What can a man know of God
If he knows nothing of repentance?
What can a man know of repentance
If he knows nothing of a woman’s right to choose?
What can a man know of a woman’s right
If he does not witness softness as kin?
If he does not witness softness in men
If he does not witness often within
that strength of spirit overtakes strength of arms
Even chosen kings are not above writing Psalms
~Rahk.
Looking back
the questions I had
were more a proclamation
of autonomous
maleness
More affirmative
than outcries of “Punk!”
More nurturing than
“Hold it in. You bet’ not cry”
when you withstand hit after hit
when your body
is a faucet and an
unsuspecting wall
built to withstand hit after hit
My questions were less interrogative
than sexual inquiries
and voyeuristic requests
to witness bedroom theatrics
Less deviant than conquest
Not as fearful as religion
Inconsequential to pink polos
and Mariah Carey in headphones
Innocence does not master sports
nor does it demand a wide stride
or pants that give in to gravity
Self-awareness counts
the notches in chastity belts
Looking forward
the answer is far more curious
than wandering eyes –
Here be the island
which nurtures life
I’ll build here
with questions shifting my shore
~Rahk.
The parts of self we smother
To keep silent
So that we are not falsely accused
Of over-reaction
So that we are not falsely accused
Of being
“Soft”
So that we are not falsely accused
Of (un)professionalism
Of protest
So that we are not falsely accused
Of inserting an “I” where “I” does not belong
As if I, as if we, don’t belong in front of feelings
As if I, as if we, don’t feel
The phantom knee on my, on our, necks
The parts of self that hold tight to our chest
That clench almost painfully behind closed lips
The parts that resent us for pressing the pillow exactly where other parts asked the pillow to be pressed
The parts that never run out of breath, that don’t submit to the attempt to suppress, even when breath falters
The parts that care nothing of status quo and take sustenance from passive resistance
The parts that cry out, that raise up, that stand proud, that hold firm
The parts that find air to breathe despite the knee
Those parts understand
They understand that sytemic silence is not survival
But acceptance
~Rahk.
1. Maaan, you must be crazy
To think that I’m going to hold it all in
To reflect your blurry image of masculinity
You ain’t no mirror of mine
Light does not bounce between us
When I stand naked
Before a modest vanity
2. It makes no sense for rock to float
It makes no sense for water to dig graves
It makes no sense to know you are vast yet refuse to acknowledge your sky
Don’t hold it in, not when ocean water presses its skin against sunrise
I won’t hold it in, not when rushing water wears solid rock like old garments
3. Why should I hold it in?
Bruh, for whom would I be saving face?
I know who I am
I know Jesus wept
Why can’t you? Why can’t I?
Are we not vast? Are we not sky?
Maaan, gone and cry
~Rahk
A Badu song
Mothered my manhood
Told me
Boys can cry like yeyo
Told me
Boys, too, miss planes when dragging too many bags
Told me
God’s image is mine to claim as I am
Told me
Buildings crumble so why should one bear my name
Told me my name is a Black mother’s prayer
Answered in faith, with sound mind
Told me man’s strength is not greater than womb,
but born of it
in God’s time.
~Rahk
It crumbles soon enough
or slowly sinks back
to the earth
It is hard
but not indestructible
I will never be rock
I am indestructible
but not hard
I should probably
see a doctor about this
~Rahk
Rahk's Water 