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Poetry

  Hey guess what. I’m gonna dream out loud and if you don’t like the sound you can stuff those sausage fingers in your ears and roll. I’m something. You said otherwise. I’m something. I am. I am. I will be. You had a meaty mouth and big ideas, but I was a skinny little girl near the mile marker of a hot asphalt trail up in rich land where the white people grew poison-free tomatoes in their back yards and venomous grass out front I used to sprint past

Before I ever dreamed of not pleasing my father (and this was before his hair turned gray, although he tells it otherwise) I filled hours imagining the ways I was better, superior to my sisters, mother, all others who could not dream the way I dreamed of being Daddy’s favorite –the golden child The Unmarred, The Worthy. I am none of those kinds of child I am no longer child, golden, unmarred or otherwise. I have, with great reluctance, accepted my position of adult, mother, Woman. My dreams now revolve

In my once upon a time, I wore a veil cloaked myself from dangers handed down, family history. Swaddled in soft cloth, layers upon layers my spirit- winterized. This behavior snowballed beyond its season. You can’t winterize yourself against Summer’s sun. Smoked out, nature-burnt the layers peeled away without guilt and I lay swathed not in madness. The veil: a metaphor of humility, protection, of freedom. But I was never free as the day I threw my veil in the sun, cast off my history and staked claim to a

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