We are not your maids anymore
we are not why you lock up your store
Not your gardeners
not your mechanics
Not your border-hopping, job-stealing fanatics,
Not your microagressions
or your racist misconceptions,
your oppressive lies
or your stereotypes
We are not
The color of our skin
or our “inherited sin”
Your compliance with violence
Will not lead us to silence
For this will be the last time you can take what’s mine
For this will be the last time you can tell me “I’m fine”
“Post-racial America” yet there goes another
Matando Armando, your sister, your brother
Shot dead to the ground, Locked up in the pound
You look all around yet only our love is to be found
Category Archives: Poetry
Never Be Completed – Brooke Safferman
Somewhere between
The spaces of my fingers
And the regions of my heart that
You and I like to pretend do not exist
Are filled up by the emotions that
I never knew a person could possibly
Feel.
Give me a smile,
A nod of approval,
And I will give you
Anything you want.
A touch, a glance, a sign of encouragement
You are the unattainable dieting goal;
So insatiable, yet I know I must cut back.
Back away,
Somewhere off into the distant land of
Pretend
We used to know the things about each other
That most people would deny but
Let’s be honest – cutting the crap was always your style.
Without you,
I am a piece to a puzzle that will
Never be completed.
And without you,
I am always left
wanting more.
Overdose – Alexandra Mayer
The sun drizzled into the sea–
a meeting like butterfly kisses.
Soaked in gold,
you curled your fingers into mine
and we wandered into the sky.
And I remembered when
Apollo stole turquoise from the swell
to craft your aster eyes
And promised me
a life like Spanish guitar
and raspberries.
I’ll smear them on my lips
So I can taste like summertime.
And I’ll let my heels char by the stars.
Or maybe, I’ll fall into your soul
And find
Unkempt hair and dandelions.
I love you.
Atleast, I think, I could.
Now, Sleep won’t follow, so
I walk on words.
The moon carves into my chest.
I’m nothing, but hummingbirds.
I feel like 2:00 am
Crumbling into morning,
Laughing at all the tragedy that makes you cry.
Light leaks in through the blinds.
The stale and yellowing map sighs.
The universe swells in the gap between your teeth.
And I believe in feeling.
Like cigarette burns and crimson.
Like fuck yes, I’m conscious.
Like atoms dripping from your aster eyes.
I used to dance on tombstones.
Now, I’m almost alive.
Overdose – Alexandra Mayer
The sun drizzled into the sea–
a meeting like butterfly kisses.
Soaked in gold,
you curled your fingers into mine
and we wandered into the sky.
And I remembered when
Apollo stole turquoise from the swell
to craft your aster eyes
And promised me
a life like Spanish guitar
and raspberries.
I’ll smear them on my lips
So I can taste like summertime.
And I’ll let my heels char by the stars.
Or maybe, I’ll fall into your soul
And find
Unkempt hair and dandelions.
I love you.
Atleast, I think, I could.
Now, Sleep won’t follow, so
I walk on words.
The moon carves into my chest.
I’m nothing, but hummingbirds.
I feel like 2:00 am
Crumbling into morning,
Laughing at all the tragedy that makes you cry.
Light leaks in through the blinds.
The stale and yellowing map sighs.
The universe swells in the gap between your teeth.
And I believe in feeling.
Like cigarette burns and crimson.
Like fuck yes, I’m conscious.
Like atoms dripping from your aster eyes.
I used to dance on tombstones.
Now, I’m almost alive.
Overdose – Alexandra Mayer
The sun drizzled into the sea–
a meeting like butterfly kisses.
Soaked in gold,
you curled your fingers into mine
and we wandered into the sky.
And I remembered when
Apollo stole turquoise from the swell
to craft your aster eyes
And promised me
a life like Spanish guitar
and raspberries.
I’ll smear them on my lips
So I can taste like summertime.
And I’ll let my heels char by the stars.
Or maybe, I’ll fall into your soul
And find
Unkempt hair and dandelions.
I love you.
Atleast, I think, I could.
Now, Sleep won’t follow, so
I walk on words.
The moon carves into my chest.
I’m nothing, but hummingbirds.
I feel like 2:00 am
Crumbling into morning,
Laughing at all the tragedy that makes you cry.
Light leaks in through the blinds.
The stale and yellowing map sighs.
The universe swells in the gap between your teeth.
And I believe in feeling.
Like cigarette burns and crimson.
Like fuck yes, I’m conscious.
Like atoms dripping from your aster eyes.
I used to dance on tombstones.
Now, I’m almost alive.
Heavy Breathing – Iman Messado
My siblings and I have the habit of breathing heavily.
We inhale the dirt, the foliage, the pebbles in the moor with a single exhale,
(never mind the pesky case of asthma that we all seem to share)
and exhale the North wind, the starry night and the cloudless summer sky.
Our lungs must take up at least 83% of our bodies,
stratocumulus clouds and bunches of hydrangeas were pressed up against
our tracheas and primary bronchi.
When my sister speaks,
it’s with rays of sunshine peeking between her teeth.
She tends to talk rather loudly,
but I attribute that to her trying to be heard over the chirping of North African black birds.
Her knees are as knobby as a giraffe’s and her eyes are as clear as a doe’s.
However, she walks with the gait of a lioness,
and would rather inhale your fear then exhale defeat.
I have two brothers,
both are thin and gangly with limbs like birch wood branches or
a new born gazelle with awkward limbs and an ambition that could rival
that of a bird learning to master the air underneath its wings.
The older one breathes slowly and deeply.
