The Genetics of a Stubborn Soul

The last of her name

Creaks back and forth

like a rocking chair

supporting the weight of those sit on her

and catapult themselves forwards and backwards

with reckless abandon.

You can hear her gently snapping under the pressure

but she creaks gracefully

for this is her job

and her place.

She rocks back and forth

she can’t decide between

prevailing or the pain.

Maybe the pain gives her a reason to fight.

Maybe she doesn’t know her own strength.

Her hard work is summed up by the essence of her

Birthed already knowing the flow of how things go

Back and forth young steady girl

Go with the punches

Stay back

Stay alert

and though you may not be ready

swing forward

Prevail

and retreat when you must

A daughter who comes out swinging,

hasn’t fashioned herself a rocking chair

but a throne

made from the same sturdy wood of her mother

crafted with the same indecisiveness.

She stands strong,

and sits in a chair built only for her.

Abandoned all she knew,

but she still has

the genetics of a stubborn soul

engrained into her DNA.

Wake to Wake

It’s been four years since we lost you. Four year of becoming obsessed with death, the unknown, and trying to figure out all of the answers. Of trying to figure out where you went. The truth lies in where you went while you were here, and after you died I retraced all of our steps. You were magic personified. You are magic in spirit. From new years kisses to kissing the ground goodbye on your first flight. I miss you. We all do. All I can do is write about it.

1.

At midnight

during the pitch-black dawn

of a new year

we kissed under a

champagne thunderstorm

to the rumbles of cheers

and feet of beachside dancers

creating waves of memories

that are more fun to ride

than the previous year’s devastation.

2.

At 5AM in the dead of winter

your voice awakens my curiosity

and warms my soul.

I think some of the drunk in your system

shook alive the closed chest of spontaneity in my heart.

12 hours and 3 planes later I know what

your idea of adventure entails.

I let Colorado take me.

Five months later,

I find sand and seashells in the crux of your smile.

We become sailors of the eastern seaboard,

surfing above the crowd on the benches of bar booths.

3.

At 11:59PM,

while drowning under blankets

in the humidity of southern comfort

and in the darkest depths of doubt

my heart capsizes.

Various phone calls replay in my mind

like a symphony of broken records.

Somewhere during your voyage

you’ve abandoned ship.

All I can do is wade in the wake

of your spirit,

and try to hold onto what

remains of you.

I just wish I had one more chance

to say goodnight, darling.

My body, the fortress

Previously published in On Being in Your Body's A Collection of Narratives

My body, the fortress.

My body, the protector of my heart

The structure of my bones

The vessel in which my brain controls

My body

The comforter

The way my fat rests upon itself

In times of sleep

The way it spreads across my sheets

Like a satellite in a pitch black ocean

Of stars and other bodies that shine

Like mine

And other cosmic entities

That twirl around the sun

Like mine

And other masses

Too big for minds to truly comprehend

Like mine

My body, the canvas

Decorated with scars from innocence

Scars from hatred

Scars of stretching beyond my means

Whatever that means

My body, the putty

That you thought you could take your calloused hands to

And mold it into whatever you wanted me to be

Skinny

Dainty

Pure

But the thing about my body

Is that it can bounce back

To whatever form it wanted to take

Melting into its own

My body, the kingdom

Ruler of energy

Commander of passion

Controller of wherever I go

The vessel of my cells

The cells that keep me alive

My body, the forgiver

Of all the mean things my brain said

My body, the encompassing

Of all things wholesome and toxic

My body,

My black, fat, beautiful body

Standing tall

Standing proud

With fists that punch out unwanted spotlights

And feet to stomp out hatred

My body, my home

My body

Mine.

Den Mother

Den mother

Always carries the men who can’t carry themselves 

The same men who shudder at being anything close to her size 

Den mother 

Broad shouldered 

Thick breasted 

Head back

Voice shaking

A sea of pastel tears on a mourning gown of black

Gift giver

She had this gorgeous set of wings one of her suitors gawked at

After getting her to let him try them on

She gingerly placed them on his back

For him to only complain that they didn’t fit perfectly 

Fight breaker 

All is not fair in love and war

Innocent people die

And fathers don’t come home for what feels like centuries in a child’s eyes

when he does return

Veins soaked in Heineken 

Blood leaving his heart and

Going straight to his eyes 

His daughters inner battles have already been fought

and she's lost every last one 

The only reason she’s still standing

Is because she thought she had a home to return to

But instead came to realize that that mirage 

Dried up with the rest of the fresh drinking water 

Den mother 

Gift giver

Fight breaker

Weeping angel 

Hardened daughter

To a coward father 

And unregistered nurse 

To a broken lover

Desperate dancer 

Fat shaking 

Where letting loose

Breaks down her armor 

Glittering hero

Glittering hero 

Or are those ashes? 

