a sunday poem for black girls

so we hide our sorrows

in cryptic text messages

save draft tweets for tomorrows

that never come.

plan out outfits for

dates that don’t pan out,

post photos for men

who only know we exist

between the hours of 10 pm and 3am.

plant kisses on lips

that lie

and give our bodies

to hands that

were not taught

to protect hearts.

we carry seeds

for men who

turn squirmish at

the thought of

oneness, family,

and shed tears over boys

who never learned to cry.

we lose ourselves

in hard hearts

and change our lives for futures

that don’t exist.

we bleed.

we’ve bled.

and yet we’re still alive.

love,

iman.

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