Featured Post

On Black, Fat, Femme Positivity: Why I'm at My Heaviest, My Most Confident, and Don't Need Your Approval to Exist

"If I breathe in public for five seconds, it’s also common that someone will feel the need to tell me, “YASSSSS!” in an attempt to ch...

Thursday, April 30, 2015

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


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.


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.


Mirakol Smith, April 28, 2015

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

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


I wanted a change. So I...locked my hair, pierced my nose and wore red lipstick. Sticks. Sticks and stones may break my bones. Bones. Breaking bones. Broken. Searching for myself in a world to which I am foreign, unchosen. For acceptance in a space that was too small for me. I am much greater. He who dwells in me is much greater.

Mirakol Smith, originally written on January 22, 2015

No. 14 of my 30 in 15 for National Poetry Month (maybe u can do this? Ha)


On the outside

I'm all smiles and giggles.
Hugs and kind words.

Inwardly, I'm silently screaming.

My hurt is unearthed
At the sound of triggers.

Pulling me forward and backwards again.
Lies inside telling me I can't win.

And they seem to never lose.

I find myself favoring snooze because I just don't want to leave my bed.

Recalling all the things the darkness in me said.

Maintaining them as truth.

Mirakol Smith, April 26, 2015

No. 13 of my 30 in 15 for Nation Poetry Month (don't know if I'm gonna make it, lol)

Ode to Black Men

Forgive me if I

Drool a little bit
Twirl my hair

Catch a whiff of your smell
Graze your arm or chest
Excuse me while I
Catch my breath

Less than I can say
I'll watch your step
As you walk my way
I speak of the depth

Of your brown, brown eyes
Your tall, wide gait      

You're no more wise
That I've taken the bait      
Of the love that danced on your lips as you spoke

Or your sun-kissed skin
Cacao is akin to your melanin
Don't flash that winning grin
I almost choke   
On my words to describe you

Many come close, but none contend...
There is just something about Black men.

Mirakol Smith, April 25, 2015