Shuck n’ Jive

I find myself wanting

Wanting genuine recognition — to be seen.

The man sees me as as a caricature

A puppet made to dance at his whim.

So I…shuck n’ jive!

Just to make a check

A check my soul can’t cash.

This voice — this black body — is abject…

Sex.

I am beauty seated with pain

I am stone cold as blood courses through my veins.

I wear the masks of my shame…

— Too black

— Too “Niggerish”

— Too thick

— Too femme

— Too fat

This voice. MY voice is not for sale.

My mellifluous spirit spilling from my lips is still mine.

I cry as I write the song I cannot/must not sing.

When will they see me?

The whole thing.