Louisiana Is Calling This Granddaughter

Call me crazy,
But Louisiana is calling
This socal girl
Deep in a place unfamiliar.

A culture I know
Mostly second hand,
Is summoning
This granddaughter
Home.

Like Gumbo
I am mixed with flavors
That gloriously blend
For delicacies
And delights unknown to
Those not in the know.

Home of my spirit ancestors
Calls me.

Home is where
I must go.

Something is waiting,
Perhaps a crown
For a queen.

I hear you calling
My womanhood home.

For My Sister Spirit

For my sister-spirit of golden honey hue,

Sunlight radiating from within

Goddess-Sister-Friend

Passion cascading through spoken word and pen.

I spoke to my ancestors on your behalf,

Asking their spirit strength to be sent to you.

For love to another bronzed goddess; to save you.

So peace, my dearest is on the way,

On angel wings and opened doors.

Answered questions and a calmed mind

And time, to just unwind.

Allowing you to continue to soar

Toward your life's purpose with an unsubdued roar.

In sisterhood and solidarity,

I send all of me, 

And the power of my ancestors.

Fire and will,

Endowed with Panther's pride,

Is what resides within you.

Head high, headdress adorned.

Move forth in comfort and confidant stride,

Into a brazened new dawn.

They are here to give us strength.

Vitamin D Therapy

Vitamin D Therapy

My melanin 

Activated,

Energized. 

Bringing forth healing

Of the daily wounds

Inflicted by simply living.

Sunlight raising serotonin levels

Gloriously chemically free.

A gift from ancient Ra

For this bronze skinned beauty.

So I can walk forth and

Illuminate the way

Humanity should go.

All healing and heating 

Life force

That is the sun.

Period. Enough.

I need to start properly

Punctuating my sentences.

With periods.

No more commas and conjunctions

That string nouns with verbs

Ending with explanations and justifications

Or apologizing my way through life.

Just a plain and simple

No.

Or yes.

Or even

I'm. Just. Done.

Done taking up for you,

Making excuses for you,

Expending too much of me in the process.

This. Will. Now. End.

With a period.

Or maybe even an exclamation point.

“Hell no” might even be in order,

Even if it offends your fragility

And you fool heartedly use your waning power over me

To beg for one semicolon;

Where you gravely attempt to erase my period.

I matter.

My tired matters.

My heart matters.

That pain from your need to run me,

Own me,

Tell me when,

and how,

and why,

I should be something other than

What my heart tells me.

Until I'm drained,

And pained,

And pleasing you’d out.

It all ends with this. Period.