Timeworn leather on fresh skin
I am newer than before, make your skull spin
Even though the garments I wear are borrowed or passed down,
Scratched by a thousand needle blades and worn out,
I inject new energy into their seams,
Give them new shape, new meaning
I bear my soul on their sleeves
And display genderbending multitudes, all worth protecting
I wear sunlight like a sparkling cape, just watch that melanin pop
Got that coconut, that shea butter, that glow will bring you to a full stop
I wear the armour bestowed on me in a configuration you’ve never seen before,
Protecting an underbelly of tenderness, ready for lovers’ war
Makeup enhancing full lips, dark eyes, a painted warrior mask,
Eyeliner wings sharp enough to slay enemies, in glory I bask
Lips stained red from spilled blood, I become drunk
I wear femininity like drag, yet carry masculine spunk
I am both divine destructive feminine and earthly nurturing masculine
Naturally curly and curvy but kind of like your uncle Tony
My height is a mighty helmet, I will not shrink myself for your convenience
Ain’t nothing tame about the way I brandish my queerness
Ain’t no lenience about the way I fight against gravity bending my spine,
So I can stand tall like the great medicinal pine
Display and blast the Italiano and the Muluba in me,
I call it multiethnic pedigree
I am one among a lineage of proud warriors, growing muscles to tussle
I am adorned in fat cells, let ’em hang off me like tassels
Make haters bristle
The patriarchs want me small and brittle,
snappable like thistle, but I won’t fall for their hustle
I just smack my pierced lips, keep drinking that fruity punch
You don’t want me to eat? Shit, I’ll have you for lunch
Can’t handle my generous abundance, my lipo’s vibrato?
That says more about you than it does about me, bro
My hair is an untameable crown, indomitable like the seasons
Things gotta change
White people taught me to be overwhelmed by its greatness, its range
Now I know better
I let it spring with splendour
Let kinks curl with pleasure
And to protect my treasure,
I pierce velvet skin with sharp jewels turning me into a textured but tender lover
I arm my knuckles with rings, chain-link my throat with golden rope
I am covered in family heirlooms, vestiges of my ancestors’ sentimental hopes
Polished pendulums hanging from earlobes, ticking time since ‘99,
24-karat gold from my Nonna, serpentine chain from mother of mine
She does not know I wear it now, warm against the top of my spine
But I remember when she wore it,
The shell of my ear pressed against it,
Felt it floating above hot ocean waves in her throat,
My tiny fingers gently thumbing and tugging at it while she spoke
Though that was long ago,
This jewelry keeps my fighting pulse at a fierce tempo
I now have a tattoo I affectionately call my mother wound,
Depicting tomato vines,
olive branches that might never be extended, it’s true
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Just like that song, you might’ve heard it through the grapevine,
Lavender and chamomile to quell the burn,
Oregano draining inflammation after the spurn
These are the healing herbs Mamma taught me to yearn,
Equipping me to nurse what she and the world cursed me with, the wreckage
They connect me to the good medicine in her, my heritage,
Just like the inked crocodile on my right arm I brandish like a sword,
In times of doubt, making me feel more powerful than a horde
For I am of the Bakwangandu, the clan of the croc
I harness the strength of my Nyinka, sturdy like rock,
Who fought off the great reptile, alone, and lived to tell the tale
These legends ink my veins with powerful blood memory
They will not dry or clot in my body
For I shroud the soundscape around me with song
And for a moment it feels like nothing can go wrong
When I fill up my lungs with raw air and spin it into golden melodies
Songs that help me grieve, songs that help me relish and love openly
For a warrior’s chant is a mighty shield when wielded earnestly
I sing peace unto my lungs, peace unto gray matter
Peace unto my body as I fold into petaled armour
And though built to deflect the hot blade of bullshit
And to keep out any old trifling bitch,
My armour is not designed to shut love out
It is an invitation for sacredness, for connection, not an opt out
Welcome to my Holy Whoredom, friend, lover or fling
Just remember that in here, I am King
Can you see the shape of me in the lines of the war maps I draw?
Can you claim to hold the deepest parts of you without wavering,
without blowing away like straw?
