Nambie

scarification wrapped Nambieyou know nothing of my life

neither the contours or

its jagged torn edges

not its superfluity

nor me in my sublimity

the salient sweet funk

radiating out of my unborn

thought dressed in melanin

the saving grace of the diagnosed

disease fiction turned doctrine

your illness my cure

 times the fire blazing

white hot afternoons filled

to the brim with purpose

walking with me like shadow

it belongs to me

the dark notes

the unwritten

the distance between my reality

& lies in ink

never far away

my jazz gravity no

notes just an overstanding

you can not understand

a song i was born singing

the story written on my face

the laughter smothered in

my belly the scars on my life

are not subject to interpretation

live beyond your comprehension

manifesting reflecting projected in

callouses on hands and soul

& rusted buckets of uncried tears

flowing in the rivers i have walked

infinite base

dropping on the one

on the ones and twos

 remixing

the oceans i drowned in

the deserts i conquered

the places i walked on air

the sharp tips of

mountains scaled

at high cost to remember

to always remember

the valley which holds my dreams

this is my story

reduced to street corners

turfs tatted on knotted arms

craved into trees beside driveways

the bank took

your lips can not fashion

words strong enough to

describe the inside of the

whirlwind its mine

lived and bled from

the dirt in which

my great grannies

great granny walked

feet bare in

harmony with the rhythm of

the universe unbound

remembering to remember

free like breezes

struggling like fleeting hope

down ghetto streets &

section 8 apartment hallways

captured in the eyes in the

moment before triggers are pulled

like smoke from barrels

gone before you taste it

enduring in memory

like a life saver floating

buoyant stubborn hope

you can not weigh

do not understand

i in my everything

knowing its everything

nothing

you can touch or sell

everything

you cant buy or package

everything

in my eyes

in my heart

in my knowing

walking

waking

continuing

my story

growing in trees

sung by the birds

pushing through the dirt

remembering me

reminding me

i own mine

its contours

and jagged torn edges

you can not eat

me i am me

i am the story

(Prelude)

you can not have

us we are

every thing

you can not own

every thing

wind

wings

fire

fur

water

scales

dirt

no co opt

no sell

no buy

be

who you are

or who you

say you are

but not me

be you

you

are you

better or worst

your cross to bear

the book you wrote

the game you made

the bed you burned

you are left with

you trace it back

pick it up

wear the suit

change clothes

you can not have mine

you can

not rewrite the story

backwards and change

the color of your hat

you still you

own it

About Ayodele Nzinga, MFA, PhD

I create; therefore I am.
This entry was posted in Black Arts, North American African Perspective, Poetry, spokenword and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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