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I grew up hating the word vagina. The idea of menstruation was repulsive And I was taught to keep my legs shut Because my clit was inherently sinful And the blood was too horrifying to acknowledge.
I believe in people. I believe in the shuffle of feet To accomodate peers on the bus. I believe in the baristas Who leave art in their lattes. I believe in the man dancing down the sidewalk
Inspired by Imagination by Phyllis Wheatley. I wrote this for a class. It connect the struggles of people of color of the past to people of color today. I modeled it after Wheatley's poem in form.
I dream of something that should already be done. I dream of bonds like the red tent. Solidarity between womyn. Because when we were property that our fathers could sell, And our blood was dirty,
I’d forgotten how to breathe without you, my lung crutchMy shiny exotic lung crutchMany gazed upon us greenly,and you fit so well
How do you say freedom in a language you can understand?Freedom from a bondage foreign to my warrior heartWe are a goddess forged by hips that would break you
I am not African American, I am not Caucasian, I am not Asian, And I sure as hell am not other. I’m just human. But, where is that box I can check? The bubble I can circle in?