Stolen Life (Skyra Rideaux- Carencro, LA)

You don’t even know me
brown skinned little boy from a mother’s womb
you came one day unexpectedly
like I was supposed to love you on purpose
I hated you on sight
smiling at me some kinda nice
like that will fix the ruin
you caused my life
crying when I should be smiling,
laughing when I should be crying,
hair piling in the trash-mans open palm when it should be the essence of my beauty
scarring my insides with your changes and turns,
scarring my outsides with your shape of your head
and then marring me on my most feminine parts
expecting me to love you on purpose.
don’t you know that you were bred on a sheet that was burned with blood
from a boy who didn’t know what he took
walked away with part of me still clinging to his dick and denied my innocence on a bible in his mother’s house
now here you come in the time it takes to mourn
expecting me to love you on purpose
It’s impossible to steal
what was always meant to be yours in the first place
funny, because you aint mine
I stole you from the hospital
covered in my sacrificial juices
in a blue camisole marked baby.
sitting here in my favorite earrings trying to understand why I got to be the one to suffer your midnight cries
when it’s me who died the night you were conceived.
you don’t even know me
brown skinned little boy from a mother’s womb
you came one day expecting me to love you on purpose

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

The Peculiar New Room (Nick Perere - Baton Rouge, LA)

A peculiar fourth room has appeared in my three bedroom abode. High ceilings Higher than any ceiling in the house Perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls The largest window one can imagine Stretching from floor to ceiling Wide as an ocean’s horizon Revealing the lushest greenery and the bluest skies. I am meant to show masterpieces here. But in one of the corners o f the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls i s an ugly patch of dirt. Dirt darker than charred coal. And the dirt is crawling And multiplying. With their spindly legs and dangly antennae Vermin covered in filth and willingly ready to spread their germs Scuffing the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls. But I have to move on, I have a gallery to exhibit. Smile and act as if nothing is wrong. Come. Enjoy the show. Enjoy the artwork hanging Upon the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls.

Search This Blog