Scream in your native tongue
don't waste your breath
convincing the tired white gaze
that contemplate cracks
and revel in conformity.

Brown girl, this is for the silk
that curls into peaks of dense land,
this is for the cashmere
that glides like the dunes of home,
this is for the velvet
that falls into streams of wonder,
this is for the cotton
that forms into black soft balls,
only yours for the taking.

Brown girl, this is for you. 


Brown girl, this is for you
hair on your face, 
fur on your neck, 
silk on your finger tips.

This is a call to your brown arms. 

For the liberation that doesn't need you
that forgets you
that pushes you aside.

This is a call from the tabblah.

Begging you to braid your hair
from your upper lip to the
pits of their disgust,
your legs and your unapologetic
furry toes.

An armour stronger than the metal
they manipulated
than the walls they built
than the lines they stabbed
and the minds they snapped.

Period Pains

Period Pains