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