Truth…said plain

first light

my coffee cools

as I braid patience thin,

five strands, five tries, five counted breaths

already frayed.

you say…

maybe not that;

maybe they didn’t mean

it that way, it was just a joke

tell me again.

five times

I parse the glance,

the smirk knifed into air,

the raised brow, thin “relax,” “calm down,”

the tidy shrug.

workroom,

school hallway glare,

dinner plates clink like bells;

you bless the story’s wrong saint, then

call it prayerful.

color

slides on my skin

like a code you won’t learn;

you keep asking for the legend,

but not the map.

it’s wild!?

how your words float,

white moths nipping the light,

always finding a new window

to bump and live.

I say

she tested me,

salted the earth with grins,

poured vinegar in every cut,

watched me not bleed.

you say

maybe she’s young;

maybe she’s having pain;

maybe the wind misheard her mouth…

I heard it clean.

the room

can split itself;

we keep living in halves:

my say is a splintered doorframe,

yours, the whole wall.

I’ve learned

to bring receipts,

times, dates, exact wordings,

the margin notes, the minutes, all

still stamped “unclear.”

unclear

though thunder wrote

its name across the night;

though smoke spelled out the exit sign

in burning cursive.

in school

I made A’s,

you filed them as “loud A’s,”

then called me “too articulate”

to be offended.

at work

my idea lifts,

you tie on a white kite

string, release it from my fingers,

rename the sky.

in love?

even there, salt

your people’s “only playing”

turns jokes to cuffs I can’t unclasp

with bare teeth, hands.

black girl,

black woman, ghost

when promotions appear,

full human when a crisis hits

I am the fix!

color

inside the lines,

someone whispers behind;

when I bloom beyond the margins,

they bring scissors.

soft thaw,

those famous tears,

sirens on porcelain cheeks;

first your silence flutters, then blares

I’m the suspect.

history

isn’t a past;

it pipes in through the vents,

a rumor with a badge and gun,

still looking busy.

I know

what danger means:

a note becomes a case;

a sigh becomes a threat report;

eyes can accuse.

this one

tests the water,

one toe, then both her legs;

she smiles, holds court in powdered light,

gilds every barb.

you say

she doesn’t know;

someone taught her that wrong;

perhaps her heart is gentle, shy…

I count the cuts.

pattern,

not an event;

a river, not a drop;

I’m drenched while you admire how

the stones look polished.

you ask

for patience, books,

links, podcasts, bullet points;

you love the syllabus of pain,

not the tuition.

teach you??

I taught all day…

taught breath to keep its seat,

taught neck to swallow lightning bolts,

taught rage to kneel.

teach you???

I taught my spine

to hold a heavy gaze;

taught smile to sheathe its fractured edge,

taught sleep to wait.

and still

you want office

hours on basic truths,

a slide deck where I tidy harm

to quiet fonts.

once more,

you tilt the room

by calling all things “gray”;

meanwhile the bruise has memorized

your favorite color.

I’ve learned

this talk’s design…

when I say “knife,” you say

“maybe a butter spreader then,”

and pass me toast.

micro

is the headline;

the body text is macro,

black letters on a white bright page

you squint for nuance.

in church,

in staff meeting,

at the family table,

my proof is never proof until

a man repeats.

his mouth

translates my ache

into a dialect

you trust by reflex, like a flag

saluted daily.

I watch

my sentence rise

in his unburdened throat,

come home wearing his cologne, and

only then count.

this ache

is arithmetic

I keep the common core

how many times must X explain

before Y listens?

unfair.

this calibrated

charade of innocence,

the careful glass-blown ignorance

you polish nightly.

you know.

you know. You…

know. Your pauses confess,

your laughter chooses camouflage

your no is knowing.

denial

is a hydra;

cut one clause, two grow back:

“she’s nice,” “she’s sensitive,” “she’s

just joking,” “tired.”

fatigue

is my surname

on days my hands go numb,

still handwriting every streetlamp

that flickered wrong.

tell me

why mirrors crack

only in my bathroom;

why the scale slides when I enter

your snug courtroom.

you say

it’s complicated;

I say the knot wants teeth;

you dress the rope in euphemism

and call it silk.

