I must make my heart, my queen for the love she once poured out, an ivory tower, a silent, giant, jagged-edge mountain of harsh rocks, wood and ruin.

Reaching up under a pale night sky, reaching for the stars, for some kind of spark, being witness to so much unnecessary, preventable violence, l choose to transmute fear into rage.

l choose to transmute fear into rage.

l choose to transmute fear into rage.

Do not mistake these rose-tinted cheeks as doll-like innocence or fairness. I’ve grappled with my myths and the myths you’ve fed me about my place. And passion, flames and fire have risen yet threatens to consume you more than it could ever harm me.

Burn whiteness to the ground. Burn that construction of whiteness and all that shit down to the ground once and for all. For all.

See I’m still carrying that tired old play script that a Black Woman is the mule of the world, saving everybody else when no one gives a fuck about me.

I’ll keep working on that, my queen, my heart, fixing that ivory tower to remain out of reach and impenetrable and safe.