Freewrite In Progress

A male poet once told me he felt sorry for me
Because I did not love everyone.
He quoted Jesus, Martin and Gandhi
As if I should aspire to follow in their footsteps.
No one told him about Oshun, Yemoja, Oya, Isis, Medea or Kali.
That all destiny and desire is not defined in the footsteps of men.
That I am the daughter of women ferocious and self-righteous.
Peace is my path of least resistance.
War is necessary because I will never be pacifist with my enemies.

I no longer argue with white boys
Who think they can analyze me culturally.
Place me in the context of an angry Black woman.
Without knowing the bitterness of my struggle.
You love it when I'm sweet and flashing teeth.
Tongue safely tucked between them.
Swallowing your saliva and paying homage
To your erections.
Stroking your ego soft and
loving you hard with no regard for myself.

My mother didn't raise me that way
I was all skinned knees and pretty pigtails
Big brains and bigger heart.
Racing and climbing trees with boys
I never learned to fear men
To take their lies as my truth
To live in their shadows
& shy from my own reflection.
I am thirty years young
& I still don't know what it means to be a lady.

I am equal parts bitch and belle, raunchy and righteous,
fierce and submissive, sacred and sexual, brilliant and broken.
I am a kaleidoscope of souls wrapped in this pliant flesh.
Not needing the touch of a man to flower these fields.
Never asking to be loved or wanted.
Just this singing blood and beauty
Unbreakable.