II

 

Super Sad Black Girl

When I’m tired

I bare my bones.

Swallow my own hair.

Recover from my thoughts.

Drown.

Tweak.

Have a fit of human.

Eat myself whole.

Bleed freely.

Suffocate gleefully.

Drown.

Bury this dust.

Amputate my body.

Abandon my mind.

Cry in public.

Want my ugly.

Choke.

Drown.

Tell the truth.

Fall.

Bleed Black.

Swim in my own blood.

Stay free.

Wander.

Feel entitled.

Stay Black

and die.

 

Black Girls from the Future

I dream of purgatory rooms that serve whiskey sours.

I want to slit my wrists—vertical not horizontal—I like to be successful.

This is not something you can say in polite conversation.

Fuck polite conversation.

I belong on the moon. The rat done already bit me. I’m rabid. Beam me up, Sun Ra. Space is the place. Where else can Black girls from the future go?

The future has been around so long it is now the past. Black girls like me—where can we go?

Nowhere.

There are hoodoo women, Mississippi clay & tinctures in my blood. Was born a diviner. Root woman. This is what they called women like me then. This is my inheritance.

We have always toed the line between the fourth dimension & the Other Side. There’s no place for us now.

No one loves a crazy child. On the Other Side, Black girls are free.

 

Inheritance

The knocking in my head was cooked in the womb.

(Mississippi folks say that the remedy

for madness in a child is the mother’s backchat.)

J. F. K.’s brain blasted

from behind the week my mother’s

mother left her newborn shielded

from Chicago winter beside a West Side dumpster.

(The poor girl couldn’t bear the chatter of her family.)

The doctor asks whether it runs in the family.

 

Birthright

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

I’ve spent my whole life running from this birthright.

 

Black Lady Lazarus

Dying is an art and we Black girls do it so well.

Sandra & Korryn & Breonna & Atatiana & Aiyana &

Rekia & Tanisha & Yvette & Miriam & Shelly &

Darnisha & Malissa & Alesia &

Shantel & Shereese & Tarika & Kathryn & Alberta &

Kendra & Natasha & Janisha & Mya & Eleanor &

&&&

 

Dear Crazy

I vacillate between feeling everything

and nothing at all.

If I told you that you’ve won

would you leave me alone?

 

Runaway

My brain taunts me.

It takes twisted satisfaction

in stopping me

in the shower, on the subway.

I’m suicidal more than I’m not.

The silence will kill me if nothing else does.

I’m terrified of people seeing you

and me together,

that they’ll run far,

far away from both of us.

 

Hold On

Sanity is precious.

I highly suggest

holding onto it if one can.

 

Poppies

I dream of leaving a sea of poppies on my bedroom floor.

My light is deteriorating.

There’s nothing

I can do but watch.

 

Insanity

My insanity is

salve and tincture

co-conspirator

conflicted

judge and jury

like a house with

rooms of grandeur

a home away from home

 

In Mourning

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

I’m in constant mourning of my previous self.

 

Land of the Dead

The entry is located after therapy.

Beneath new prescriptions.

Inside small talk at a bar.

Behind hiding all the knives.

Between incessant travel.

In drafts of suicide notes.

I just can’t sit still.

I’ve been thinking of dying.

Right here and now.

 

Separation

I’m sitting in my room

with all the lives I can never have.

“I’m fine” is the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

When the body

separates from the Earth

the first to rush is the blood.

Bitch I’m taking calls,

no small talk.

 

Room

My room is unkempt.

Suicide would be unkind—

a bother. An inconvenience.

I haven’t said goodbye.

I’d have to explain.

It’s up to the living to keep in touch with the dead.

 

Lasting is Not

Lasting is not living. Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living

Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living

Lasting is not living. Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living

Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living

Lasting is not living. Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living

Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living

Lasting is not living. Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living

Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living.

Lasting is not living