I speak

in weather now:

there’s a front moving in,

a pressure drop when she arrives—

hear your forecast?

I won’t

name your people;

the air already does;

I won’t feed shadows with my mouth

they eat enough.

instead

I center me:

my pulse, my sacred yes,

my boundaries like shored-up levees

I sandbag fast.

no more

apology

for naming rain as rain;

no more umbrella-shaming me

for staying dry.

I am

not your class time;

I’m rainfall that chose rocks,

refusing to be cupped by hands

that call me flood.

this face,

this braided sun,

does not owe you a tour;

the museum’s closed to visitors

who bartered theft.

color

is not rumor;

it’s my morning mirror,

my evening lotion, every shade

itself sufficient.

I won’t

translate stones;

I won’t make bread from hurt;

I won’t be scripture you misquote

to bless your quiet.

the girl

you keep defending

learned perfectly well;

her homework is escalation,

and she aces.

your home

chooses a side

by sofas and excuses;

the staging tells me where to sit

near the exits.

danger

isn’t abstract;

it has a mother tongue

that sobs and points and opens doors

for armed belief.

the script

is centuries old:

delicate lightning falls,

strikes me, and you call it romance

I call it siren.

listen:

my no is wide,

my no is well-built oak,

my no holds back a rising sea,

my no is hymn.

I will

not tutor shame,

nor give denial snacks;

I’m tired of spooning honey on

its iron filings.

I bring

a different math:

subtract my willingness,

add consequence, divide your fog

check the remainder.

notice

how rooms recalibrate

when I refuse to teach;

the silence learns its own sharp tongue,

the floorboards speak.

your friend

tests the water,

but I am not the shore;

I am the lighthouse turning, bright,

naming each reef.

you say

she means no harm;

I say “harm has a scent,”

and it’s already in the curtains…

open a window.

you say

the heart is good;

I say “good hearts can bruise,

good hearts can call a manager,

good hearts can fire.”

you ask

what you can do;

I lift one mirror up,

ask you to read your favorite script

without the chorus.

start here:

believe the said;

retire your maybe’s leash;

give back the benefit of doubt

you stole from me.

start here!

when tears arrive,

don’t build a ferry boat;

let water pass without a badge

or siren’s gift.

start here!

stop deputizing

the pale and pretty ache;

remember names the earth buried

raise them like bread.

start here!

when I say knife,

feel for your bandaged hand;

notice the crimson in the napkin

you keep pocketed.

start here!!

if he repeats

what I have just unspooled,

credit the mouth that first bled it

not the clean echo!

start here!

learn the weather

without me as your sky;

some storms you must name by yourself,

not by my thunder.

I’m done

with softening

the teeth of what was said;

let syllables keep all their molars,

let bite marks show.

I’m done

with being lens,

tripod, and shutter, too;

today I am the photograph

and the caption.

I’m done

with teaching harm

to sing in major keys;

dissonance means the truth is near…

let it be near.

hear me:

I won’t be picked

like cotton from my day,

unspooled to swaddle your comfort;

I clot my time.

hear me!

I won’t be oath

to your convenience god;

I’ll be the altar you can’t lift,

stone-backed, stone-true.

hear me!!

I am my proof;

my breath, my scar, my laugh,

my tendered invoices of light,

paid up in full.

and you…

if you would change,

let silence be your text;

let listening be work you sweat,

not borrowed mercy.

until

that miracle,

you’ll hear my gentle door

close with a sanctified finality…

peace to my name.

last light.

I braid again,

but this time for myself:

five strands, five dreams, five counted loves

already whole.

color

is my chorus,

my uncompromised bright;

I step beyond the classroom’s chalk

I keep my sky.

and if

you ever ask

why I did not explain,

I’ll point toward the thunder’s bones

truth, said plain.