There are tears Black Women shed, that speak of every disappointment and hurt that’s brought her to this very moment. They are tears of anguish and sometimes despair that maybe encompass never being regarded as precious, even as a GirlBaby or a WomanChild. They are tears of anger for having to do more, be more, give more and yet never being met where she stands, much less where she cries. They are tears of revolution for her gifts being plundered
in the reaching muscles, taut strand over strand to breaking, burning… faith – dust speck wide, without kin or end of tunnel light – sparked anyway, and The Work of un-breaking The Child, of wiping The Grown from Young Mind of blowing heart-wrenched intercession-backed kisses against splintered psyche, thankless work wretched work work of the lost work of the mourning that Work long ignored, long hushed That Work – Yes, let it begin Oh Ancestors! Women, gather your skirts, women
… burgeoning truth. ever advancing toward shore, pushing against hopes’ gossamer whisper of existence – , so unexpectedly total , so undeniably complete , so shatteringly absolute engulfs beyond submission to surrender. breath, once friend leaves, foe. There is a way a heart/ breaks… #TrueStoriesOf2019
© 2019 Sandra Jean-Pierre This body in silent dissension over being roused from its long assumed Final march whines aches cries from joy and pain uncertainty realizing there may be life yet left for the living… we Both hold on, scared and leaning in for the ride #SpinrazaShit #DisabledChronicles #TrueStoriesOf2019 #WakingUpMusclesHurt #IFeelLikeWalkingAround
© 2017 Sandra Jean-Pierre I dream of Youbeing insidewhere it issafeandwarm, where You have all of Me in your palm, where I can whisper Your name to my hearts content and be Yours, fully. Baby… I need to breathe your air, need the scent of You, need the feel of You wrapped around me baby, I dream of You.