#black poetry

blind woman, side street 11:04pm

color made caveman drop to his knees,
color made a plotting friend
color made black, white too
for rainbows

in the absence of color,
i drew a message on stone,
called it black washed poetry
the kind color made to hang dry
like Negro necks and hair—
both blocking your view

i wanted a hand to rest near mine
so i prayed and held myself tight
if color could make me,
couldn’t color make you.
i remind God to answer me





create a color, make it good
make it breathe
the only thing that can live life.
tell the rest, their time will come
amen

but don’t you dare give color bad
you-already-forgot
color don’t.
wasn’t
the right word i see
the way color was set up

untitled

he injects me with his Demons
dashes
i let them take over me
fill my chest with cold chrome
cool cheetah print, enlarged zippers
if a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?
it just wasn’t the No he forgot to hear,
it was the inside of my head that was screaming.
gripping me in my Hell
come
—
cheaply alive.
i red-red-wined for three days straight,
cried, really
on an unchanged pad in a bathroom stall.
silent curses,
self-suicide to be so quiet
a dead throat is a Demons resting place.
it ain’t a beast til you get loud

sick mouths congregate where you can hear em
your ears are pointing down the hall
where voices remind you who you are
you ain’t crazy
it’s me,
it’s you cupping growth
while i small up myself
to open sores, foamy breath
speaking omens in tongues

old man with the ones
offer it up to me, like
silver plates and poles
resting green dreams meant to die
a Pastor’s new Benz —
his cocaine addiction

each shot is a loud gospel
we scream and we holler
we are begging for change
throw a one in,
want ten back
you ain’t crazy
i know you hear it too

stand on your feet
sit down
bow your head
pray
men speak
women speak
clap
kill your self
clap
thou shall not

A woman with a burning flame

Deep covered through the years

With ashes. Ah! she hid it deep,

And smothered it with tears.

Sometimes a baleful light would rise

From out the dusky bed,

And then the woman hushed it quick

To slumber on, as dead.

At last the weary war was done

The tapers were alight,

And with a sigh of victory

She breathed a soft—good-night!

— Georgia Douglas Johnson, Smothered Fires

The Lost Love by Fenton Johnson

Some day, when trees have shed their leaves

And against the morning’s white

The shivering birds beneath the eaves

Have sheltered for the night,

We’ll turn our faces southward, love,

Toward the summer isle

Where bamboos spire the shafted grove

And wide-mouthed orchids smile.

And we will seek the quiet hill

Where towers the cotton tree,

And leaps the laughing crystal rill,

And works the droning bee.

And we will build a cottage there

Beside an open glade,

With black-ribbed blue-bells blowing near,

And ferns that never fade.

— Claude McKay, After the Winter

Some folks hollered hard times

in nineteen-twenty-nine.

In nineteen-twenty-eight

say I was way behind.

Some folks hollered hard times

because hard times were new.

Hard times is all I ever had,

why should I lie to you?

Some folks hollered hard times.

What is it all about?

Things were bad for me when

those hard times started out.

— William Waring Cuney, Nineteen-twenty-nine

Patiently waiting

Take a deep breath and exhale

Breathe out all the sadness, disappointment and failure

Breathe in peace, joy, happiness and prosperity

Stand up for your beliefs

Stand firm in your values

Inhale

Exhale

Stand up for your rights

Stand in your truth

Inhale

Exhale

Stand up for her

So she can stand up for you

Inhale

Exhale

Release all your tears, pain and sorrow

Reach your arms out towards your goals

Inhale

Exhale

Affirm all the good things you need

Aspire to become the greatest version of yourself

Be inspired and patient

The best is still to come

Author - @iameriwa

Photography - @garren.pryce

Model - @kiara_ailene

Wrapped Up In His Love

I AM happy

I AM blessed

I AM grateful

I give thanks to Baba God

For protecting me

Uplifting me

Providing for all my needs

For guiding me with His majestic touch

For healing me

For surprising me

For answering my prayers

Making all my dreams come true

For teaching me how to be patient with life

I AM

His beloved

His anointed

His precious child

I AM

Made in His image

Skin kissed by the sun

My eyes are filled with His love

I AM

Overcome with emotion

I AM

Excited for the future

I AM

All wrapped up in His love.

