Day 4

Safiyah Abisola Suara

My four year old Nigerian cousin

from Tennessee

is

a trouble maker of a willbe woman

I make a point to let her know

how beautifully Black she is

"I love

you

I love

Your chocolate face

I love

Your chocolate

everything

Your skin is sweet

Like you,

most of the time,

on good days....

when you aren't being bad"

She repeats the good parts

back to me

She is in her sponge faze

I am in my redemption one

Praying that

I can do anything

to prevent her from enduring

the same pain as the

notlightenough Blackgirl

that is still throwing shadows

on my skin has

She is only four

but

her mother has already taught her

that there's a difference

between colors and people

She has been taught that

to do anything attaching

them to each other

is the equivalent of a curse

Safiyah lives in Tennessee

Tennessee of hiatus and brooding beauty

a place I have gone for peace

a place that has taught me on rides

cutting through Mississippi

What it means to be Bl---

to be African American in this country

Or even to be an

African American

visiting Safiyah

playing in a baseball park with my brother

The first time either of us

have ever heard

any form of the word

"nigger"

hurled

at us

in the curve ball way

of derogatory meaning

One day

she will have to learn

what it means to be

a no longer

"Black" woman

in America,

which I must be,

Woman

the title she attaches to me

she says

simply

because of the size of my breasts

and the role

of a nuturer

she gives to me

when she is visiting

late nights

and cant sleep

or on long rides

around

my cities

when thats all she can do

She will learn

in ways that I can't teach her

When she grows up like me

and begins to drive

she will realize

The difference between

African American and Black

What it might mean to be either in Tennessee

Or even worse,

that

beyond its borders

and rigid boundries

Tennessee encompasses

alot more of the world

than we would want or

bother

to think

Day 3 (late, I'm sloppy but I come bearing gifts, longwinded ones of course)

Longwood&Muirkirk

1.
12:30 am
Longwood & MuirkirK
The parts of Maryland
Ade would say shouldn’t exist
barely do
because they can’t be driven through,
look like a joke for driving through

Parts of P.G County
no where near where
I was born
too far from blackness and
D.arker C.orners
I have adapted myself to

Would still look
Strange and longwinded
by daylight
But it doesn’t matter
because its dark here
and unfortunately
So am I

2.

The irony of
my recent paranoia
around police and
the fact that they are
the only ones that can help me
makes stomach acids burn
the roof of my mouth
Hoping to get rid of
any left over home food
seeping through any of my pores
hinting at my Africanness

In my stark realization of
race relations in Maryland
Being Black is one thing
But Nigerians have an
unbreakable pride
from the structures
on West African maps
constructed by a white man
allowing them to exhibit a pride
tied to Whiteness too

And pride,
snaps a lot louder
under the weight of racism
Perfect for sadist
looking to get
a kick out of something

And it's 12:30 in the morning

3.
The Black woman on the telephone sends
Three officers
Three
white
officers
All
White,
White,
White
Male
All White Male officers

Relief is mixed with sweat
Blaming itself for the
nerve to be attention calling
to smell like fresh blood
Like unbroken blood
Like countries situated
on the Motherland's map
as a left ovary
as everything vital
What some call
The trigger on Africa’s
gun

Sweat smells like
Perspiration on
a leather wallet
from the trigger of Africa’s gun
Blaming itself
for having the nerve to be attention calling
for bearing the name of a
23-year-old Guinean immigrant
in New York City
Born near the trigger of Africa’s gun

Blaming itself for being magnetic
to flying lead
Blaming itself for being magnetic
too much like metals that make guns
Blaming itself for being too magnetic
and not magnetic enough
to protect someone
from a police officer
to protect the world
from the realizations
about race relations
that would be brought forth
in its aftermath

4.

I had the nerve to call them to me
to wear my Muslimness
So proudly
So secretly
headscarf vs. Hijab
had never been an issue of ethnicity

Tonight I hope I picked the right one
and that looking “Afrocentric”
is not worse
than being clearly Muslim

Hoping cultural ambiguity will
not reveal the insecurities
and that if it does
they will be the pitiful kind
not the kind worth preying on

Hoping that its not worse to be
a joke of a Muslim
Black
(maybe, but hopefully not clearly African)
woman
Than it is to be incredibly Black

Or that it is better to be a
clearly confused
Black woman than
a proud
African
Muslim one

A dark face
and a Muslim name

A Nigerian
dark face
wondering if it would be
better to look more Black instead
and the name
Murktarat
Parallels
A dark face
A Guinean dark face
that may have been better off
looking more Black instead
and the name
Amadou
More than I am willing
to bear

5.

