womanifestation.

There is irony.

Blessed under heat of stung palms,

Red and beating like goat skin prized it,

This should not surprise us again.

Woven in breaths taken, not swallowed,

I will not take the venom in,

I will not make my melanin lose faith in itself,

I will not pretend to accept that women

Are treated as any flesh of yours,

Barren your days will be,

Shrivelling spines with brittle bones,

there is no going back

for me.

I will not be part of your colony,

Naming ceremonies,

and semblances of freedom,

Hold your own flag,

call it what you want,

Chant your songs,

Beat your drums,

Fall in love

With the call of your own voice-

Over and over again,

Folding, falling back on itself-

Over and over again,

Sleep with your own echoes

every black night in your beds,

but

this?

This is my end.

here.


© 2010 Arielle John