Almost Poetic

Misplaced metaphors pt. III

If you ever master anything in this life, it is unlearning silence. You will find that being born black and a woman will make a revolution out of you. These words will be your refuge.

Sometimes your body will be a war zone and your soul will be in exile. Breathe child. And remember to come home. 

Some days your body will feel like a foreign land, your soul a nomad. Learn to stay. 

Falling in love is a foreign concept to my ears, I understand duty, I understand commitment, but loving is a foreign word. The first time I came across it was in a book. The women in my family don’t have this chapter in their books. And if it’s there, it’s under a different title, marred by metaphors. Sometimes there is not enough room in one lifetime for a woman to have everything. I have since become a time traveler. 

The women in me are all bruised up from falling in love. I have memorized the 911 dial tone. I’m on a first-name basis with the ER doctor. 

I was there again at 2 am this morning, bleeding in arteries my heart is yet to introduce to my body. I had to be sedated, and I woke up with forever heavy on my eyelids. 

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