It’s an uncomfortable truth
Seen when blood rolls on thigh
Or when metal horses pry one open
In the depths of some Black girl’s remembrance
Behind back alleys. . .gospel shacks. . .curtains. . .bed stains. . .extended hands. . .first dates. . .chance encounters. . .brushes of skin. . .kisses in the right place. . .generous smiles. . .or snarls
that prelude words like “bitch”, “faggot” and “cunt”
It becomes all too redundant
That most of the men we know, are rapist.
It Would Be Nice
It would be nice
to feel that fear
That small tremble inside of me when you lean in, real close-like.
Or the way the tension in your shoulders melts after a long sigh
And for whatever reason, I would love to see you angry
Or listen to your bad days
Watch you study some written text
Of feel you hands touch my waist as you rest your head on my shoulder and mumble some reassurance or sex speak
Talking about something you wish to do
It would be nice to be with you.