Comfort From a Touch Away

A poem

Teisha LeShea
Know Thyself, Heal Thyself


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In shadows deep where silence moans,

A heart isolated, a spirit weeps,

For touch that cures, for solace unknown,

She finds no comfort, no solitude, no relief.

Her skin, a canvas-rich mahogany,

Carries stories and leaves its imprint,

A tapestry of resilience and grace,

Yet craves gentle hands and a warm embrace.

In bustling streets and cold, empty rooms,

She walks in sequestration, consumes

The echoes of a world so clamorous,

Her cries for comfort were softly voiced,

Are often lost, a muted choice,

For Black women bear the weight

Of silent struggles, not good enough, and rejection.

The world sees confidence, smiles, fashion, language

But the nights are cold, damp, and still,

Where touch is only a figment of our imagination.

She fantasizes about arms that hold her gently,

Of whispered words in the darkest night,