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I am from sunshine and palm trees And Hiawassee orange groves. I am from fish fries And BBQ's for all and any occasion. I am from chitlin' and grits And meats gravy smothered. I am from migrant work And housekeepers And first-generation college complete. I am from Clara and Walter's dream Integrating FTU aka UCF Traveling from Black populated Orange Center To suburban Pine Hills: year 1973. I am from a King with a vision An X with an agenda An Angelou with a song. I am from a family branch Sprouting from a deep cultural heritage tree Bearing fruit that must be passed on. 
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he got me. Again
talkin smooth words and sweet nothins whisperin bout all what makes him different. He be a real man Commitment-bound, forever-sound In the type of love he like to give. He lookin for a woman Just. Like. Me. Independent. Outspoken. Confident. Cause I'm past-written But future-defined. Oh wait and I mustn't forget Can I get a ring size, he says And I, foolishly, let my heart trip Just a little. Yeah, I got all caught up in thinking Is he the one? Please, God, let him be the one. Oh, he was the one all right, Lyin bastard. He turn out to be Just. Like. Them. Men who made—I'd never—promises. I'd never leave you, hurt you, Be like the rest. I'd never promises filled with nothin but lies Singin songs like Why women act like all men the same Cause see, I'm different, he says. Yeah, he mighta walked in different But his ass looked real familiar when he left. I'll admit. he got me. Real. Good. Reminding me that even the smartest woman Can be played a fool. Again. Today, I went down to the Hudson River
And gazed at Manhattan from the Jersey City side. See, I stopped so I could write you a letter Hoping I wrote you into existence. A letter where I thanked you For being my best friend Because you talk feelings and you listen with heart. Needing me to understand That you care, for me, For my best interests, For my dreams, For the person that I am And then I thanked you For being my lover, For knowing just how To stroke me into making Those noises that you like Knowing just how to wrap me tight In satisfaction so no man Came before you And after you will never exist. And I just kept on writing, Sitting there at the river side Gazing on the city where dreamers Come for life and I Thanked you again For being MY man. For writing your name On my heart And signing me done With your entry into my life. For taking me from high To higher peaks. With a shaky hand And trembling breath I wrote thank you Again and again As I looked into what My future with you would be Cause I realized just How big GOD must love me. Today, I went down to the Hudson River And gazed at Manhattan from the Jersey City side And prayed you into existence Cause no matter how little I feel against the world I walk into your life At center status. No matter how low I stand On the steps of life I am elevated in your eyes And by your standards. So I write my letter of thank you. Thank you for easing me into love For lighting my waking moments And smiling in my dreams. Thank you for holding me So that I could hold you in return. Thank you for giving me back the heart To feel, The need to touch, The desire to be everything you Told GOD you need. Thank you for allowing me the chance To love you As beautifully and deeply As you love me. Thank you for being the one For me And being ready enough To see That I’m the one for you.  I’m ready to throw my arms out, close my eyes,
And leap into the moonlight Dancing like the brightest rays of sun “hot to trot” but riding on a cool breeze. Imagine me, finding a unique rhythm Strumming my very own New York beat, Florida style of course. Taking on the world And rewriting it with a chapter of me. Tasha—born a champion But humbled to serve a true queen. Lord help us all cause I wanna toss my head back And sing a pretty awful tune About it feelin a lot like my time To rise with the height and longevity --that’s king’s word-- Of a pyramid from ancient times. Man, I feel like “dancing and singin And movin to the grooving” Cause I feel the poem at my fingertips The story sittin on the tip of my tongue Getting me ready for the Hallelujah shout. See, I told you, my time has come. I’m not saying you gotta move aside Cause black folk never stand on the stage alone But understand that when I say I’m ready to throw my arms out And close my eyes It’s cause I’m about to take off Spread my writing wings and fly. Who am I?
Well, let me put it in ways you’ll understand. I am a writer Rising from the depths of the American dream African style. I am the reader With an insatiable appetite For the words reflecting the spirit Of my African-laid mothers and fathers. I am a sista Written in Black with a hint of Indian and European flavors Blending me unique. I am a rhythm, blue in creation Red-hot in the midst of formation But solid gold in the way my legacy shines. Who am I? You mean you still don't know. Well, let me break it down, divide it up, Mix it on the new, so that even by my scent You'll measure me an ingredient-- Special. I am the strength of slaves; Whipped, beatin but runnin free. I am the harvest of crops planted in blood But sharing knowledge—wealth personified. I am a song, renaissance-inspired Freshly scrubbed domestic Shoes spit-glossed to reflect a 300 year vision. I am a—by any means necessary—dream A Beloved, native daughter type of promised land No longer waiting, how should I put it, to exhale I am your past, my present, his and her future, Written to fly even as shackles tried but failed To damage my wings. Who am I? I am beyond easy words Greater than the simple language You might use to define me. I am an African-influenced, female-interpreted Proud to be hyphenated American Mother of nations Nurturer of dreams Sojourner of truth Deliverer of tubman's freedom Bookin on a WEB train of thought Hard to label Not easily confined But destined to be glorified. |
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April 2020
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