Let’s Dance

Ashes to ashes?
Or, til’ death do us part.

You can’t break me.
You can’t take me.
You can’t stop me.
You can’t trap me.
You can’t dim me.
You can’t kill me.
You can’t trick me.
You can’t use me.
You can’t quiet me.
You can’t top me.
You can’t copy me.
You can’t ignore me.
You can’t house me.
You can’t isolate me.
You can’t silence me.
You can’t stifle me.
You can’t handle me.

“Go back to where you came from.”

Babe, I am,
where I’m from.
And, I’m not going.
I’m not going.
I’m not going.
I’m not going.
I’m not going.
Dear hateful love, I’m not going anywhere.

My identity not a flaw.
My voice not a defect.
My curves not a weight.
My skin not a caramel.

Brown skin, soaked with bright black hair, soft and my most cherished birth day gift. practically inedible in every way.

Woman voice, deep and raspy, misses common American sayings and trembles when angry as she snarls, “I’m not going anywhere” (in three different languages).

Outstretched curves, joy and jelly, reigning her own kingdom and decorating the air with pride and perfume and love.

Identity, she asks for nothing, beating without a miss in beds of my fingers even when I rip off my eyelashes, reborn a seven thousand times before I end the day.

I am where I came from.

Your move, good sir.

Ashes to ashes?
Or, til’ death do us part.