Unpacking takes time.
Or more like transitions.
Crest and troughs, they do the most.
Fluctuations during the mission.
And sometimes, I get lost.
I dive into my fears, making waves.
In the concave of my shadows.
Through my deep woes.
To the rotting, unfertilized seeds,
that never got the best of me.
Overwatered with worry.
No peace of mind. No sunshine.
Giving them a proper burial.
Giving them sweet words.
Praying well wishes for the next life.
To my unfurled.
Grieving in my lostness.
Praying in it.
A PMW Post. Join on me on my journaling journey.
I woke up this morning saying,
but maybe I should've said "Stank You."
Cause it turns out it was never good luck.
It was perfect alignment.
It was accepting my assignment.
There were moments that defined it.
And I can't even describe em.
How does a petal describe the warmth of the sun?
That shit was magnificent.
This life is luxurious.
All blessed up
and wrapped up
9 mm caliber
The infinite is the scope.
The divinity is the focus.
You got the power.
You were taken.
You were packed.
You were shipped.
You were ripped.
Away from your Family and home.
In 100s, in 200s, in 300s, in 400s, in 500s, in 600s...
But you were never alone in praying that the nightmare would end.
You were tortured.
You were raped.
You were beaten.
You were named.
You were given religion.
You were brainwashed to believe,
That brown bodies and their seeds,
Are underneath or below what is white,
What is pristine.
They called you animals, then second class.
You weren’t allowed to read.
If you knew anything more than what massa told you so, then you were one slave behaving oddly.
Knowledge was and is punishable.
Deceiving our imported bodies.
Oh, how I can’t imagine someone ripping me away from my momma, or taking my baby from me. And painting me as a monster because I fight so this won’t be. Dragging us to a selling block. Chained up. Bare. No shoes. No socks. No undergarments, no shirt, no pants, no dress, no skirt. In order to show my worth.
Selling this hot commodity.
Selling my imported body.
Picking your fucking cotton.
In the hot fucking sun.
Tending to your farms,
And nursing your daughters and sons.
While our sons and daughters are raped and molested by nasty old men and women.
Their innocence desecrated.
Impregnated. Discarded. Murdered. Whipped. Mass murdered. Shot. Flocked. Tormented. Millions of homicides.
The genocides of our culture, native tongue, history, names.
On the hunt for everything from which we came.
Terrorizing our imported bodies.
We were freed by the thirteenth.
Oh, but once again deceived.
Because no one wants to feed
... thousands of imported black mouths.
So, we were sharecroppers.
In this Deep South.
On the chain gang.
Our genitalia maimed in the name of eugenics.
We can never forget being cheated.
Our cities bombed.
Churches shot up.
Poisoned by lead in water.
And even by what we’re fed.
Shot by the police.
We are stolen.
We are silenced.
We are killed.
By your violence.
By your votes.
We are tired of being told to forget.
We are tired of still seeing this shit.
We tired of the war on black skin.
We tired of defending our innocence.
We are tired of worrying for our children.
We are tired of the justified police killings.
Tired of this planned judiciary system.
Tired of poor, over-tested, educational systems.
Tired of how we’re portrayed in the news.
Tired of our people going missing.
And found with organs missing.
Tie’ed of seeing Good ol’ boys from the good ol’ days. in the house seats. In the legislative, the executive, the judiciary.
Tie’ed of high-interest rates.
Tie’ed of working for you and being underpaid.
We’re over it.
We’re creating our own.
Change is going to come.
Change has came.
Now, we will make you remember these names.
Remember what we did.
Remember how we overcame in spite of your terrorism.
We built this place.
You thought you had us running scared in the night.
But we were guided by northern nights.
Nigga, we made it.
Our lips are a whole mood.
Look at you imitating.
But we've been baptized by the stars.
We have a charge to keep.
We were born fighting.
Now, we're born healing,
Utilizing our feelings for what they are,
The descendants of imported bodies.
“In our ancestors, we trust.”
How blessed we are to have them watching us.
I woke up thinking damn.
Thank you for my dreams.
Thanks for the buck!
I gotta a little buck when things don't feel right.
When the energy is wrong, I gotta take flight.
And follow my light.
Not the fluorescent.
I'm a living blessing.
A natural high.
An overdue trip.
The sunlight and the garden.
The moonlight and the current.
The attractant and the deterrent.
The teaching and the learning.
With a mission.
And if you mean to or inadvertently try to block my vision then I may have to wish
you peace. And still bless you with memories of me.
I try to live a life where my presence is a blessing.
Even in the past tense.
I woke up in an infinite existence.
And I put my feet on the ground.
By some of the flyest energy.
Sometimes, I baffle me.
Talking to myself.
Advising when to jump back
And when to hop in.
My intuition is truly my best friend.
Imma be me.
No need to pretend.
You wake up when you get tired of living a lie.
Feel your emotions, don't let them feel you.
I'm blessed even in my stress.
I mean to live a life full of love.
I won't take any less.
Olutunde Olufemi is bringing you raw emotion in his poem, If Anyone Had a Heart. This work illustrates how unreciprocated love is a hard pill to swallow. Yet, as we know, it is one of many medicines of life. When taken correctly, it will make us stronger. Thank you Olutunde for sharing your words.
We all bear burdens. I do believe that is is part of the human condition. However, it is the way we carry these burdens that affects us the most. Believe in yourself to the point of ascension. Know that no burden can weigh you down unless you allow it. Know that you can cross any troublesome sea. I have faith in you.
Humble is the one who shows respect. And Melica Niccole is just that. Her poem, Respect, is an easy-flowing lesson in poetry history. She highlights many loved writers. Our mothers of the movements, Nikki Giovanni and Maya Angelou, as well as, cherished literature greats such as Edgar Allan Poe. This poem is all about recognizing the people who paved the way before us. May we never forget them as we pave our own. Thank you Melica for honoring them.
What is the nature of love? Does it grow, wilt away, fall from trees, and blow away like leaves? Is it really meant to be? Tish Lauren perfectly portrays the falling out of love experience in her poem, Such is Life. In this life, we have many love experiences, but what we must remember is to learn from each and every one of them ....until we find the love that infinitely blooms. Thank you Tish for your soft words.
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Faith Underwood, Curator
Writer. Poet. Lover.
Childish Gambino - Me And Your Mama