Déolà ❤️

Author - @iameriwa

Photographer: @marieb.photography

Model: @ninioma

Mua: @reneedewitmakeupartist

Praise be to God

From the age of five I was instructed to take care of my Mum and Sister.

Why would anyone ask a child to take on such responsibility?

I wasn’t old enough to question the instruction, so did my best to adhere.

You see my Dad died when I was five, and at that time, my baby sister was barely one.

My Mum was constantly in and out of the hospital, managing an inherited red blood cell disorder.

I had no choice but to grow up, and do so fast.

Becoming responsible at such a young age was a gift and a curse.

I didn’t get a chance to enjoy my childhood, or my teenage years because I wasn’t considered a child.

Everyone who could, took advantage.

That being said, all my experiences prepared me for the many challenges I’ve been through and overcome.

I’ve always been wise beyond my years, and felt a sense of duty to care for my loved ones, before myself.

However, now I’ve established healthy boundaries.

I do things out of love not obligation.

I don’t allow anyone to emotionally abuse me or guilt trip me.

I don’t give anyone my hard earned money whenever they ask because they’ve been irresponsible with their finances.

I don’t allow anyone into my space if their energy isn’t right or aligned with mine.

I don’t wait for anyone’s appreciation, applause or approval, I don’t need it.

I don’t hold malice but where necessary I will keep my distance.

I don’t have any expectations so don’t get disappointed, just pleasantly surprised.

I’ve stop holding people to my standards, I know we are all different, and have different paths.

I’ve let go of all my hurt and anger

I’ve realeased all my past pain and embrace my present, while remaining optimistic about the future.

I love myself first

I prioritise my needs first and don’t apologise for doing so

I’m focused on my mental, physical and spiritual growth and that’s it.

I’m blessed and highly favoured

I let God guide my footsteps and walk confidently moving forward.

Praise be to God - Amen

Author - @iameriwa

⁣Photography - @xander.foto

⁣Model - @attrvcion

⁣Hair - @tossedtresses⁣

⁣Stylist - @talyseanir_ ⁣

New zine just dropped! This zine is particularly exciting because it features work exclusively from Black queer and trans folks!

Check out mentalrealnessmag.com/shop for more info!

I’m looking for writers on behalf of Mental Realness Mag for its next print issue. Only looking for submissions from black queer, nonbinary, and/or trans folks. Each accepted submission is paid!

-$15 per written submission

-$10 per visual submission

you must bring your daughter to church
the devil used her to tempt her uncle
it is the devil that has possessed her
fourteen year old body.

when she tells you she hurts,
scold her for tempting men
make her feel ashamed of her body
you must bring her to church
for deliverance.

when she is seventeen
and the boys enter her room
she does not go to you
the next day, your daughter
washes her body
and sits in class.

the day she sat on the couch
somewhere in London
screaming at the therapist
begging for help
she never mentions it to you.

when she is twenty-three
standing
with a degree in her hand
and an eye full of pain
between you and that uncle
she does not smile.

your daughters sat down
sharing secrets of pain
one after the other
revealing a timeline
of secrets.

they are not silent
like their mothers
and they sit, holding their heart
curing their pain with love.

your daughter is twenty-five
she called me
begging me to make the darkness
go away. go away. go away.
go away. go away. go away.

your daughter is thirty
you begged her to make you
a proud mother
so she married him
broken heart and broken ribs
two miscarriages later.

the days she says “no”
he yells ownership of her body
and she lets him.
and she lets him.
and she lets him?

but, remember
your daughter was fourteen
and you begged her
and you begged her
to learn the language of silence.

-Ijeoma Umebinyuo