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A Black Woman's Hair (writer unknown)

Women of other ethnicities,
their hair falls by nature.

It drops, and drapes, and hangs loosely,
But a Black woman’s hair rises by nature
It blossoms against the current of life.At its best, it swirls and spins like the earth,
or the sun –
a supernova of sublimity and strength.


And like any other heavenly body,
a Black woman’s natural hair demands nothing less than orbit:
total praise from every physical thing within her influence,
all revolving around her omnipotence –
instinctively, humbly, and altogether.

Whether dynamically drifting,
or stationary and rooted,
every living thing that finds itself before a Black woman’s natural hair is designed to stare and wonder.

- Writer Unknown




Recent posts

Hero Worship

The air is thin And the landing narrow, Up, on the dizzying heights, Where we set our heroes.
There, gusty winds Neither hold brief Nor relief As they threaten to Humble all things that elevate themselves.
When like prayers We've offered flattery On altars of unrealistic expectations And our heroes, like golden calves, Glisten with pride, Know this, There surely is a reckoning When they come tumbling down.
We were the mob at the foot of the mountain Elevating them in adulation
We are the mob at the foot of the mountain Now shouting CRUCIFY HIM, CRUCIFY HIM, CRUCIFY HIM



Bats at 37

When bats at 37 take to flight, At a quarter past four Or, whatever time Accra heralds the night,

When bats at 37 take to flight, For me, there's not a more beautiful sight Of creatures, imagined or real, That lay claim to these glorious skies.

When bats at 37 take to flight, With fevered screeches that punctuate the night When by sheer numbers they darken the skies And, below, people of a superstitious disposition Can not be bothered, I am reminded that, Given enough time all things cease to be strange.

When bats at 37 take to flight, Devoid of vibrant plumes unlike most things that fly, Rising like Legion and the hordes of hell, In defiance of extermination attempts, Above the Hospital in elusive figurativeness, Haphazardly, in sync, over constipated traffic There is not a doubt who owns the peppered night.

When bats at 37 take to flight;

They Don't Teach us how to Grieve

They don't teach young men How to grieve.

Be a man, Stand strong, Men don't cry, They say.
That's how we are made.
Somewhere, There's a conveyor belt Constantly chucking out Boys, with pent-up toxic emotions, Shoulders hunched under the weight of society's expectations.
There's a piece of wood in my mouth I bite hard on it praying I don't black out As I saw off another weakness I saw in the mirror.
Something about Better to enter the Kingdom With one arm...
I don't know...
A brother died today,

Introspection

Beneath this mask,
a world of
Warped realities.

Old Sins
Now Black holes
Pull hard
on my days.

I've been
With my thoughts
Far too long

Introspection is exhausting...

Introspection is exhausting... — Yung Likes (@elidot) August 25, 2017




Dreams Deferred

I'm sore, from
Climbing against
The gradient of
My desires.

Dreams deferred
for a reality
forged by a society
lacking imagination.

I ache,
I need somewhere to place my tired.

*****July 31, 2017*****






I need somewhere to place my tired — A (@poetra_asantewa) July 31, 2017


Hoping

The gates to your heart
Have grown small
From years of pain
And betrayal.

Everyday,
I stand behind them
And hand you a piece of me

Hoping,
That at the other side
You are putting me together
Beside you

Not
Feeding the tasty morsels of me
To the beast
That pain conjured
To protect you
from the likes of me.

*****July 4, 2017*****