A Poem on Being Generous

[Image description: Bright yellow sunflowers]

Authors note: I was planning to do a post about being generous (with yourself and with others) this week, but I wasn’t feeling the most generous myself. It’s been a really rough week of dealing with racial macroaggressions and I just wasn’t in the mood to talk about being generous with other people, when I feel so hurt/sad/disappointed/etc. Instead, I am sharing a poem I wrote a few weeks ago related to the topic. I hope you enjoy.

[Image description: Bright yellow sunflowers and purple globe thistle]


and you heard my voice in the silence

i was asking





could you see my imagination when i whispered

i could feel the darkness start to change and morph

it became anew

a gentle light

a humble glow



and i felt you begin to understand

a consciousness growing

a self with roots extending to flowers housed in supernovas

exploding brightly in the endless infinities around us

but when i spoke you heard a voice that was not your own

it spoke in a language that made your belly clench

with slang that made you clutch your purse close to your side

it was from a place you had never been

the voice spoke into existence my realities that you recognized as a part of your own

bodies your great grandmother and her mother and her mother and her mother

and her mot


hid in a hatbox under the foundation of your home brimming with whispers of how much she loved the mammy she suckled from

who lived and died without them ever asking her name


and you ignored my voice

it’s too painful (hear me)

it wasn’t my fault (listen)

i don’t know what to do with this guilt (change)


and i grew tired of being silenced

so i refused to speak

and we were both the worse for it


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