Popcorn

How can i think,
when i sit in classrooms built by men
to teach us how to think like them,
and i try—
god, i try to conjugate freedom
in a language that was never mine,
in a room that doesn't feel like home,

He flew into my life on a Tuesday. 

All feathers, no job. 

Smelled like breadcrumbs and bad decisions. 

He coo’d at me like I was the last French fry in a drive-thru bag. 

And I believed him. 

there are swans all around me 

but they are blind 

or i am invisible 

and i don't know which

The house breathes heavy.
Shadows louder than footsteps.
A slammed door echoes like thunder,
but we pretend it’s just the wind again.

Dinner gets cold while silence sits warm.
Mama stirs her coffee like nothing’s wrong.

I think I live for the silent and still —

The friends you made against your will.

The evening light,

The morning mist,

The impossible odds that you even exist.

They call it “the hood.”

We call it family.

They call it “ghetto.”

We call it culture.

It’s loud — but it’s home.

The ice cream truck rings at the same time every day.