Single Thespian

Language ain’t shit
When I was young I was told
Not to look
Not to speak
Not to be
Like them
Those who do not speak
The normal vernacular
And what a word to use…
Vernacular in three different spaces
I’ve three different faces
This kind of separation is not painless
So when I went to ma’ grams house
An’ acted a fool when I spoke as
An Educated Black woman
Who is you?
At times I don’t know who I am or the
Words I weave from my wicked mouth
That can lace around throats and make people
Squirm in their seats
I speak to the drums beat
To my grams hands cleaning
The chitlins that I dare not eat
I speak a language so intestinally twisted
That the Academy gawks that I’ve swallowed
Their language and cooked it into my
Collard green veins with ham hock
sprinkled it over my father’s fried chicken
and ingested it
chewed thoughtfully on the words
that have become mine
my own to define myself
my people
my family
you no longer hold the power
the fists clenched to hit me
I now have the tools
The aikido
The shield to stop your sword
I can define the world
And I can become myself in all spaces
And leave my traces
the way I deem
ok