To You

An experimental Open Epistolary poem to my Aunts, my Mother, my sisters, and my Baba, my grandmother, and especially—-You. I love you. Love, Me.) ❤️ P.S- I picked Scarlett for the photo because she inspires me to fight no matter what happens in life.

you stand there, (feet heavy like lead)

Tormented, withering away—the dishes in the dingy water making your fingers crinkle up, dry and cold

And you can’t curl into a ball and cry,

No.

Your babies need you.

And you have things to do

Like, cookcleansewreadsweepteachvacuum

It’s all in one block of text because there is 24 hours in a day, ladies, 24 hours. 24/7.

It feels like a block of time. A sentence. A run on variant sentence of time—-it never ends, does it?

365 days all year. But I don’t need to give you a

Lesson on that! Because

You live it. (You told me if there was another day they could invent for us to work it would come to existence like magic, like alchemy—- because ain’t no day we are alive that we don’t work, breathing makes it so)

And then after, if there is a space between the second you stop to breathe and put down the mop and wash your hands and make two more sandwiches,

you can maybe dream for a moment/minute.

But you are tough as nails, right, that’s what your daddy said.

You can fish like a boy, and cast far like one too.

And you know that your Aunt may say it’s unladylike, but really when it comes down to it,

She is there for you, because you can come to her for anything and even come out to her, and that’s okay! (She’s tough, too.)

Cause behind the scenes your Aunt already

Knows what it’s like to be judged for too much, too often and for too little back pay.

And I know

You.

I know you are tired, lady, woman, girl child.

I know you are saving your last breath, because

This last gulp of breath will

Determine your whole life ahead.

I see you, too.

You wanna curl into a ball. () You wanna hide. No more smiles. No more sorries.

But, you let out your breath, and you push through.

You fight it.

Every single time, you fight it. Even when

You can’t.

Every single thing that’s got you down, pushing you back into that endless pit,

When you get told

no,

over and over, and then

Told, no

You are branded

“not good enough, just stop

Trying!”

You push right

Back.

All the you’s out there.

The you’s who get pushed aside because —-“you are the weaker people, sex, gender”

The you’s who are way too smart for their own good, kind of you’s,

The you’s that can create things the world has never seen, and because You were a woman, they laughed at it and they didn’t think it was better than a boy’s invention.

The you’s who get tossed around, get called dumb, stupid, lazy, and every name in the book—-kind of you’s, (me, you, everyone)

The you’s who aren’t creative enough, and really, child—-stop trying to write for a living because it’s just not good enough, kind of you’s. To all those kinda publishers and significant others and editors and the extras you don’t need—-u know what’s up.

But through all the things you go through,

Little and big,

I love you.

Yes, I do.

Because,

You are me.

And I am you.

We are all together.

We will each fight, and win!

And my sisters, they dream and fight and win,

And my Baba who taught me to

Find out everything and learn everything and

Just be happy making necklaces out of wild flowers—

And with my grandmother’s eloquence in kindness, teaching us all to be selfless even when you’re wounded—-

We are all tougher

Than

Nails!

We are nails.