Pre-Colonial Truths

Daughter of an immigrant,
Callouses of colonial bonds keep me tethered,
To a past always out of touch,
Wanting to know my people,
Longing for a home that has been fragmented,
I am perpetually in mourning,
Of what truths,
now post-colonial,
I can never know.

Femininity: Mine

Breasts and waist,
Curves swell,
And I take shape,
Loving every moment of my sensuality,
To merge at the apex,
A rose
Of my femininity.
Curls cascade around shoulders,
Framing face,
There is laughter in their dance,
Messily they shift in place,
They motion to my figure
A goddess,
The heat in my sexuality,
At the core of a femininity,
That is
Color is golden,
A soft, baked bun,
A bit more than done,
Delicious in its presentation,
Not to mention taste.
Oh, A ripened plum,
Dripping from
Your face,
I am more than
Looks—complexion, body, lips,
I am an essence,
A feeling,
A bath of the hypnotic,
I’ll say
The exotic,
I’ll take,
A storm,
And a quake,
A river running through my
An orgasm of hope,
A beautiful, trembling descent
Down, down, down
Into the familiar unknown.

My Soldier

I don’t want to thank you
For something you never wanted to do,
I don’t want to thank for the pain that has been endured by you,
I will thank you for being human,
However that may be,
For being a spirit of compassion, of vulnerability,
I will not thank you for pain you shouldn’t need to feel,
I will thank you for feeling the need to protect me and my,
Even if I don’t agree in our enemy,
I thank you for being Soldier,
my family, my friend.


I am flawed at the seams,
A fragile vessel attempting the impossible,
To nurture another being from inception,
Through being as imperfect as she is,
Up into a bloom,
I am unsuited for such work,
And yet no hands but my own are made for it,
With creases that match the shape of her tiny form,
Worn, but more ready than any other,
A molded human clay,
By living experience,


Familiar buildings
I’ve never seen the insides of,
Sky scraped,
Smoke stacked,
Green bridge stretched out,
Connecting lands manmade,
Autumn gold filigree along city streets,
Red brick pavement under
History we breathe
History we bare, with every beat.