Photo from source 360

My home -a salt shaker

crystalized tiny beads stuck in baby holes.

Refusing to savor fully my spirit belly

yearning to hunger no more.

I’ve been homeless and lonely

negative balance in the checking account of

my polluted DNA.

Losing sleep for years

restless in a reservoir of expensive pain.

I’ve eaten greasy food from the shelves of thieves

with a heart-broken in infinite particles.

Leaving feeble quips of iced isolation

bones dry from the musky smell of rejection.

I’ve written pieces of hope and love

But none less of truth,

trembling for days

awaken in dark rooms

tired from holding up the strong sister girl banner.

I am ready to retreat putting my feet in the hammock of resistance

leaving this energy that once gave me glory.

Feeding on the manna of my African-American girl story

in want of restoration

 kind soft love.

Hugging the insides of a blue blackened soul

refusing to continually feud with fools

paving my own path of inner bravery.

Prepared to stake my space in my father’s freedoms safety net.

Curling my skin on top of a fertile mattress where naked soldiers once dreamt and believed.

Relieving the nervous chatter

 voices bleeding words of disdain

 the covers my lover again.

Dam to tired to cry and to fragile to pray

Faithfully deciding that today

I am going to reverently 

Nap away.

Much to heart sick and body beat from fighting the radicalized buffoonery-I finally received my ancestors peace.

Sister is home.

-@redcouchwriters

by: I Am Salaam