He would inhale a scarab beetle as carefully as he would a baleen whale.
His exhales would spread across West African deserts and European tundras,
kissing nightingales and billy goats to sleep.
He doesn’t know of frantic cries nor hyperventilating,
his lungs are made of the same stuff as the mountains in South America.
The younger one is reminiscent of a rabbit,
young and small and rapid.
He breathes in lilypads and peonies and sparks of ember.
He breathes in harried words and furrowed brows and nervous feet.
He breathes in flicking tails and hurricanes and lightning bolts.
He exhales the rushing waves of the Pacific ocean.
My lungs are weak and I can only breathe in as much as I can imagine.
Sometimes, my mind is too large for my lungs.
I’ve got daisies and marshes and valleys and wombats and thunderstorms in mind.
I’m ready to exhale Atlantis, Paradise lost and the Second Coming.
Let me a breathe a little heavier.
Our Own Fairy Tale – Brooke Safferman
snowflakes
or something like
i
c
i
c
l
e
s
Drip down my arms, clinging to my veins,
Like it’s only a matter of time before they melt away.
In a place where time doesn’t exist,
In a world where reality doesn’t conform,
We can be whomever we want.
Once upon a time,
I was the ice queen, but you were the fire-breathing dragon
Frozen walls melted, its blocks floating into
happy little puddles of Sunlight
before my very eyes.
You can be the Unicorn; I’ll be the Fairy.
Let the Wicked Witch say what She wants,
But we will always write
Our own fairy tale.
The Story of a Girl – Ugonma Ubani-Ebere
Look forward, don’t be a distraction.
Pull down your skirt, you’ll be a fatal attraction.
Don’t eat too much, your waist will show satisfaction
Don’t be aggressive, be gentle and meek.
Don’t be too ambitious, because the men will freak.
Don’t look up to Mrs. Clinton or Mrs. Obama, because they are anomalies
Look up to Kim Kardashian, that’s a female prodigy
You will always be smart, but don’t appear intelligent
Act like you need a man, don’t act negligent
Remember to act feminine, but don’t be a feminist.
Be a lady, don’t do too much.
Shhhh….don’t be so loud. Bring your voice down to a hush.
Use your body, don’t use your brain?
You want to be a CEO? Have you gone insane?
Never stand up to a man.
Your goal is to be married, do you understand?
See that girl over there? Size her up, that’s your competition.
You can never be as good as a man, because the world made that decision.
Hair, nails, makeup must be done to precision.
Find a man with money, so you don’t have to work
Just take care of the kids, and know the difference between a dinner and salad fork.
Be careful and don’t have too many male partners.
1 or 2 will do, but after that you can’t go any farther.
Only men can have sexual conquests, but if you did prepare to face the consequence.
Slut, whore, home-wrecker just to name a few.
Now you know, so don’t say I never warned you.
Be submissive, let a man be a man.
Let him take charge, weaken yourself as much as you can.
Know your place in society, because you got it made
You could be living in a country where women’s rights are a blockade.
Ever since we have been little girls, this has been etched into our psyche
That this is a man’s world, and we are just renting the space, ever so lightly.
But forget what you just read, and remember that a man’s world would not have been possible without a woman’s womb.
There used to be great rulers like Queen Elizabeth, and Nefertiti and Cleopatra who are still etched fabulously in their tombs.
Forget the rules of society, and be who you want to be
Don’t feed into the patriarchal negativity.
Run with the boys, leave your hair a mess.
Wear shorts or jeans, if you don’t feel like wearing a skirt or a dress
Study harder, then graduate top of your class as the very best
Show the world that you can!
And never apologize for not being a man
Always keep striving, and never ever stop.
Surpass all the boys and men, and do what you can to reach the top.
Never apologize for wanting to be seen as an equal.
If they tell you that your story will end because you are too ambitious, too feminist, too independent, or too unstoppable.
Remind them that you are a girl, then write your own sequel.
The story will never end, no matter how hard society tries to break you down.
So sit up straight, or slouch, cross or open your legs, do as you please
But never forget your invisible crown.
You are a queen, but this is not a fairy tale, or some romantic movie to make your toes curl.
This is the true life story of being a girl.
Mother, sister, girlfriend, wife, or daughter
No matter the title, it is up to you to be the author.
there is nothing quite like the sound of I love you – Brooke Safferman
There is nothing quite like the sound of “I love you”;
So much promise in three little words
Yet not once did you even endeavor to prove them.
They are placeholders, conversation-starters ways to pass the awkward silences.
Words like band-aids, like a cherry lollipop after getting a shot;
The sound of your sweet little vows, lies or otherwise,
Somehow undo the damage that has already been done.
So I take your hand and I smile
Because there is so much security
In never having to believe a thing.
With you, I am safe in my euphoric world of denial
And with you, I have found my home in never having to expect sincerity.
There is nothing quite like the sound of “I love you”.
Just in Case – Ugonma Ubani-Ebere
In case you didn’t know, someone loves you.
In case you didn’t know, someone values you.
In case you didn’t know, someone adores you.
In case you didn’t know, someone depends on you.
In case you didn’t know, you are special.
In case you didn’t know, you are needed.
In case you didn’t know, you are wanted.
In case you didn’t know, you are important
In case you didn’t know, I appreciate you.
In case you didn’t know, I support you.
In case you didn’t know, I admire you.
In case you didn’t know, I am inspired by you.
Just in case you didn’t know how important you are to the universe, I thought I’d let you know.
I thought I’d let you know, just in case.
Inkling 