Sweet December

March 4, 2017
Custom User Avatar
More by this author

She spends her suns outside in the rain, likewise her moons,

A black and brown lady, 

On the cusp of her youth and the dawn of a new day,

The drops pound against thick hair, 

Both filled with as much heart as heavy as an elephant, 

Drip, drop,

She falls under packed pressure, 

And remembers desire is nothing to necessity, and gets back to her feet, 

Falls, stands, repeat,

As if the weight will stop and she won’t have to worry about another drop on her skin, 

It comes despite her, and she falls and she stands, drenched in mud and rain from the black and blue of December,

She needs questions asked,

And she wills them with her stance,

How long before bitter December rain becomes something fierce, a frozen flood, without Noah’s Ark to preserve what’s precious? How many more days rise and fall before beauty is gone and all that’s left is a loveless, washed-up world of dead things and long faded memories?

Rose curls are dyed with colors of hatred, burning like regrets in the mind of a repentant criminal,

Black skin is scratched and bruised and scarred by acid,

But her eyes never die out, 

Never in the darkness,

They fuel anger and resilience and a need to get back on swollen feet, 

She stands for the differences, the ugly ones, and the in-betweens, 

They are not going anywhere,

They cannot,

Her roses are not going anywhere, 

She will not,

A thousands drops of December rainfall, 

And there is a girl.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback