Starts in the chest
like an electric
through the veins.
The palms sweat
from the warmth
of the drumming
against the bones.
When the music
lasts long enough
to call is something
sex is where the
Light it up, baby
light it up until
every head in the
in front of the
neon lights tonight.
Written by: Flose Boursiquot, July 8th
Inspired by: AWALL instrumental medley
As I sit on the floor with tears at my feet, I pluck.
I want to unroot every loaded term I’ve ever heard from the matted dirt in my brain, especially the ones that hurt.
When my hands face my eyes, the prickles I’ve removed from my synapses lie cold in my palm.
Nigger— it no longer whips my bones and hangs my blood dry.
Bitch— my vagina remains unsettled.
Crazy— the anxiety traveling through my body doesn’t run and hide under blankets of shame for hours passed the legal eight.
Loud— my big, beautiful lips don’t chafe and blister with anger.
Unreligious— every cell in my body does it’s own unique dance without fear of awakening the angels; freedom.
I am now plucking faster, yanking at every root until there’s nothing left but bald. When I have achieved this, I look at myself in the mirror.
Wow, you. Here you are so untouched.
Then I step aside and watch the whole thing explode into something beautiful, so full of light and love. I inch closer, pick up the pieces and swallow each one like bits of alfalfa sprout.
Grow in my belly, grow so strong until society is no longer your trigger.
Written by: Flose Boursiquot, July 6th
It is a pain I rarely think about
It is a pain I bury
Then I see their faces:
I am reminded of the young lives taken
The loved ones wailing
Then the pain returns
It goes, slowly, with the voice of the narrator,
It will return later wanting evermore to have known these great men
Written By: Flose Boursiquot