decompensate

The more poetry I’m forced to churn out, the worse it gets, I do believe.

This time we had to write a poem imitating Michael Harper who my professor is in love with, I swear. I don’t care much for his work, so it’s difficult for me to sit there while Dr T lauds it for 2 hours. Whatever. I have a pharm exam on Thursday and I have yet to start studying for it. If, after that exam, we have an A or B average on tests alone, we don’t have to take the quiz on Neuro meds, or attend the last class. Which. Whatever. I’d rather learn about neuro meds than antibiotics. But whatever. What the fuck ever. My new mantra?

I have to wear short sleeved scrubs tomorrow. Good thing they cover my shoulders, at least. *shoves pillow in face and screams*

My latest lumping of random words. *sigh*

Imitating Art

We never knew that power
should have been a normal
piece of our repertoire until
we read words from Audre
Lorde, Lucille Clifton, bell
hooks.

Never realised until Ani
that anger was permitted.
Alix and Eve taught us
to take back cunt, to toss
off shame, slide into life
next to our sisters and
stand up for our daughters.

When Ntozake Shange
danced across the stage
we remembered how
luminescent black could be.

Feminism, redefined. Life
trying to imitate its self-
created art, circling back
and discovering how the
meek turn mighty once
you teach them how to
maneuver the mic.