Photo by Timothy Eberly on Unsplash

jazz baby

What’s 16,000 feet below sea level? I don’t know, but I bet educated scientists could tell you for me. Locked up in the dreamy, intoxicating mind that is my own, I imagine mermaids and all their sea-breathing friends playing under the sea, and I wonder when we’re gonna stop exploring space and investigate the sea. The wide-open sea connects us all, the same salty carrier that parts lovers and separates families. The wide-open sea holds the element that brings life. Bring it all to me; let me feel the energy.

But above ground, politics rule our lives whether we want to admit it or not. My country is that of a democratic republic. It’s a republican democracy. So try not to sneak into politics in a conversation or risk getting a fist in your face. Like a bolt of lightning, this medium ends friendships, divides countries, and ruins people’s lives. But we can’t live without it. It’s an unknown high like no other. It doesn’t matter if you’re a conservative or liberal, Democrat or Republican, because governments are kleptocracy: rule by thieves.

Please put me in a room full of strange people, and I stand out like a sore thumb. My long, gangly legs. My pitch-black hair. My war-torn brown skin amongst a sea of white snow. The girl in my mirror cries when she sees me in such a state. She reaches out to help but finds that she cannot. Put me out of my pathetic misery. String me up like Mama’s clean laundry and decapitate me, so I know what death feels like too. Don’t pity me, la pauvre petite fille. Why don’t you just let me, let me be?

Give me a spaz shotgun, and I will show this world how to fear. I will tame rogue nations, squash international terrorism, annihilate domestic traitors, quiet the Axis of Evil because the only thing men are good for is talk. Let a woman handle their business. She’ll take care of it good. I will put the very fear of God in these infidels. Let me at them like a violent monsoon angel.

So goes my song. I feel the melodies envelop my soul, and I’m gone again. I am slithering around, gyrating to the music that only I can hear. Get hot, it says. Writhe to the beat of my heart like no one’s watching. But I don’t just dance to the song. I sing it too. I’ll keep on singin’ my song. What songs do people sing when no one else is around? Let this be the song of my people.

My people are the ones who bleed in the darkest corners of the day, asking where the time has gone.

laurel

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This tiny – but mighty – podcast examines how words on the page sound different when the creator brings the concepts to life. My goal is to showcase emerging voices representing their communities and chat with industry folks to show us how to break through and become published poets and authors.

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