As if he can’t see the fear
I have made sure
to put in my eyes,
Hoping blatant weakness
is pitiful and not the kind
worth preying on,
I have never begged so much for
a police to follow me
or wanted one to
or been made to feel safer by ones presence

Irony is rude and obnoxious
she is un-lady like
loud and never subtle
and tonight is no exception

I had the nerve to call them
to me
Keeping enemies close
this close and being vulnerable
They can’t hurt you
can hurt you more
Can hurt you
in more ways than one

My pride is in my stomach
Acids burning
In my head
My pride,
placed
My life
placed in hands
that have been trained
to make it easy
to kill anyone like me
With or with out action
Cuz my pride killed itself
for the greater good
has turned itself to searches for pity
that will let them win
pretending there was actually ever choice
I really just need to make it home tonight

6.

I am no Sean Bell
no Amadou
in more ways than one
(my story will not end the same)
And I have no wife or child
but the mother I have been married to
and the movement I am giving birth to
If I die in this ditch of a city tonight
it will be impossible
to make it on your nightly news

If my name had less of a cacophony of syllables
and I was fairer
I would not have
been scared enough to call the cops
knowing I own this
would only call them
to make use of my tax dollars

Meanwhile,
me, myself
I cannot be sure
how long my mother
has been legal enough
to file her taxes
So I can assume
I am not owed shit

Meanwhile none of this can matter
I am not fairer
I am a Black woman
wishing I had less African feature,
that I didn’t wear them so proudly
Knowing that it wouldn’t be this way
Had I chosen not to

Had I chosen to show some disgust through
bleached skin or unnatural hair
amused them enough
to stick around longer
I wouldn’t have had to beg them to do their job
But dangling is a different kind of fear
Plus,
who knows when my mother
started paying her tax dollars

He
doesn’t care either
Everything he needs to know
about me is written
on my person
and my driver’s license

In uninhabitable parts of
the nations richest Black county
Being a Black woman
scared of a police officer
who probably voted for Obama
The only thing
I can thank God for
at this point
is that
I wasn’t born
a
Black
Man

Ask about...

Bianca Davies tho...
one of my/the Seven Sisters
she is everything
but you can find out for yourself
on the 30/30 grind as well

http://beeayedee.blogspot.com/

and APPARENTLY
Ade is using this blog for her 30/30
not the clothingone.. yea it makes a lot more sense

www.jourmeansclouds.blogspot.com

and Safi is still doing the daayum thang thang.

www.oddballsdontbounce.blogspot.com

yea... i love my womanses..

Day 2

64

’04-‘05

If I remember, clearly
I remember you
Violent and volatile
Everything I wanted
to get myself into

So I hopped on
student ID and all
$1.35-transit-money-swag in my step
when I had to

First year of high school
first time I ever gave into numbness
You probably met me
for the first time at night
I know you met me in darkness

In stillness,
at a time when
everything was nothing.
When darkness
on a late bus home with no excuse
didn’t speed my heartbeats
Barely moved my brain to conjure
up an explanation as to why
I was on my way home so late

We met in stillness,
numbness,
darkness.
But in passing
You were a point of transition
A transit point
You have always been
You still are
But back then I was moving ,
running too fast to see it
Running too much off at the mouth

Montgomery Village
is a place of fascination
for a young girl with
too much speed in her step
Not enough in her heart

Just moving into
her 1st real neighborhood,
HOA and all
Trying so immensely hard
to reclaim things she never had,
never lost,
never needed

Looking
for reasons
she still doesn’t know,
to gain things
she still doesn’t have

Big mouthed
3X Tee’d and Sweat Panted out
Buoyant banter about
how little it would take
to fuck a bitch up
I don’t know
who soaked who in
who was sitting in who
I just know we were both
running away from
where we had been
Seemingly in circles
And whenever
I got off
you always came
just in time
for me to get on again

Next time sleek and sexy
with as much self loathing
As could fit into
that special pair of jeans

Fickle,
dried, and empty
As slim as a
5’10 170 lb girl
could be in tight jeans
tight eyes
and a tight grip
on loose morals
Sin in my step,
it was easy

To be beautiful
and broodingly obnoxious
Riding you
Like my sister said
I couldn’t
‘Cuz I wasn’t allowed
to go to the Village like I did
looking for boyfriends
whose total
would add up to zero,
would mean nothing

Still
I stayed
She died
And with
no one to draw me
away from you
I left

You came back
You always came back

’06-‘07

Junior year
Met me
in a less nice neighborhood
In a different location
I’m in a different place now
We were not as cordial
I stop pretending not to know you now
It has been sometime

1st day of school
I think you may have left me,
purposefully
6:00 am outside, cold, and waiting
To get me back for leaving
Or maybe
my behavioral eating disorder figure,
gallantly wrapped in perfect attire
new sense of passion,
new fervor
For how they say life should be lived,
Cashier job,
and stack of AP textbooks
was too much for you to hold
And you didn’t want to disappoint me

But you came back,
eventually
Like you always do.

