Cry Out

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

How does it make you feel

to see someone

mistreating themselves

to hear them poison their mouth

with self-hate language

or disrespect their soul

with insecurities

does not your intestines cringe

do they not wrap themselves around the wrongness there

the diseased spirit of a person defeated

does not your stomach turn into knots

does not the human in you cry out

now imagine

if you were outside your own body

and observing yourself

poisoning your mouth with self-hate language

and disrespecting your soul with insecurities

do your intestines cringe?

do they wrap themselves around the wrongness there?

do you recognize the diseased spirit of a person defeated?

does your stomach turn into knots?

when you are self-hating yourself

does the human in you

Cry Out


It’s National Poetry Month!!

 

Grab your copy of I am Soul for just 99cents in ebook for the entire month of April.  Want a paperback? The Nubian bookstore signing is next week! (4/12) Be sure to stop by for a signed paperback copy and save on shipping. Meet me in person and let’s take pictures and stuff!

https://www.yecheilyahysrayl.com/

YouTube: New Poems Added! Subscribe Today #NationalPoetryMonth #Poetry #SpokenWord

New poems have been added people! Listen to Her Bended Knee, Truth, I Was Not There and more!

CLICK HERE TO SUBSCRIBE!!

Her Bended Knee

Once a mother

always is

they bend their knees

to raise our kids

they laugh for our broken

as if never have cried, for our burden they soothe

as if our souls had died

they coddle our demons on the top of their heads

—colored gray with grief

fake smiles

and gritted teeth

a generation held together

by tiny pieces of silver string

those grayish-white pieces of hair

prophesy of her bended knees

their bodies ache

due our trials and needs

our depression states

our miscarried dreams

all have a home on the top of mother’s head

our souls they touch

our bull they fed

can’t wash the stench

of our almost dead

but they straighten their backs

and lift their chin

throw on their head

our hopes and sins

and at night

when we run the streets

and sleep in sheets

they bend their knee

and cry to sleep

and then wake up

all smiles and grace

let us never see tears run down their face

instead, see your life on your mother’s head

the next time you see those

grayish-whites

just know that someone prays for you at night

no tears be seen

all frowns be gone

just bended knees

and prayer songs

Mother to Son | Langston Hughes

Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
– Langston Hughes

Present | Sonia Sanchez

This woman vomiting her
hunger over the world
this melancholy woman forgotten
before memory came
this yellow movement bursting forth like
coltrane’s melodies all mouth
buttocks moving like palm tress,
this honeycoatedalabamianwoman
raining rhythm to blue/black/smiles
this yellow woman carrying beneath her breasts
pleasures without tongues
this woman whose body waves
desert patterns,
this woman wet with wandering,
reviving the beauty of forests and winds
is telling you secrets
gather up your odors and listen
as she sings the mold from memory.

there is no place
for a soft / black / woman.
there is no smile green enough or
summertime words warm enough to allow my growth.
and in my head
i see my history
standing like a shy child
and i chant lullabies
as i ride my past on horseback
tasting the thirst of yesterday tribes
hearing the ancient/black/woman
me, singing hay-hay-hay-hay-ya-ya-ya.
hay-hay-hay-hay-ya-y a-ya.
like a slow scent
beneath the sun
and i dance my
creation and my grandmothers gathering
from my bones like great wooden birds
spread their wings
while their long/legged/laughter
stretched the night.
and i taste the
seasons of my birth. mangoes. papayas.
drink my woman/coconut/milks
stalk the ancient grandfathers
sipping on proud afternoons
walk like a song round my waist
tremble like a new/born/child troubles
with new breaths
and my singing
becomes the only sound of a
blue/black/magical/woman. walking.
womb ripe. walking. loud with mornings. walking.
making pilgrimage to herself. walking.

– Sonia Sanchez

Alone | Maya Angelou

Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.There are some millionaires
With money they can’t use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They’ve got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

– Maya Angelou