No More Hand Me Downs

this weight is not mine
i won’t wear it

you can keep it for yourself
since you want to be down

this weight is not mine
i won’t wear it

don’t care how stylish it is
don’t matter how fine an antique–
don’t nothing that heavy belong to me

keep it for yourself
if you want to be down


-Rahk.

#poem, #poetry, #raw, #relationships, #sons

Mending

Learned at an early age
that words carry weight
only broken bone I’ve had
is being called a fag one time
too many
and there aint no cast
for that kind of injury.
Can’t set spirit the
way you set bone.
They don’t quite mend the same
but no surprise they don’t
quite bend the same either.

#grief, #lgbtqa, #poem, #poetry, #raw, #water

With a Note

In 2012, all I had of yours:
a whisper in the dark
a hug behind closed curtains
the questions you left me with.

They belonged to you:
That fitted-cap whisper
That capricious hug
That polluted reality.
I never wanted your things

You gave me:
mixed whispers,
closed-curtained embraces,
subconscious kisses,
Now in broad daylight,
I lay them on your back porch.

I deserved more than your darkness.


-Rahk

#grief, #letter, #poem, #poetry, #raw, #relationships, #water

The Statement Jussie Smollet Did Not Make

Jussie:

I am here, asserting my innocence
The same way my attackers demonstrated that
my black gay life does not matter
That my black
And my gay
Should be washed away in a violent baptism

I am here, before you, my truth having been arrested
But I will not remain silent

For as I bled, as I became intimate
with the state of this union,
My name and my story
continued to be brutalized
on a cold night in Chicago

It is only by God that I am here
So I am here
Before your flashing lights
And heavy glares
Carrying the bloody brown stains
of my public dragging
The hooping and hollering of sirens
mocking my wounds, deeming them self-inflicted
as their ropes scarred my wrists

Because I am Black. Because I am unafraid to love.
Because I am not a nigger to be hung as the birds tweet
about my smell
Because I am not a faggot to be gagged and
consumed by your self-righteous fire

Because I am here
Standing before you
Twice a victim
Twice a survivor
And though it is my right,
I will not remain silent


-Rahk (on the Jussie Smollet disposition)

#jussie-smollet, #letter, #lgbtqa, #poem, #poetry, #raw

Manhood

God cried into the soil
splattering mud

a little boy refused to grow up
presuming the reach of his roots
fell short of his branches

oh, but he was a seed
swimming in the mud
of God’s coldest tears
determined to take root
in ground not intended
to hold him tight

-Rahk.

#grief, #poem, #poetry, #sons, #storytime

Rahk on Jussie Smollet Allegations

if it is true
an old rope chokes the American Flag
once again
Free bodies travel fearfully underground
once again

if it is true
Ida’s tenacity has pounded on locked doors
once again
Malcolm’s scowl has deepened in revolution
once again

Americans hang their heads
and clutch their hopes like holy bibles
once again
once again

Harriet, shotgun at the ready,
reminds her people:
“The way to freedom is Northward.
We’ve passed too many Pillars of Salt–
caught between moving forward and looking back.
Keep marchin forward like you ought–
I gots the strength you lack.”

“Not again
Not again”
Emmett mutters a prayer
“Not again
Lord, not again.”
Emmett can only stare
if it is true

Maya frowns,
“shoulders falling down
like tear drops,
weakened by her soulful cries”

once again
we’re forced to fear the truth
as much as we fear the lies


-Rahk. (R. Person),

Original post read, “Civil Rights travel underground”. All posts are subject to revision. Some posts will become unavailable as “Rahk’s Water’ continues to form into a final work.

#grief, #jussie-smollet, #poem, #poetry, #raw

“Grief (When a Poem Can’t Fix It)” -raw audio

When you can’t write a poem.

When a poem can’t fix it.

When a flick of the lighter

and a pull of the cigar

and a lashing out at loved ones

can’t fix it

When sporadic sobs of faith

ripping from bellies

like plagues of moths

can’t fix it

When a prayer skips

“Don’t let it be true, Jesus”

And another prayer skips

“Don’t let it be true, Jesus”

And the prayers skip

And voices crack

like whips across Christ’s back

and questions linger

on the napes of our necks

and lifting our heads to the sky

does not loosen their hooks

And you don’t ask them

because you know the silence

resounds like his last breath

Because you know he should not have taken his last breath

And a rage storms

through the blood of kinship

And a rage storms

below the clouds of scriptures

And a question clasps hold of your eyelids

And a gaze falters at the casket

And a sweeping of the crowd jettisons a spray of questions

like bullets

like bullets

like bullets

that wail like they just lost their child

like bullets

like bullets

like bullets

that wail as if their prayers were answered incorrectly

like bullets

like bullets

burdened by too many unanswered questions

like bullets

like bullets

Who is responsible for these tears?Tears dammed by so many quesions

Tears desperate to escape the dam to prevent the flood

And a poem can’t fix it

And a prayer didn’t make it not so

And questions still haven’t been answered

And we have heard that weeping endures for a night,

But why is it that we have been forced into mourning?

#grief, #poetry, #raw, #spoken-words, #water