moonshine

mama moon is workin' me somethin fierce...

she forces my tears, pushes me to feel the pain inflicted by the ignorance and insensitivity of the world, while illuminating who we truly are...

who we could still be
if we would only open our eyes. wide.

i almost threw myself back under the covers today.

but...no.

not even amid whispers and shouts of...

you brown, so you down, but hide your love from me. i don't wanna see its face.

you betta learn to slap that girl to make her mind.

yeah. i'm fked up. but that's just me, tho. i'll deal with it. whatchu mean i gotta think about how my pain affects the planet's energy? fk outta here. i'm aight. i'm aight.

mama africa is the source of EVERYTHING! ...except that.

stop bein so grown. who you think you is? hmph. you ain't special.

if you gotta drop of tha blood, you gotta be all black everything. all day. all the time. everywhere in the world. but you gotta be black like THIS, tho.  that other shit don't count.

always actin like yo daddy.

why can't you/they/he/she just deal with it?

i'll take rest,
but silence is too much.

we're still caught in this matrix of face saving and half truth telling.

of intellectualizing with no heart or spirit.

of keeping women locked in prisons of queendom and false righteousness.

of keeping men frozen in their own despair.

of keeping everyone between the binary invisible. 

of obsessing over lack and sex acts, blocking visions of abundance and variety.

we are microcosms
of the universe
if we are not healed
our mother will remain angry
and broken.

there is beauty in the struggle
in the ugly
in the figuring out
in the inbetween
...but only if we live unadulterated truth.

shackles do not only surround the feet and mind
they can lock down the heart and spirit.
or have you forgotten?

are you stuck somewhere,
heart still in chains,
afraid to grow, 
afraid to see?

why?
why?
why?

for kings, soldiers, babas, brothas and lions

dedicated to the fall of tkon

i have become
everything you've asked of me:

my hair is coiled
into beautiful roots...
i wear bright colors
long skirts
geles
the copper bangles you like.

feed the babies vegetables and fruits
i grow with my own hands
and watch us all glow.

but you complain
if i cry;
deny my reason
if i reveal my heart.
i know the stories of our african kings just as you do
{i overlook your dismissal of the queens,
but whisper their stories to our daughter...}

no one cries for my deferred dreams
not even me...
maybe i need to release those backed up tears
when i hear a beautiful poem
or song
or when you hold me
...if you hold me.

i cannot help who i am.

is there a reason your heart
must remain locked away?

i love your mind,
but i also know you have a soul.
i glimpsed it when our daughter was born,
when our son took his first steps.

i'd like to get to know it.
but it never emerges for me.

because of the struggle.
because the people's pain trumps our own.
because i can take it.
because you're "over it."
because
because
because...

i have become
everything you've asked of me.

but you never asked me
to be
myself.