Emotional intelligence is everything
I feel my ancestors in my core
When I sit up straight
When I dance
April showers May flowers
Hardening off
So often
During April rainstorms
On the healing land
With barely a scratch
Upon my open scalp
I should be rejoicing
But first I must mourn
I must moan
Laying in the hard bed
I snuggle myself stiffly in this bed I have made
It makes my backbone strong and my spine thicken
In solitude my baby gets scared
My baby sees distorted realities and hears her past
Blue Jays in the winter
Those years had their intentions on healing
Not knowing that flowers need sunshine to grow
Solitude doesn’t know
My babies crying, her tears won’t work
My head’s on solitude
Warm sage
Tentacles
Little ducks
Little ducks love how it felt when the clouds cried
They called them tears of joy and they mirrored it
And my yellow man
Payed loose to the wave
And moved by grace
My ole embodiment of peace
Grip
Florida water
Florida water
Spilled by my baby
Who’s father cursed me
And tries to take letters out my name
Ritual
Submerge
To submerge yourself into solitude
Walking side by side dear reflection
I reflect and ponder every inch of my vessel
Who. Are. You.
Who is this skin, this blood, this thought.
That decision.
Freegrandmaa 