When Moms got remarried for the 1st time,
trying to fill a void
And left me behind
You were there to pick me up
And dropped me off in neighborhoods
actually in my school district

I let you see me hurt in the worst ways,
On days when I didn’t sleep,
didn’t eat, or ate too much
Even on days
when it was too much to handle,
and you passed me by,
you always found it in you
to come back
On schedule,
most of the time

That year my ego found itself
shifting under the threat
of kids younger than me
You sitting in me
Both of us became heavier
under the weight of carrying
I got weak
tried to fall
In love with a self and another
Both distant
Both failed at
Found a nomad complex
Lost my house
And kept (it) moving
To say,
“Im leaving again,
but I’ll be back,
I’ll always come back”

2008

Some many houses later
I came back,
like I said I would
This time
With a car and
my foot drawn to
and change now for
gas
for moving quickly
As I have gotten accustomed to

I live in the Village now
in the location that made us meet

You came back
In darkness,
the same place where I met you
Evening being
the only times I could catch you,
in passing,
could lose you
Always one of us
chasing the other
Not saying anything
But keeping it a lot more real
than when we didn’t see each other

The booming thunder in your throat
And the silent hum of my engine
Said everything
The stirring loco.motion of us both now
Revealed what movement had made us
How crazy moving made me
Moving,
neither of us keeping up with each other
But you did catch me,
eventually

Senior spring marked
love through poetry for us
Properly picking up
where you used to drop me off
In your sentimentality
remembering how you shuffled me
through school districts
You shuffled me to D.istricts of C.onsciousness

Bringing culture towards country
Black to Africa
it was only proper
you took me deeper into the same place
I was looking for before

Sitting in you again
with stillness,
Stale stillness of settling
within myself
Finding myself not being too far after all
Having never been lost
Newness in ancient, stillness
Keeping love somewhere distant
on my list of places to get to
Having already been there
Having been being there
So present searching would have been
superfluous,
the old, not ancient, me

Summer
You truly became a sanctuary
Summer nights
if I met you I’d thank God
I would be home on time
You led me on journeys
to recognizing
my ancestry,
my divinity
in ways many wont want to believe in
to understand

No one can stand
the sight of a healing woman
like you can
‘Cuz you know how much I’ve earned it


(Its) 2009

I left again,
came back like I always have
Back with none of the same things
you sent me off to college with,
and yet…

Trying to pretend I never left,
that you’ve stood still
but you’ve grown a little bourgeoisie
like how I found out the hard way
that you don’t use transfers anymore

They say you don’t know
what you’ve got ‘til its gone
I didn’t get it till I saw you leaving today

How you transitioned girls
from the hoodest parts of the suburbs,
the only ones
in their neighborhoods renting
and only ones
that actually had to use the bus
To a place where they were not
the outcasts of in betweens

Transitioned me into a place
I could learn to love
a place I am still discovering

Transitioned me
from falling in love
writing poems inside you
to falling in love with poems
to write you into

Recently taking rides in you
I have seen my mother
shine a different shade
No one could ever stand
the sight of a healing woman like you
Remarried a 2nd time
she is not leaving me behind,
emotionally,
or physically this time
Connecticut will be some different
types of rides away
A different type of keeping it moving
I wont be back
the same way
We may only meet again,
in passing

I could tell you
that I will remember you,
and you will heal from everything
we have had
And that if you lose yourself
you will come back
Like you always do
Like you always have

But this is not a love poem
And I cannot be sentimental
about a bus and how much
of this ride it has taken me en route to

Day 1

( I won't complain about how the dopeness & artisticness of the way
I wrote this and made art out of words on paper got ruined because its a blogspot...
nope nope I won't)

Ode To My Future Ex. Lover

To my, would be, future
Ex Lover:

Something is telling me to write you foreal,
for once

For times
When I remember
But fearful you might know I’ve gotten good at this

I am teaching myself to remember
Once again
That I have, by fault
Failure,

Or fruition of
first loving self
Forgotten
once
Before

Today,
I am nothing
Existing as
Nothing worthy of being called nothing
An illusion you will soon forget

