3 Ways Breathing Helps Me

When I find myself beginning to struggle through a triggering moment, I will consciously stop what I am doing and take my first deep breath.

1) the first breath always helps to calm the anxiety/excitement that I am feeling. #breathe #repeat

2) my second breath helps to slow down any racing thoughts. #breathe #repeat

3) my last breath makes it easier for me to listen & remain present. #breathe #repeat

Train Etiquette.

I’ve been told I’m a rude one.

And yes. You’re right. I most definitely can be.

But like the scrub you are

I just brush ya micro aggressions off me.

But what I can’t stand,

What I can’t swerve off,

Is this insatiable need for you to test me,

Probe me,

Looking to get a reaction out of me,

Cuz you think I won’t give you one.

So how about I do this.

Why don’t I take the next 5 minutes

To stare at you over these shades

So you can read my distaste.

Why don’t I take the next 5 minutes to cock my head so effortlessly to the side,

Causing all this flawless hair

To wrap around my right

So you can see the exposure of my jugular;

Blood vessel pumpin

Like the savage I’m about to become.

Why don’t I take the next 5 minutes after that

To go off on the ill mannered, self absorbed,

Self entitled child ya mama raised you to be.

Yes I brought ya mama in it. I’ll talk about ya daddy too,

Cuz clearly the lack of respect for womyn

Was high on his priority list;

Look how it rubbed off you.

Go buck up ya chest to the next one

I’ll come for the jugular;

Understand I’m tiny.

I waste no time in trynna fight you;

I’ll end you, ‘nuf said.

I used to think white people

Acting on their privilege got on my nerves,

But ya Hella confused light skinned,

White passing, boogie Mo’fos be tryin it.

Just as annoying, in need of getting your life

And realize you ain’t no better than the rest.

Understand I neva said less but certainly ain’t no betta.

Wanna be down when it’s convenient;

But ready to claim colonizers blood when being black don’t seem trendy enough, sexy enough, lit enough;

Swallow all ya internalized noise

And cut it.

Do You.

When you stare into the mirror

Do you see yourself?

What do you look like?

Do you like you as much as I do?

Do your eyes still laugh

Even after the memory of his hands on your body rapes you for the millionth time?

Your smile. Does it shine? Does the corner of your mouth still sparkle as the memory of his attempts to break your face shakes you out of your sleep for the 3rd time tonight?

Tell me. I want to know. Where?

After the memory

Of all his rage,

Choking the life from you,

Reminds your lungs how to stop breathing,

Where does the air come

Allowing your eyes to open the next morning.

How have you remembered to breathe?

When you stare into the mirror

Are you alone?

Does mother look at you,

Eyes still covered,

Cuz your mouth remains mute,

To the reality in which you’ve been living.

Has mother been allowed to see all of you?

Do you see father peeking around the blindfold,

hoping to catch a glimpse of you,

Or does his front look very much like his back,

With no avenue for sound to reach him.

Tell me. I want to know. When.

When the last born came crying,

Announcing itself,

Was it then?

Was it then that 3 became 1,

And you the outside participant to a unit

That felt complete enough for them.

When you wake up in the morning,

Dragging yourself nakedly to the mirror,

Tell me. I want to know. Do you see you like I do?

Have you fallen in love with each,

Permanently newly placed decoration,

Healing on your skin?

Are you trippin off that mouth, Like I do,

With its capacity to cause just as much damage as it seeks to create & heal.

When you let go and move to the drum beat

Do you feel as free as I do?

Did you know that freedom taste as light as I feel when we’re in sync?

Tell me. I want to know.

If you’ve married yourself yet?

Have you given every inch of self validation?

have you given you worth? Have you let yourself into every crevice of your humanity, so I could find a home there too.

Tell me. Do you know? Cuz I need to.

When You Tell Me You’re Fine.

Tell me, How ya feeling fine,

When ya downing half the bottle,

And ya smiles become the

Stamped frown that you wear?

Tell me, How ya feeling fine,

When ya Pullin so hard

Cuz reality sucks

And the escapes no betta?

Tell me how ya feelin fine,

When they got you livin lies

Lovin on ya body

That you don’t wanna share?

If feelin fine means

I’m living for you

To dictate my moves

Cuz the vision of self don’t exists;

Then I guess it’s time to cut the cord,

Break loose, and redefine what great should look like.