Footsteps

I hum the sound of God so that my spirit guides can hear me

So that my ancestors can hear me,

So that they can hear us.

We are the daughters you dreamed of.

We are your wildest dream to come true.

We are powerful women, breaking strides

Feeding the hungry

Clothing the naked,

Wiping the tears and

Tightening the hugs, but we’re hurting…

Kissing fools we shouldn’t kiss.

And my Black visceral senses the daggers stabbing us in the front

Because the scars on our backs

Didn’t leave enough space for us to breathe-

To remember to stand up straight

But I remember our place.

I remember ancient dates

I’m aware that as Assata’s daughters we struggle together,

And we laugh together,

And we cry together

And we fight together

And we love the ones that did not and will not love us.

We,

The dreamers,

Feel unprotected

The most unprotected souls,

The most gifted souls — but we’re hurting

Because Black was never their favorite colour

A Black girl was never their first choice

But colour us love,

Because to you,

We are everything.

You view us as out of this world

And as an outsider looking in

I’ve learned to protect my own

Because we arrive on instinct

Because we are always loyal

Because we live and breathe on this battlefield-this soil

As if we’ve been here before,

Because we’ve been here before,

To pick up the missing pieces

To follow ancient footsteps

And leave traces for the next Assata’s daughters to come

Because I need them to recognize my words as their torches

My tears come from angels that weep for me and continue to weep for future dilemmas

As Esthero would say about the heartbreakers:

"I crush their bones with melancholy melodies as gifts for the broken-hearted girls"

The forgotten sisters

Because who fights for us but us?

Who prays for us, but us?

Who falls in love with us, but us?

Because the onus is on us-

The burden is on us as if it was permanently stapled within our bodies

As if our plea for forgiveness of past mistakes was ignored

Because in our hearts there’s a trace of someone else before

So forgive me…

Forgive me if my honesty's too heavy for you to comprehend

I don’t expect you to understand your constant participation in this Black girl trend

Because they’re still selling us like they used to.

Patronizing us like they used to.

Forgetting that we birthed their babies,

Wiped their tears and tightened those hugs like we used to.

Because love doesn’t feel like it used to.