishes need to be washed.
Food needs to be cooked.
Floor needs to be vacuumed.
Laundry needs to be done.
But I will let them go for one more day
Because my energy is trapped inside my own head.
Me battling myself to get up and cook a descent meal for myself.
But do I even deserve a descent meal?
Do I deserve anything?
Chained to my covers and to the darkness.
Sometimes tears fall.
Should I just end it all?

DAMN

Damn.
There she is.
The woman who could love you in ways that I couldn't.
The one to take you to the heights during your life journey
And the one to endure all the storms and your lows.
She has become the keeper of your treasure
Your heart
And here I am.
Watching you take her hand as she floats down the isle like a majestic swan.
Enveloped in white
Blushing with embers falling from her cheeks
As she stares at you.
Beautiful.
All have come to worship her, including you.
And I stare; painfully at the view.
Your hand stretched out to her.
Singing her praises like a hymn to a goddess.
It should've been me.
But yet here I am.
Outside of the tabernacle of life.
Eyes bloodshot from jealously.
Face somber from heartbreak.
Body aching to be loved and caressed by wedding vows.
Holding back tears.
Biting my tongue to feel the pain of it, in order to avoid feeling the pain forming in my chest.
Soul emptying
Skin cold and longing to be warmed by somebody's fire
Constantly searching but never finding
Finding something but always searching
Fingerprints left from past lives with you.
Now becoming erased and forever forgotten.
I have become a shadow to your new star.
And to think that it was going to be me.
It was never meant for us to be.
I wish, I wasn't the one who was wrong.