Calm After the Storm

my heart has stopped racing
breathing now requires little effort again
and my chest no longer has that throbbing ache
hugs don't hurt anymore
especially when it's his arms that are around me
I even find myself drawing more and more into his warmth
while before I couldn't bear another's touch
no matter the sincerity behind it
I used to believe that falling in love created such a thrill
that it hurt so good
an earthquake that tore through your heart
shattering everything negative
thunder rolling through the hills
shaking trees to their core
such destruction was a beautiful mess
but I've realized that this kind of falling in love
only leaves nasty scars
and have learned to turn my mistakes into art
so when people ask about them
I call them tattoos
this was how I thought I was in love with someone
you let them tear through your heart and they leave behind tattoos
but this time my heart isn't experiencing such turbulence
is this wrong?
do I not love him?
but it's moments like when I am curled up next to him
my face buried deep into the crook of his neck
his arms draped over me like a blanket over a sleeping child
or when we're asleep and he pulls me into him
such a calmness melts inside of me
this is a different kind of love.

The Revolution

Out of the huts of history’s shame

I rise

Up from a past that’s rooted in pain

I rise

I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

                                              --Dr. Maya Angelou

Like the phoenix we rise

Out of Blackened ashes 

A new nation, a new people

With sun-kissed skin strong like coffee

And hair defying the white man's gravity

Our backs no longer bearing white burdens

But carrying our fallen young brothers and sisters with us

As we fly into a world of our own

We speak their names

Say his name: Trayvon

Say her name: Aiyana

Say his name: Michael

Say her name: Renisha

Say his name: Tamir

We speak all of their names

So they will not be forgotten 

But the white man is trying to keep us down
Tearing our wings right out of our backs
Ms. Simone said southern trees were bearing strange fruit
I didn't know what she meant until I saw them too
The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice
Suddenly meant something totally new
Using our Black skin for target practice
First it was our men and then our babies
Now we have to watch our backs as we kneel before God on Sundays

Negroes--Sweet and docile,

Meek, humble, and kind:

Beware the day--

They change their minds.

And we will rise

We will rise.

Metamorphosis

I am full.

Full of doubt, anguish, confusion, sadness, disappointment, anger, grief.
I am broken.

And so like a wounded animal I immerse into myself
Separated from the rest of the world
Treating my wounds with ink 
Rediscovering freedom
Removing all of the ugliness
And painting a masterpiece of bleeding colors.


When the time is right,
I will emerge 
Magnificent and beautiful.

I will be free.

Flashback Friday: Self-Portrait as 16-Year-Old Phoenix

This poem is about three years old. At that time I was going through major changes, so the image of a phoenix was simply perfect to describe that. Enjoy!

She scorns her reflection,

frowning at the girl locked in the

glass. Angry at the creature she has

become, with a swift movement of

her small hands ignites her skin, the

bright red flames climbing up her fingertips.

Her arms, legs, and feet immediately

crumble from the slight bite of the flames,

falling to ashes all around her. They engulf her

dark shirt, instantly turning it to embers. The

incandescent blaze crawls up her neck, encompassing

her face, leaving nothing behind. They lick

through her long hair, marring its beauty and

transforming it into black soot. All that is

left are the ashes where she stood. Then, the

ashes soften and become moist, forming

a pair of feet. Slowly, the dampened ashes

knit and fasten the new flesh of the rest

of her body. They converge and form

two almond-shaped eyes, a slim pair of lips,

a small rounded nose, and small hairs

falling over each other, creating thin dark

eyebrows. The wet ashes rise up to the top

of her head and braid fiery red strands

of hair down past her shoulders. A smile

crawls upon her face, for she has finally

eradicated the beast she had become.