You
Will soon forget
Because I have been cursed with asking you to do so
You
Love
Too
Much

Today I am nothing
existing in
what will be,
what has been
I have been
I
half past
been

Praying
to the day that will make me nothing

To the:
“We have met once before”
Sounding like
Predicting the future
Speaking it into existence
And in all its redundancy
Forcing you to wonder
Why it took you so long
To talk
To speak
Like this,

Silently

The way I want to ask you
If I still exist
in the silent swish
of your closing eyelids
Eyelashes
in the silent movement of new thoughts,
Whose curling ways
Hint:--
Everything cyclic
Say,
“Come back, you’ve been here before”
to prove I never left
The way I want to

The way I want to ask you
If I still exist

in the moments
your aren’t afraid
to dream anymore

Would you
Breathe
a little
Faster
(Faster)

Remember our mess
the mess we’ve made
the mess we’ll make
think a little less

Love cant hold you
Loving you
knowing you

Wont delve years into the future and hold her tighter

Wont love you,
knowing this is the last time
you will find her like this way
see her this way

This way
This

And don’t
And don’t
And don’t

Daydream
And don’t daydream
Stop repeating
Repeating
Repeating is
Is
Is is
Remembering
Like cycles

when you deserve to forget me
or your head wont stop spinning
Spinning
spinning cycles
so don’t daydream
on mornings when
coffee is hot
and not making up for nights that are not

You’ve loved me before
You will remember
how forgetful you once were
how forgettable you are not
How you are not forgetting
or even remembering that I told you

On mornings when you will have
nothing,
ask for….

On morning when you will have
nothing more to ask for
But will want to,
to forget,
remember
that you have lost something

Only reminiscing on me vaguely
and I am
all
but the
illusion you have made and
miss
wanting
to forget

Torment,
Yes…
it looks

Like
……………………This

A man
with an anachronistic gaze in his spirit

Sipping deep coffee
That’s not
enough reflecting
of
mirroring lights of love in his eyes
and seems
to
not match up to

the beauty of his daydreams

he misses wanting to forget

Even
still it
sits like
…………………..This

is a lot easier lost than faith

Don’t look for me in the morning
The sun will be disappointing
And only bring you closer to me
Disappointment molds faith

And you are still remembering
Loving
too much to obey me

Suicidal thoughts
Masochist of mind
Molding me of
self love
loathe
and pity

Pretending you don’t know
that hearts are made for breaking
making
the sound of destruction
once they gain everything
they’ve been waiting for
once they don’t need
to have hope anymore

Heaven
cant get you as high
when life isn’t worth leaving
When dreams aren’t for making
but of living
When lines
separating imagination
get blurred
near bounds of reality
When eyes seen open
are closed
When open eyes see the same scenes
as when they are closed
…..And
eyelashes…..

thoughts like these
don’t teleport dreams
past places like these

where I could have forgotten

I am nothing ,
again..
back at word one,

spinning in
circles in
ciphers in
cycles
Tumbling
too fast
into what should be
to step back and realize

that this is just me
Being nothing, again
back at word one
spinning
in circles

Passing past 10
steps into the future
coming back to the past of it that this is,
that has past
that must have passed
to present itself,

the sacrifice of reincarnation a moment gives to eternity

me, writing
remembering that you were
never good at listening
or forgetting
me
sitting in the solace of myself
helping
you write me

If the future
could
fall
i
n
t
o
Lung collapsing
love


if the

f
u
t
u
r
e


c
o
u
l
d

F
A
L
L
If the future
Could fall in love

If the future
could make love

If the future could fall asleep
and dream
It would sound,
Like us,

Nothing

I dont know what I have gotten myself into....Blogspot...30/30??

Bantu migrations...
yes.?
Random.Ridiculousness...
Yes?
Um..
So Blogspots are awkward because they force you to
view yourself in some sort of external sense...
which is wierd... to me..
brace yo self

Bantu Migrations because it is part of my
random.ridiculousness.
and also because for Africans
it bears alot more meaning than we like to acknowledge
and is my answer for everything...

me and my womanses are starting a 30/30 late
but pretending it is starting now

check out the trinity
me being one part
and my two other better halves
(yes math wise it doesnt make sense but that would
only matter if i was a mathematician now wouldn't it....)

www.oddballsdontbounce.blogspot.com

&&

www.jourmeansdayclothing.blogspot.com

love.Word