by the door of the music room
what does one do
when sound hums like prophecy
to the rhythm of one’s soul
spoiling all the way home
anointed with myrrh
a finger on the temple
what does one do
by the door of the music room
Truly
Funny
Laughing hyenas have misunderstandings and particular landings
As the way that I move
It’s too smooth you say
Much too runny
Masked in funny
An instrument for disaster
Their hidden laughter
Wades
Through the Carnivora
Beyond the many wishes
So I beg to land in forgiveness
To set in stone my sins to flesh and
Move from what’s told to win again
Black Sheep
I can go anywhere and find home on my skin
Resting in dew
What’s new
When strangers are blue
Sketched and watercolored onto blocks
I’m an iridescent rock with moss
I wrap my locs when I’m around em
Pretend I’m Medusa, not a bit hesitant
And my shadows vow to move exactly how I move
As I pretend to blend in as if I belonged here
I dodge small talk
I know real voices, true hearts
I’ve mastered how to mirror; starting over less foreign than I
I knew I was alright
I was a locust bite, bitter
In the cool hybrid air
I made my way through the stolen
What I gave away could never keep up
My gift was melted and sculpted
Sometimes I’d call it love
Crust
Text:
The heavens of womanhood.
Revelations of my souls essence.
Emerging ashes saturated in a deliciously delicate black hole of grit.
You know, the usual.
And you?
Beginning in your pores
God
Did I make it
I’m in your pores
I want to form with you
Become everything
Mercy me Brahman
I want to be felt
For Ganesha to pluck my harps strings and
Place me down
Sing me a song or something
Tell me it’s real
Freegrandmaa 