by
petals accentuating anxieties some art some type of realization. I’ve taken to
my studies, such vagueness in discourses, where we imagine or give more to what
we can’t produce. I read many works by women, it becomes its argument, while
many are suspended in alienation. if we conjure up portraits, we see fully
dressed women, confined seemingly to a man’s predisposition. what have I to
contribute? so close yet removed from scrapes, aches, cushion, or fierce
deconstruction. I might speak to blackness, dear ostracism, but it’s not
totally similar—while, nonetheless, I might be closer to her plight than
others. there was a need for division, black women argued alone, where white
women remained separated. I presume their pain as oneness, being of a set
gender, but it was understood that black women weakened the cause. we argue
that black women understood white women more than their male counterparts—but white
males were given more by pride. so, one group is oppressed by males, where
another group is oppressed by all humans. so much fire in a furnace so many
coals required while subject to acts we dare not conjure those images.
so much an island while jogging in
silence such exercise towards a given centimeter. many carry a whale they smell
it rotting but they hold it dear to heart. such becomes vintage pain, or
narrated shame, in a world dissociative or contemptuous. by fury to ignite many
lives in balance with fierce veracity — to paint miracles to push for one more
centimeter as time denotes hidden fevers — as agendas under-spoken or intuition
discredited in a field where carcasses rot.
I close with simplicity, in a world
spinning tops, women are in need of other women. color divides, albeit,
survival of the fittest, while frowning seems wide spread. (racial) doctrine is
lived out, it seeped in, while following it becomes a woman’s discredit. we’ll
disagree. we’ll decipher through muddy mirrors. we’ll buff until we see our
relationality.
