Writing

My sadness reaches down my mouth. 

Her cool slippery hands snatching the breath i have left to breathe 

She persuades my anger to do the same; 

They love to torture together. 

What do I do,

as a black woman,

when they get control?

when the consequences

don't matter anymore?

when I watch my people

get bullied,

get beat,

get murdered,

Although this world betrays me,  

I sit silent- I sit guard, 

Although this mountain hates me, 

I stay quietly unbarred, 

I simply love madness. 

What a pretty word, 

Certainly not sadness- 

Although they rhyme for sure. 

“Olivia!” 

“What?”

“It’s trash night, can you take it out?”

Silence, as I switched off my iPod, and listened.

“Olivia!” 

“What?”

Collect the raindrops left scattered on the ground, cut the dying trees before they die. Live with your hands until you die in your mind.