Give me a shout out if ya hear me, ladies! I know you know
how it feels to have him crush you into the pavement
with his words and his anger, only to scrape you
like something he accidentally stepped in
scrape you off the bottom of his boot. Your innate value (you have it)
is pummeled by the metaphorical butt of his gun, yes, it is. Well, okay
there doesn’t have to be violence, I know. It could just be the way
he knits his brows together into an impatient frown, or taps
his feet into the dance of frustration, or the way he seems to nearly run
away from you when you only wanted to say hello. You feel me?
You got me? He’s got time for you
like you got a voice to answer back. No, it ain’t true. No voice on you.
Sister, I hear you choking through the smiles and the Yes, Sirs
and the Of Courses, and the I’ll Get It Right Aways. I hear you puking
up your rage and up your power and whoosh it goes
straight down the vortex of thelootheheadthejohn. The Head, The John
I never thought about those words before, have you?
My wish, from the first time I used my lungs to trumpet the advent of Me,
to this moment when I cringe in the revelation that I am swallowing
that isn’t good for me –
my wish has always been this: Stand beside me.
No need for toe to toe, don’t want no towering over, ain’t got the time
for nose to nose, just stand beside me. We could,
pay homage to those blurry little lines that bleed on the page
until words form the perfect picture of yin and yang. My wish?
To honor you, to honor me.