Tell me about yourself, Keva

 

I’m from the Boogie Down ‘till I drown! (Parkchester, NY) I began writing short stories and poems when I was 9 years old. I was an awkward girl who wanted to give love and receive it. There was always chaos in my home life, so I created the peace I sought after. Even though I go to college (LaGuardia Community College), this is merely a stepping stone. I consider myself an entertainer; participating in poetry slams, MC’ing, and popping out to the occasional open mic. My work has been featured on Girls Write Now, Medium.com, an other platforms.

 

The pieces I create not only help me escape my reality, but confront it as well. Living as a queer black woman, I’ve heard and seen many things that have discouraged me to be the best I can be. I see my pen as a beacon of hope for a better future, where the labels we place on ourselves and each other disappear. This isn’t an overnight process, but every warrior counts.

 

 

 

 

Untitled

By Shakeva "Keva"

 

I have met my g/God

 

S

h

e

is

black

 

pure and unapologetic

fierce

 

I see her in grandmother’s kitchens

amidst the Crisco and love put into every dish

 

she is Harlem

she is the Bronx

she is mother Africa

 

dear America

why haven’t we had a black woman run this?

to tear the whole

system

down

 

to actually pass a gun control bill

stock the white house with coconut oil

that it so desperately needs

 

cultural appropriation would be outlawed

dashikis the uniform for HBCU’s

 

and every becky “with the good hair”

will be snatching afro wigs off the shelves to try to get that thing

 

that thing that can’t be bought

 

that thing that they try to kill us for

 

melanin is the highest commodity

worth more than gold

shines brighter than it too

 

dear America

instead of asking why we need a black woman at the forefront

 

I’ll ask

why America

doesn’t deserve her.

 

 

 

 

Broken

 

Ain't enough time in the world to heal me but

they keep telling me to wait

Justice is on her way

 

Meanwhile, another Sisterbrotheruncleauntadultteenchild is shot down in the street

not even deserving of a blanket to cover their bodies

bodies stripped of humanity

and draped in blood

 

Every time I see those flashing lights I see my life flash before my eyes

and I wonder if this will be somebody's last day

my brother's last day

my father's

mine

 

I've been told to ignore the evil emanating from the earth and focus on me alone

but it's hard to shine like a star

when your entire galaxy is being destroyed

 

So when I raise my fist high into the air

don't see it as a threat

I'm just pointing to where the stars have dropped from the sky.


 

 

 

 

Mine

 

I have been gagged by the constitution

blindfolded by the American flag

lynched by my box braids

I hang with niggas that shuck/jive for a higher spot

On the tree

‘cuz if we gonna die

We die with the oppressor’s apologies on our lips as they tighten our nooses

And be proud

When they watch our bodies sway in the wind like strange fruit

“Look massa! See how my neck twists for you?”

 

This isn’t a black poem

I do not want to label anything

Black

For fear it will be taken from me

Gentrified

then returned on a Styrofoam plate

This is the cycle of black things

They are born

Drenched in flour

Turned into a hashtag

Distorted to fit the “All Lives Matter” agenda:

“Well black people didn’t invent

(insert style/dance/talent here)”

 

Please do not label this as a black poem

I want this one

to keep

I do not need this poem remixed

into an acoustic version

© 2019 Bronx Native