[late] National Poetry Month poem #2: BROWN FAT

God bless

brown fat bequeathed

from hunters

stolen fugitive(s)

farmers famine-tested

the only heirloom

I got. Life

sharpened by 

twelve hour workdays

into this body

of joy dancing

three hours straight

[late] National Poetry Month poem #1: RAMHEART

my mother caught every possible hint:

the alignment of family shoes

askew near the door was a lottery poem

only she could read: beware of intruders.

code lay under the rhythms of daytime ads,

god in newscasters' laden gazes as

they spoke of her hometown or ailments

my mother knew her centrality well

her brain a kandinsky of crosstown traffic

of clanging connections, every meal a divination

she tosses together garnished words

long after we've barred her from the kitchen

impious, i shut my eyes to pareidolia

see only moon rabbits when told how

find never messiahs but weevils in my cupboard

go unchosen & afterthought, hardheaded

all hints are enemies, the subtle too close

to dissembly. i return innuendo by twisting

a pithy meme into a conviction:

you cannot love me in a way that matters

venus in Aries, my ramheart

can only be pierced by a fire arrow

give me someone with a chest full

of declarations. i will hear nothing less

I am trying my best to not be a lizzo hater, but...

I doubt myself a lot; I probably always will.

I think a lot about the time a (female) interviewer told me straight out that she chose a (male) candidate over me because he had more confidence. Interviewers have told me I lack confidence multiple times.

I think a lot about the (Black female) recruiter who boasted of lowballing her client because her client didn't think to ask for more. "I just offered a candidate $85,000 for a job that had a budget of $130,000. I offered her that because that’s what she asked for and I personally don’t have the bandwidth to give lessons on salary negotiation." She said, and tagged it #beconfident.

Not all skinfolk are kinfolk, I know. But if it's feminist to use the “insecure” or “ignorant” as lessons in this way, then I want none of it.

I'm alive only because of the softness of others.

I also apologize a lot; it's ingrained in me by now.

I think a lot about the time a white woman coworker told me to apologize less and to say "thank you" more, "You should try that." I distinctly remember how certain she was as she told me—not suggesting, but commanding with an air of annoyance.

I think a lot about the time Lizzo, one of the music world’s loudest drumbeaters for self-esteem, angrily condemned music writers to unemployment because a (fellow Black female) music reviewer gave Lizzo a very critical review.

If that is what confidence looks like, I'd rather remain apologetic. I will apologize for apologizing, again and again.

i remain wary of unkinfolk, and devote my mind to the women, the black women, the black men, and the others who upheld my watery, airy self in interviews, as supervisors, as colleagues, and role models. i want to thank every one—gratitude inflates me & i no longer need to apologize once i am allowed to.

still, my brain returns to that ex-coworker and all the other shapes she may take. i wonder if she, in another body, told tell bell hooks to capitalize her name so that she doesn't look like she's downplaying herself.

i wonder if she told bell hooks to write her name in all caps: “other wise the world won’t take you seriously. otherwise, the world/i will can’t support you. Other wise I (the world) will eat you alive.”

First-World Balling

Balling on bus line, balling on a bikeballing in the top half, Malthus hit a spike forget bling and swag , just pass me the mic balling in the suburbs, hot water, life is tight

A/C, fireplace, pool, pool table, car with a sunroof, loft if I’m able playroom, study room, master bedroom’s bathroom a six-bedroom life and my bed’s king-size

and I

get free books so I read like a pimp backpack so loaded that I walk with a limp no war on 1st street, I fight like a wimp but I think like Diogenes, richer than him

and my

uncle, fat uncle, royal uncle, got gout ‘disease of the kings,’ he’s a king no doubt too much red meat and beer, Doc said go without at least he’s got a hot nurse with a Bardot pout

and I’m

Balling in the daycare, balling since three balling with the campus, university balling in my armchair with ballers on TV balling in the top half, and I’m free

is there an accountant around to count my worth? I must be someone to see the happiest place on earth and I go with my friends, yeah, back and forth some kids’ve never been there, but I’ll go once more

and I got

so much liquid wealth, yeah fresh water is pelf I spend hours streaming it hot over myself 8 glasses a day, straight-up chugging for health I can dump down the sink if I don’t like the smell and toss extra dollars for the bottles as well

and I got

boxes, boxes, every food in stock, rich and foxy, gourmet of the block ice cream, ice cream, cooler than cold fridge humming, humming, to keep off the the mold more cream than Polo, living large I can YOLO

I make it rain with grain, floss all nice with rice bring on the burger, pizza, tacos, with a single call and do you really wonder why I’m so tall? And how I look so clean, so hot to y’all

Where do I get this, wits and the strength to ball? And how I dress so right like a baby doll and how I feel so good, talk sharp with gall because my life is good, I got my drink and food, I am

Balling on bus line, balling on a bike balling in the top half, Malthus hit a spike forget bling and swag , just pass me the mike balling in the suburbs, hot water, life is tight

and I

got all the consoles since ‘94 maybe I don’t play dreamcast anymore but HD 3D puts me in the war So I seen everything from ‘nam to WW4

(I’m just kidding. The worse fights I’ve seen were a playground brawl, some drunk dude in a bar, and my dad’s ex-wife’s fit... I’m good at handling a super-soaker, though, Nerf. Video games. Life is tight!)