Thursday, April 30, 2015

No. 18 of my 30 in 15 for National Poetry Month

Untitled

Never let another tell your story
Never let another curtail your freedom
They will starve to eat you alive
Do not give them power by feeding them

Mirakol Smith, April 30, 2015

No. 17 of my 30 in 15 for National Poetry Month, TRIGGER WARNING

This is dedicated to the women (and men) who fought and are fighting daily and for those who died during their fight. A fight they didn't choose. ‪#‎NationalSexualAssaultAwarenessMonth‬
Please also note that this is not a comprehensive, complete story. It is a fragment of the many stories of many women (and some men). This story is also inspired by some of my own life events. Appreciate this part of my mind / piece of my heart.

Victim-Blaming

He was her bad habit
Like bitten nails on nubby finger pads 
Picking at healing scabs       
                
Uncomfortable, yet comforting

And who could gauge what's worse?

Her seeming complacency
Or his contentment with lending hurt
                                               
He passed out jabs like Rocky and beef slabs
Leaving her rare, black and blue

Willing herself to believe that this love was true
And this not only affects her, it's killing her kids, two

And she'll never see her grow up, and wipe her tears
Never tell him it's okay to cry while facing his fears

He'd buried wounds so deep, it's difficult to dig in and heal
So she let the infection steep and tried to conceal

Until she wasted inwardly away
All but a beautiful bandaged corpse
And those she knew would say, 'but he showed such great remorse!'       

'She must have done something wrong!'
'Why did she make him so upset?'
'She must've done something she'd soon find to regret'
                                         
There ain't no rest for the wicked
Her offender walks free
As she lay gone forever
It was her fault; it must be


Mirakol Smith, April 30, 2015


Wednesday, April 29, 2015

No. 16 of my 30 in 15 for National Poetry Month

Everybody Knows

Auntie Nina sang to me tales of Billie clubs beating Black bodies
And Hollidays past
The bitter taste of festive cakes and pies made of Strange Fruit
They made jest and just expect us to ingest hateful truths
We hang while our forefathers laugh

Everybody knows about Mississippi, God.
Everybody knows about Alabama, God.
Everybody knows about South Africa, God.
Everybody knows about LA, God.
Everybody knows about Texas, God.
Everybody knows about Florida, God.
Everybody knows about Nigeria, God.
Everybody knows about New York, God.
Everybody knows about Ferguson, God.
Everybody knows about Kenya, God.
Everybody knows about Baltimore, God.

Damn...


Mirakol Smith, April 28, 2015