To all the people I want to cuss out:
I have not bent towards my inclinations.
There is honor in breathing
Big-tunnel breaths that reach my toenails.
I have not been weathered.
My fro has not been dented.
My skin, my mind, the fullness of my mouth
Has yet to be penetrated.
In me, I harness wind
To lift me above the concrete, above the infrastructure, above you.
We have not met each other yet.
You do not know I spent all night digging ditches.
To exhale and topple you over.
Then bury you, still talking loud, beneath the soil
That my mama and my mama’s mama and my mama’s mama’s mama
Will smooth over you and plant for me.