Tekona

I’m stranded.

I’m stranded like the braid that rolls down my back,

protecting the spine that formed inside her womb.

But I’m also stranded like sneakers hanging on a wire,

’cause I wouldn’t walk into the jokes that said my sisters are anything

less than our matriarchs.

If each vertebrae were a prayer,

how much have I nursed my back to carry myself as a warrior,

and not another destroyer of the sacred bond that gave me life?

The homies said I can’t take a joke,

that I’m in my feels.

They get mad at me saying that I’m acting like the very anatomy

they treat like another cold cut from the neighborhood deli.

Same shit at the nine to five.

Dudes making comments under their breath,

daydreaming of how they could get a coworker to undress for the weekend.

Come Monday, and they reject her like she’s out of season.

I try to be a real one,

but I’ve started to slip.

I’m broken hearted and my pride has taken a hit.

I know hurt people hurt people, but still can’t make sense of where to begin.

Some say original sin.

But my people were here before those concepts came in.

Then the dots start to connect,

when I think of the time my Uncle used to call collect,

and tell me we are now the results of the white man settlers complex.

He said, “how can we get ahead when they view us as a tribe

of bobbleheads? Mascots and figurines.

Stereotyped, controlled, way before they were memes.”

He said, “when they look into our eyes, they see slot machines.”

I want to soak my mind in a cedar bath,

remind myself that I come from a sweeter past,

blessed by sweeter grass.

Where I can hear my mom’s laugh.

But now, I almost crashed.

I almost took my life, then realized that my soul

is intertwined.

And when I say I’m stranded I mean I’m braided,

built of something divine.

The strength of a woman, resilience is in memorial times.

Two wolves like to visit me; which should I feed?

One wolf shows me love, the other shows me his teeth.