Take my kindness for kindness. Know—my good side is my best side. #dejure

My mother, my father—don’t put shit pass me. My brother, my sister they bouty bouty—riding if I’m rolling.

My King, he would say I’m cutthroat-sweet, call me gingersnap.

My closest amigos know I speak my heart no feelings saved.

Newcomers welcome—my doors are always open, but new energy is checked like baggage at my gate.

Right bout now that’s all that matters. So you get in where you fit in—standing room only, 

                                                                                                        all seats reserved, no rooms left vacant. 

♥

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Somewhere between power trip and power failure I exists—in a cold dark place full of warmth—or heat—I dance like water at my best—like ice at my depths. I still birth.

—9:16 post meridiem, November 25th 2018

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Here, I imagine—You feel more at home in my body than I do.

I find solace in watching myself trying to be a good mother—a perfect mother—I found honor in knowing that she still only exists adorned in glittering imperfections. I see her tries—all of her attempts that lead to half actions and whole actions have thus far transmuted into You—ten toes, ten fingers—arm, leg, leg, arm, head.

—10:19 ante meridiem, Masha’Allah, November 26th 2018

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I have learned to feed you—and still I am not yet half the mother I am to be—for I have only just begun too nourish your cries for my attention—your restless waves for my acknowledgment—your tossing and turning—your tides attempting to pull from my sea shores a distant touch.

—10:53 ante meridiem, Learning to Love Again

Listen now on Soundcloud! COMING SOON TO SPOTIFY, ITUNES & GOOGLE PLAY

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Credits:
Poetry Written & Recorded by: Egypt English
Vocals & vocal production: Egypt English
Produced by: Uchawi Beatz
Mixed by: King Frank
Video shot & edited: Chop County Republic

My fur be faux ’cause I found no need to kill for warmth—we have been graced with the rise of comforts, namely pushbutton heat.

I pay no blood price.

You will not catch me trapping rabbits for fashion, ‘cuz like my diamonds I clean no blood from knives for a good show.

You may spy me in authentic fur—genuine leather maybe,

but know it’s been recycled, thrifted, hand-me-downed or gifted, and to the dear creature who has sacrificed most I offer no price, but many meditations well paid.

You will see me here or there my crown ‘dorned full and gratefully feathered, be kin to know they have long since been pluck from vintage wings, cast down from the plumes of one who still soars the skies or pulled from a shelf of manufactured plumage.

Still, you will not find me cursing the man who captures the doe, or the woman who glistens like pressure crafted stars from a laboring man’s land—no, ‘for every life has a price to pay, every bird a good song—and we all have a measure of heart, no one being’s strummings lesser or grander than the next.

Alhamdulillah

—♥E