Flowing Like Milk and Honey

Words don't escape me, I let them out silky and smooth like warm honey…

We hold hands and clutch
tight with our fingers sweaty and
in the delicious fear
of being caught
at first love’s kiss
that risk of wanting a taste of my
cherry-glossed lips
draws you in closer
and my heart races not only
at the warm smell of your skin and not because
soon people will begin to pass our corner
wanting their few moments alone
with the risk of first love’s kiss
but because I am ready
to test my technique
(practiced on the soft side of my fisted hand)

I think you hesitate in want of
someone seeing you steal
the sweetness from me
pride in boys is tempting
but the silver-braced smile
and the sweet smell of my cherry lip-gloss
are too much for you
and you lean in
and kiss me
with the swiftness
of a moment
turned memory
and the risk becomes
the worth
of a first love


It’s the year of the light-skinned!
No wait,
the era of the dark-skinned!
let’s all agree that Black has always been
Your recent pride does not make it…
Black is not a trend
and cannot be emulated or retroactively acquired
by anyone.
Though, acknowledge that my attire and hair IS

Thank God and Glory for your Black beauty,
ladies and gentlemen
my melanin and your melanin
both kissed by the same sun
our varying degrees are shades of love
made by sunlight and
an open sky
raise that face to mother Sun
so that everything in nature can see
we too are the flowers
blooming in a rainbow
of brown beauty
burnt umber,
and all the shades in between.
I am so blessed
that Black
is beautiful.


I am not
without understanding.
I need you to know that.
I begin to speak and you don’t
You say, you see me. See, that’s
the thing with you visually
audio impotents.
You see me
but you don’t hear me.
I’m speaking words so deep and proving my point so clear
that if this conversation was the Atlantic Ocean,
I’d be the light shining within the
Mariana Trench
and you’d be
the shadow of a child’s
plastic sailboat.
Conversely lacking the stimulation
that I need.
You say that you see me
and you smile
and I smile
and I pretend that what you say is intelligent
and funny
and that the sound of your voice
isn’t like a hum of a refrigerator.
So that when I speak
you’ll listen and not be afraid
of the depth of what I really have to say
I’m not a vision, I’m the visionary.
I’m not a joke, I’m the belly rumbling
I am all of the thoughts
and expressions
At the bare minimum,
a woman’s essence.
So, don’t be afraid of what I say
when I answer
what you ask.
You see, I’ve been
waiting to be heard,
to be understood.


before we lost
our senses
our humanity
our purpose in life
we read books
and shared thoughts
and discussed our differences
we learned to acknowledge
and tolerate
the things that made us
a beautiful mosaic
created by
blessed by
loved by God

the importance of what we are
became the significance of what we could be
and instead of dwelling
on irrelevant details
and differences
in worship
and thought
and love
we had everything
our senses
our humanity
our purpose in life

one day, I hope to believe we
were and are
not irrelevant
beasts like other animals
soon to be extinct


I take a knee in
protest just as we would in prayer.
But what do you want me to
pray for?
The very thing
that I should be guaranteed,
the very thing
that was promised by birth?
The commonality
of us?
How you are simply
descendent from the
ancestors you share with
the cousins you stole
and sold
and humiliated
and dehumanized
so that you could sell
your soul?
No, I refuse to feel
irrelevent simply
because you are insignificant
in your understanding
of why
my blackness can’t be irrelevant
to society?


Sometimes I succumb
to the lullaby of Saturday evening
with everything to do
and time to do it
but no desire to move beyond
the few feet of comfort
that being at peace
with no agenda
or alarm clock
but still rising before
and napping by noon
reading Coates and Kendi
and listening to Jill and Anthony
while my mind
makes lists
and sends warnings
of how these lazy moments
will create a very hectic Sunday afternoon
with everything to do
and no time to do
but for now, I succumb
to the laziness
that fives me peace


I once wanted you close enough
to touch
close enough to intertwine myself
and your heart
and our love

but now I overwhelm myself with
tasks and responsibilities
typical garden variety protective gear,
mimicking nature like
thorns on a honey locust

Still I blossom as needed
so that others can admire the beauty
but not get too close
what beauty?
all I see are thorns
that grow out of a mutual
tell me more and see
how insecurity is fertile

Our distance comforts me
the silence and unspoken disdain
flows like a breeze through bare branches
and fells the leaves
and caresses the thorns

It is easy to say the things
that we want to feel
a closeness that hopefully sheds
the fear,
the protective gear
the thorns on a honey locust tree



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