words was shut off from me
they can be so
for tongues not ready
or hold them.
and what a gift that is-
that which might seek to hold you hard.
accountable to it.
words is weapons.
i’ve been a marksman-
surveyed and hunted many.
but i found they make stronger tools
in for my garden.
so i speak to the flowers i got
and whisper to the succulents.
i get close because sometimes they hard of hearing
an’ we tell each other stories
an’ scheme on how to make tea that taste like candy from roots.
an’ we make promises in moonlight
if this be a garden, then let it grow out strong
with deep roots
and greener greens cause i need to remember things.
purple mysteries and little confusion other than what we find to be a decent amount.
an’ benches for fatigue, hair braiding, and small talk.
if this gonna be a garden then let’s make it some place we like to sit.
i hoped those words might bring just as much to it as any water would.
an’ somedays when i listen real close-
and look even closer
i can hear them all, the plants and such, singing-
above and under ground.
they help me remember what language i speak
an’ i find words that was lost.
ah woulda screamed if the seas wasn’t so deep
if mah throat was held
if ah mahself had thought to treat ah better.
an’ da many white hands shoulda signaled somethin’
shoulda told me what darkness dere was
but often we don’t see things as clearly as we should till they have passed.
we don’t declare danger until the hydra has been summoned and all an all emcompassing fear has taken hold.
ah wanna be close to somethin
in blue and yellows
royal purples too
an dat desire has led me ta dungeons
an here ah lie
cold and scared
- rescued by witches but still lost in sickness.
i throw up
the infintie sorrow that has led me here
the pills, vapor, saddness, anger, neglect, an’ so on
an’ watch it dissappear into itself- swirling down.
an’ ah speak promises of no return- cast spells bigger than mah ability an’ hold to the hope dat one day seekin’ open beds won’t be tramatic.
an’ hold to the hope dat ah can more comfortable
navigate the sea
move past bad magic an’ be on mah own dreamt up shore.
wat feels nice
an’ mighty easy
is wat is felt in skin kissed on by sun.
an’ words held from palm to tongue.
what moves meta two-steppin’
is low hums,
and kind words.
unloved an’ dat moves mah insides ta a place of sorrow
an’ mean spirit.
ah been stuck in a rage an’ mud-
strugglin ta move.
but ah couldn’t under de pressure
of the thousand hurt.
an’ ah had ta sit,
think though thoughts
an’ find wat de next movement meant
In taking pieces of mah life-
in de very attemptin of suicide
dere is something
A lesson to be had:
time makes warlocks stronger lovers
it turns us up to be seen
examined in light
an’ made new
an’ ah glad
that even ah can possess that magic.
i was very conscious in mah choice to spend the night with with you
cause i coulda been in mah own bed- where monsters only come out if i want them too an’ flowers is paths to places i kept locked in mah mind an’ i can roll around in mah own sheets cause they’re mine and i like owning them that way.
but yes, i was very conscious in that choice.
cause its a delicate thing to lay with someone an’ hear them breath- listen to their being caught between worlds of different makings an’ observe the movements their chest makes, an’ wonder about where they are- if your lips are there with them, or if they’re happy constructing universes
i did that, i made mah choice. an’ i is glad that that night was us
cause it was a new moon- an’ i had water out for intention, an’ mah room wasn’t as clean as i like it to be on the beginning of a new cycle, an’ mah heart still needs to process but i is glad for us. cause we started this new cycle digging up dirt, an’ planting seeds, an’ drinking whiskey an’ playin cards. mhmm. we did.
White folks are forever trying to call the police. Girl I’m just liberating this succulant from your Berkeley hell. Over it. She just mad the summer coming and she ain’t got any melenin. this hateful hoe talking about how she bout to call the police to come check this out- what the hell we need to check out?! A brother getting a succulent?!
good day hefer, especially since i spent about 5 minutes trying to tell her that her homegirl (the white womyn accross the street who planted these shits) told me i could stop and take one whenever because they’re community plants.
thats why i took the damn plant and rode off shouting “STOP trying to privatize plants!”
she got some nerve! See, thats the whiteness: she doesn’t even know what it means to have the police called on you as a Black person- she doesn’t know they could roll up shoot me and keep it moving- they could roll up arrest me and keep moving- they could roll up and beat me and keep moving.
Because this is a racist ass fascist ass state that gives privilege to fucks like her, who have the luxury of days off from work and quaint houses in Berkeley. Raids, arrests, terrorism, police murders etc… are not a reality for her so of course she will just call the police for no damn reason without even trying to communicate properly with me. Part of her privilege is that blindness, the other part is the entitlement and the socialization that tells her she’s in charge of the universe and can come out of a house to order me to stop my bliss when im not even in her yard.
i have no time for the whiteness.
these fotos warm mah he(ART) and spirit. they is a set of images from a collaboration between mahself- moon (she who takes the fotos and made the jewelry featured in it.) and a new friend tasha (who loves to beat a face.) they is pretty fierce to me and their work deserves some showing. ah am happy to be able to help showcase it. if you’d lak to get in contact with these two for anythang (make up: help/ advise/ work, handmade jewelry, or some professional images taken) you can reach them here:
accessories by “lunar hustle”
( http://www.etsy.com/shop/LunarHustle )
make up by: