I must’ve mistaken breath for clouds /
my purpose for hand grenades
because, if this is not fire
I don’t know what living is.
If my hand isn’t in boiling water
or my thoughts at war
I don’t know a storm.
But somebody turned on the heat
And it’s not my jacket or coat
cause life has a way of
stripping away your fashion and
colorful bouquets of joy.
snatch your seat from under you
and make you stand
face to face with your past
toe to toe with love /
and as much as I want them both to be
they split me in half like mishandled glassware
make my sleep become / scattered marbles.
So I stay woke.
I see the cracks
I see the valleys
I feel the webs wrestle against
the satin of my face
I won’t take your hush money
or accept your violence as water
it doesn’t flow with the sunrise of my blues /
It ignored my SOS when I needed it most
so I will drive I will push
I’m going to create furious thunder for the skies
blow rapids under the waves
I’m going to make you feel this bass pummel from my heart
not some timid toned treble
I heard you speak / I’m woke now,
what else would you expect from a
The poem, Being Woke, by Nikki Skies for Rebel on BET.
Be sure to watch all the first season of REBEL this week on BET.com. And check out the poetry for the series called REBEL YELL. Here is the full video for the poem, Reverse Opinions.
Be sure to watch your favorite episodes of REBEL on BET.com this week! And enjoy the poetry on REBEL YELL as well. This video is entitled, “Scoreboard”
Get a poetic recap to the hit drama, “REBEL” before the season 1 finale airs tonight! Make sure you check your local listings and TUNE IN this edge of your seat finale.
Here you can find all things “REBEL” including the four poems I wrote for, “Rebel Yell”:
Almost a Lamentation
It’s Tuesday so you know that means “Rebel” comes on BET tonight! Enjoy the last poem I wrote for the “Rebel Yell” series on BET.com entitled, “Reverse Opinions”. AND TUNE IN TONIGHT!
“The Gods huddle over your recipes trying to decipher your chicken soup.”
“It don’t matter if I as 10 or 2, you still sat me down and told me the truth.”
Click to hear the new poem “Scoreboard” from Rebel Yell. Listen as Rebel talks about her childhood and men wanting to settle ‘scores’ with her.
TUNE IN TO an all new “Rebel” Tuesday night at 10pm EST!
TUNE IN TO “REBEL” on BET, Tuesday 10pm EST!
If I could rename her, I would call her Oya. She brought the rain/the storm/the thunder and lightening my heart needed.
I thought my womb would stretch/hips expand/body open for all my children to breath life.
I never imagined my teacher would come to me, age 11/a reflection of my brokenness/an unrelenting stare/unyielding hunger to be whole.
There was no escaping. A time to heal had come, and so began the cycle of faith and fear.
I never imagined my daughter as a savior. There would be nothing immaculate about her conception. How I became a mother would be by birth. But here she is, no marks to prove my body made room for her/to prove to my soul was given time to prepare for her. But she is here, breathing in all of my dreams as if I whispered them to her as she tossed and turned in my body.
She is a sphinx. The fire burns but never destroys. I have witnessed her sift through her own ashes at least three times. For that, I do not take credit. I am only here to remind her she has been resurrected before.
I relish in every raindrop/vigilant through every storm/faithful when the lightening strikes because I know rebirth is on the other side. She has taught me to bury the dead/to forgive myself. It is her grace I am most grateful for/her willingness to allow me to grow/to always allow me to hold her. Even in the darkest hours, when our arms can’t seem to stretch around our bodies, I hold her in my heart/in my prayers. I carry her like child in womb in my soul.
Continue reading SHE CHRONICLES: “For Mamas Who Have Considered Suicide While Loving Daughters With Open Wounds” a poem by Crystal Tennille Irby