Open Book

Poetry

Tropical Flower

Closer to my Mother and all the parts i am made of. 

 

Eyes washed of ego and able to self reflect. 

To listen,

and hear your timid. 

Recognize your cast off as a self rejection 

and hold myself closer, 

Divine and Whole and in Love in every direction.

You taste like basketball court and black boy
Flying past concrete slabs and hoop dreams
They cant hold you Smooth,
Painting murals on their bars
Fistful of stars
That you break on
dances that take on
the whole room
The floor is yours Sk8r boy with locs and rock, rolling thru you
You move like the resistance,

Passive in your push back,
Leaving room for me.
Big spaces in which i can settle into my body, my being with certainty
I am worthy and this is worth our time
Muse,
….You inspire me