but the truth is life
ain't easy.
Struggle precedes categorization.
It is universally human and it
ain't easy.
Frail and penetrable,
the flesh buckles and cries, 'It
ain't easy.'
Heed sage biblical advice.
Be of the Spirit though knowing being a Christian
ain't easy
either.
The Things We Do
The things we do
for men
to love us.
We transform ourselves –
repeatedly and unsuccessfully.
Transparent incarnations of men’s desires.
The whole while praying
that our devotion satiates their
insatiable fantasies and realities.
The things we do
for men
to love us.
From inception, we are taught
to forsake and to sacrifice.
For men.
Indoctrination that boasts
feeding men’s appetites for food and sex
guarantees their love.
For that love!
Oh, the things we do
for men!
We neglect
ourselves. Our God.
Our children.
We make men the priority.
Worship their beings and relinquish
our babies.
Regrettably, the things we do
for men
to love us.
We open our legs. Wide. Give what’s inside:
our femininity, our soul, our peace of mind.
Savagely, we thrust and grind.
But, there is no crime, no sinuous fault
in carnivorous pleasing. Unless
it devours one’s soul.
My God, the things we do
for men
to love us ...
We, we women, are taught invisibility.
Unaware that we should be acknowledged.
That we – within ourselves – are worthy.
Ignorantly seeking love in the darkest recesses
of insanity.
Finding neither love nor ourselves.
The things we do
for men.
To love. Us.
In March
In March, I was born –
barely escaped being April’s fool.
In March, I celebrated womanhood
in honor of National Women’s Month.
In March, I found love
in my eighteenth year.
In March, I found love again
in my thirtieth year.
In March, my father
died.
In March, I wore Dunbar’s mask
to smile through the pain.
In March, I transformed
from a child into a woman. All ...
In March.
I Love You
During childhood years of playing
Jacks, UNO, hopscotch and Connect 4,
The thought of boys turned us girls into blaring sirens:
“Ewwwww!” We proclaimed with great disdain.
For everyone knew that boys had cooties.
Yet, something about you illuminated. Before I could comprehend it,
my heart sang –
I love you.
I still remember the date and the place:
March twelfth. Two blocks from Carrollton and Canal Streets.
Beneath the cool shade of aging maple trees,
You kissed me – a teen apprehensive about her first kiss.
Warmed by your embrace and the silk of your tongue,
my body murmured,
I love you.
My quivering chin betrayed me.
Tears streamed forward, I could not believe you deceived me.
Your love was mine alone until I learned that it was not.
From shock to rage to anger to hate, you disappointed me.
We changed. Life changed. You returned ... love returned with you.
Forgiveness – I learned its meaning for all that we have been through,
