Tuesday, April 2, 2013

NaPoWriMo (1-2/30)

Just when you thought the adventure would never end (stop asking "What adventure?"), it's National Poetry Writing Month!  A friend of mine who's a spoken word poet has done it in years past, but it's never on my radar in time for me to participate myself.  Thanks to @GalleyCat on Twitter, I got the heads up today instead of on day 15 :D

I hope to make all 30 poems in all 30 days, though I can't promise that I'll post them every day.  I will undoubtedly post all of my poems at some point, whether I reach 30 or not. Anywho, here're the first two poems under the jump, neither of which I planned on writing when I was pondering my poems for the day.

Going Into Battle (1/30)

This is a test, Lord
oh yes, a test
and it feels like I’ve already failed

There were so many things I was meant to do
during these 40 days of seeking you
but mostly I griped and complained

I missed my cookies
I missed my burgers
I missed convoluted plots and pointless shower scenes

I filled my time with the frivolous
wanted my head to be filled with less
and found ways of putting you off

I didn’t know that the test was coming
Didn’t know it’d be waiting for me on Day 41’s door
Didn’t realize
that the diatribe
I fended on Day 32 was the warm-up for Day 42
when I’d be besieged on all sides

I thought I knew
I thought my test was in the living
in the going through a new door
but that’s just life
and it has be lived
it’s got to be walked
or what’s the point

Oh no
The test was a new thing
though something I’d seen before
The test was a proving ground for where I stand
and whether I’ll fall on my knees before you for sure

The test is a siege
and you are my bulwark
my resting place
my city and its wall

But, Lord
instead of laying by supplies for 40 days
I’ve spent 40 days upset
that you were preparing me for war

Untitled (2/30)
Imma stop being ashamed of being Black
stop denying that some stereotypes are fact
at least for me
Can’t speak for sister-girl across the way
Somehow I don’t think she ever watched Frasier
and doesn’t know a thing about Wings
(but it’s a 50-50 bet that the Friends we share were Living Single)

Imma stop being ‘shamed of my curves
‘shamed of my thighs
‘shamed of anything that’s mine
(‘cept maybe the way I don’t care for my God-given gifts)

Imma stop hiding who I am
stop trying to fit a mold you put me in
the first time I met you
that you have never let me get through
to show you all my many sides
This way when you disrespect me
you can’t claim to be
doing anything but wrong

Imma stop hiding behind my looks
Imma stop letting my apparent age
determine my reaction
because someone is scared of Grown Up Me
(that would me-me)
scared of the grown woman that could be hiding
behind fat cheeks and a sunny smile

Imma stop letting you run roughshod over my sweet disposition
there is fully fleshed person living behind my joy
whom you can’t pick
nor fold
nor attempt to place in your back pocket

Imma stop letting you use me as your toy
your totem
your tent pole
I won’t play no more
nor shall I be worshiped and adored
on a false pedestal
and I can’t hold you up, no

Imma stop running from my mirror
running from my calendar
running from my own identity
that I subvert to fit into and onto the places you make
for me

Imma be a natural blue
and a steampunk too
till I change my mind
but never change who I am
because I was changed once
Once is enough

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