Probably ashes.

If I couldn't fail

What would I do if I could not fail?

A question so loaded yet so simple.

I let it swish throughout my cheeks

Engulfing my teeth

Finally resting on the bed that is my tongue

What would I do if I could not fail?

For starters I would name every single star and memorize every single chart

So when I go to map out my dreams there are a million infinite ways to get there.

Build a launchpad in my bedroom as small as the mousepad on my computer.

And rocket into any location I see fit

You see, when I name all of those stars

The lightyears between each still exist

And the void is just as scary

But at least i'll land somewhere familiar.

I’ll name them after my ambitions -

Creative Director

Poet

Whole human being

#1 Dog Mom

Free

When the horoscopes have rearranged to only tell the stories of my infinite futures

I will hand over all of the alternate realities to the children behind me

What I’ve put into the universe will become my last will and testament

Passing on hope to generations and generations to come

So if I die before those stars explode

I want the passion in those tiny hearts

To cause a cosmic disruption

A anomaly of sorts that David Bowie would be proud of

If I could do anything in the world and could not fail

I would make it rain glitter

Just to show that even the most mundane aspects of your life can shine.

If I could do anything in the world and could not fail

I would put a black woman in office

So the most hated demographic in the world

Can lead the most hated country

And finally the country may have someone in office they can relate to.

At least the part of this country that somewhat makes sense.

If I could do anything and could not fail

I would look you right in the fucking face

And tell you I’ve wanted to kiss you for the longest fucking time

And not have you be weird about it.

If I could do anything in the fucking world and could not fail

I would make everyone understand

That Black, Indigenous, Latinx and Trans lives mattering doesn’t make your fucking life matter less

If I could do anything in the world and could not fail

I would wrap all the beauty in the world

That her God created

And put it in a box and

Give it to my mother

And tell her this is how much I love you

If I could do anything in the world and not fail

No one would be hungry

No one would be scared of their fathers

Or their lovers

Or have abusers in any shape or form

If I could do anything in the world and could not fail

I would love myself

With enough passion to just get off

On the fact that I am alive

If I could do anything and could not fail. . .

I’d do this life over and over and over again

Until every memory is tattooed on my skin with scars

And ink

And kisses from puppies and lovers

Until I ultimately fail

To breathe again.

Hey, Chicago

Chicago,

I can’t tell you how to love me.

I can’t tell me how to love me.

I know that Atlanta

Feels different than Bonaventure

Feels different than Brooklyn

Feels different than you

Yet you still hug my skin just as tight.

The lake.

It feels like an ocean.

Cradling skipping stones

And sailing boats

And drifters.

Holding gazes as they surf down Lakeshore drive.

Holding me from 47th to Museum Campus.

I wonder if anyone in Michigan is looking back at me

Feeling the same thing.

Chicago.

I haven’t been inside of you long enough to

Feel your rhythm.

I can’t tell if we’re moving in sync enough

To make one of us sing,

But I can feel myself on the verge of exploding

See you stole me away from every place that I loved at once

And though I went willingly it still hurt.

My home is empty

The dust has settled

The doubt has nestled its way into my bed

The air is quiet

My soul, it withers

My loneliness trembles while it grows

Oh how it grows

My friends, they haunt me

My lovers, they ghost me

I bury my ashes under my mattress

At the office

In the lake

On North Michigan

In the back of the bus

In wishes of plane tickets and carry-on luggage

Sailing 30,000 ft somewhere.

From up there,

Full lives are turned into flickering lights

Dancing across my retinas.

Skylines become God’s playthings.

Chicago.

I can’t tell you how to love me.

But I can tell you

That you’re helping me learn

How to love myself.