I carried my fear of the world
to my children, but they refused it.
I carried my fear of the world
on my chest, where I once carried
my children, where some nights it slept
as newborns sleep, where it purred
but mostly growled, where it licked
sweat from my clavicles.
I carried my fear of the world
and apprenticed myself to the fear.
I carried my fear of the world
and it became my teacher.
I carried it, and it repaid me
by teaching me how to carry it.
I carried my fear of the world
the way an animal carries a kill in its jaws
but in reverse: I was the kill, the gift.
Whose feet would I be left at?
I carried my fear of the world
as if it could protect me from the world.
I carried my fear of the world
and for my children modeled marveling
at its beauty but keeping my hands still—
keeping my eyes on its mouth, its teeth.
I carried my fear of the world.
I stroked it or I did not dare to stroke it.
I carried my fear of the world
and it became my teacher.
It taught me how to keep quiet and still
I carried my fear of the world
and my love for the world.
I carried my terrible awe.
I carried my fear of the world
without knowing how to set it down.
I carried my fear of the world
and let it nuzzle close to me,
and when it nipped, when it bit
down hard to taste me, part of me
shined: I had been right.
I carried my fear of the world
and it taught me I had been right.
I carried it and loved it
for making me right.
I carried my fear of the world
and it taught me how to carry it.
I carried my fear of the world
to my children and laid it down
at their feet, a kill, a gift.
Or I was laid at their feet.
What I Carried by Maggie Smith (Good Bones)
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Andrew McMillan, from Pandemonium; “swan”
[Text ID: “mother don’t eat me / mother I’m trying so hard / to get better”]
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— Athena Farrokhzad, "My Mother Said"
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i mother it, the absence of her ii. i was hard to bear from the very start.’
[text id: my mother is an artist too. somehow, somewhere along the way, i forgot that we artists have some creations that we don’t like. the realization came late, almost like everything else in my life.]
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"When does a war end? When can I say your name and have it mean only your name and not what you left behind?"
- Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
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“The Black Love Imprint” 🤎
In the realm of love, a radiant hue,
Black hearts entwined, a bond so true.
A symphony of souls, harmonies rise,
Embracing the strength that love implies.
Within the nucleus, a sacred space,
The black family unit finds its grace.
Roots deeply planted, branches spread wide,
Nurturing love, where faith does reside.
Through trials endured, they stand as one,
Facing the storms until they are done.
Resilient spirits, unyielding and strong,
In unity they triumph, against all wrong.
Generations intertwined, wisdom shared,
Ancestors' stories, deeply cared.
Passing down the flame, a torch so bright,
Igniting the path with love's pure light.
Black love, a beacon in the night,
Guiding hearts, dispelling plight.
Through laughter and tears, they find their way,
Together they thrive, come what may.
In each tender touch, a healing balm,
Affirming the worth, a soothing psalm.
Celebrating beauty, melanin's embrace,
Love's tapestry woven with elegance and grace.
For in the medleys of life we find,
Black love's essence, power defined.
A testament to love's enduring art,
The black family unit, is a masterpiece from the heart.
— The Black Feminine Society (CEO)
--------------------------------------------------------
The Black Love Imprint: Creating Legacies, Traditions, and Healthy Standards for Our Present & Future Generations To Come!
For Post Like This & More Follow Us on IG : click here 🫶🏽
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And because I am your son, I said, "Sorry." Because I am your son, my apology had become, by then, an extension of myself. It was my Hello.
Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
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It hurts to put weight on my left leg
Because when we were falling
I chose to save you instead of myself
And the choice
Not consciously made
Is one I'd make again
And again
And again
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Erika L. Sánchez, from Lessons on Expulsion: Poems; “Amá”
[Text ID: “In One Hundred Years of Solitude, / Márquez wrote that we are birthed / by our mothers only once, but life obligates / us to give birth / to ourselves over and over.”]
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from i mother it, the absence of her.
[text id: the hatred for the word mother is so sweet. / you can hate everything related to it. mother tongue, mother’s hometown, motherhood, everything. / but then you say mom, and you’re six years old again standing at the foot of her bed waiting for her to open the covers, let you in and ask you about your misery. / you know, before she became a part of it.]
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"I have known that I have wanted to be an incredible mother for as long as I have feared being a regrettable daughter."
Blythe Baird
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