Because inattentiveness, poor impulse management, and hyperactivity are also cornerstone symptoms for Attention Deficit Disorder, many children navigating trauma are diagnosed with A.D.D. inappropriately.
Category: Poetry
because i am, a poem
I want to write a poem that moves with the cadence and crescendo of an old Negro spiritual; I want to write a poem that reaches into the bowel of humanity in a vise like grip milking out compassion and tolerance; I want to write a poem that shares the test of walking through fire…
a peculiar familiarity
…for 388 years they have
been largely strange and
unaccommodating
clear and present
which a more poignant memory that he threw me or that i fell into his arms full of glee laughing willing to go again until his limbs grown weary from tossing turned rubber and the fear of missing shown real in his eyes at 3 i could not imagine a world where he would not catch me so i screamed out ‘again’ demanding […]
gravitational collapse or a star is born
reluctantly schooled in the art of fragile male care she is undone by the smallness of a life given over to dishes laundry and the incessant lego shuffle with infantile steps she unclothes the first layer of subjugation not yet naked she begins to see a glimmer of who she might have been had she…
clear and present
which a more poignant memory that he threw me or that i fell into his arms full of glee laughing willing to go again until his limbs grown weary from tossing turned rubber and the fear of missing shown real in his eyes at 3 i could not imagine a world where he would not catch me so i screamed out ‘again’ demanding…
deliver us from evil: an epigram for modern times
raw reality, a fist slamming into my temple forces me awake. sleep, a drug of solace pulls me out of the nightmare into the fortress of my mind. stable condition. stable. condition. a massacre’s sole survivor; on the battle front of her basement. her children slaughtered before bloodshot eyes. what greater torture is this? prostrate a preference over…
a memory: untitled
are you sisters dancers, an innocent enough inquiry and had we the decency of dancers we may have left him his dignity in response indecency, however, is the occupation of poets so we in synchronized sonnet pounced dripping iambic pentameter across his abdomen like a procession of candle wax our minds weapons of mass destruction…
for my sistren, a poem
we were magnificence woman warriors armed with words piercing souls healing our own babes in tow men in awe imperfect with our flaws spewing necessary vulnerabilities a revolution in our bosom nectar sipping goddesses shat stereotypes spake stories over rip whiskey and dangling cigars sisters in arms poets, we are.
you don’t have to be black to be outraged
you will stop killing us there is nothing new nothing nor novel about the destruction of the black body strange fruit hung from poplar trees decomposing in 103 degrees now left to rot on local streets these bodies you don’t see these children that bleed you will stop killing us we have destroyed our minds…
fearfree living 