Scratch Paper

Here’s some stuff I found in the ole’ iPhone “notes” archives:

I jotted this down a few weeks ago while attending Birth of a Hip Hop Nation at BAM. The show was a little bit of poetry, music, dance and awesomeness. This was inspired by a white dude poet who just totally owned his whiteness on stage:

I wanna be black
Wanna dance like that
But these hips ain’t goin nowhere
But my insides
They are twisting and bending and
Floating and twerking like nothing
You have ever seen

And then I got to thinkin about some of the white men in my own life and how they might respond to some of the poetry I was hearing from that stage:

I feel like he would still have a comment
Like he knows. Like he can sum up someone’s history and suffering in a few lines. Because that is who he thinks he is. Someone who can tell you who you are. And that you’ll believe him. Because that is who you think you are. Who you were raised to be. The teller of other people’s stories.

I wrote this last month. Someone sent out the theme “Something Broke” as a prompt      on a writers listserve several years ago and I still can’t get enough. I guess “somethings” are always breaking…

Something broke
And the tendons of order and utility
Stretched so thin ’till bone on bone

Ignoring the pain no longer
Shrieked through her flesh
Grabbing all that was proper
Clawing and hurling
‘Till its face, unrecognizable, became her ebeneezer

Something broke
So profoundly flooding nearly
Drowned, treading the waters of her own soul

Not emptying fast enough
Bucketing held breaths….


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