No Brothas
My mother screams, “You’re Different”
She doesn’t say a thing.
She hugs me instead and asks me to come in.
She asks about my day; as scripted.
There is no deviation from her matriarchal dance.
Sister proclaims my self-hatred
She whispers with eyes rolled.
She hugs me and tells me to make myself comfortable
As she rips apart my very make-up.
She asks about my day, as if she already knows what I’ll say; who I am
There is no slowing her ascension to royalty.
She’s an eager pupil, a bolder voice.
No Brother, No Brother
My father yells nothing. And means it.
His prayers touch where the rain can’t reach.
Makes me strong.
Yet he yells nothing.
He won’t play backup for something so petty.
No Brother
They see no Brothas.
Thinking we’ve left.
Momma,
This life’s a canvas.
I can’t paint with just one color
This soul’s shaded with many hues.
What about you?
When you say “Keep In Touch” do you mean it?
I’m touching my human self, right now.
It’s feels good.
Excuses stripped. Face raw.
Prayers cover my vulnerability.
Shields me from your rain.
I hate untruth
This haze that you’ve taught me to adjust for.
You gave me glasses.
I’ve never been able to see.
I took them off the second I heard myself in ancient songs
The instant I saw my name
under every poem written in pencil
in my 6th Grade Grammar book.
You made me sing away the haze
Dona Nobis Pacem
My first solo, remember?
I guess in the truest sense
You make no sense
I won’t go back
Sistas
We talk in snippets
Momma, I’m still your Brotha,
Sister, Yours too.