It's cliche because it's true.

C-O-N
S-T
E-L
L-A
T-I-O-N

This repeated again and again,
constellation,
in my head.

I had dreamt my bed turned into a spaceship
and took me to Orion’s Belt.
I felt his star-arms and was launched into the never-ending galaxy,
these constellation’s meaning no harm to my makeshift ship.

When Sunshine picked constellation everyone groaned,
who would’ve known the effect it had on me.
I told Sunshine her smile reminded me of Jesus
and beat up the kid who stole her swing at recess.

C-O-N-S-T-E-L-L-A-T-I-O-N
said between bites of mac-n-cheese
concentrating on constellation, this time
I didn’t notice my mom came home wasted.

When the adults separated me from my mother
they told me to remain calm and count to ten.
I didn’t want to count, counting on them.
So I just repeated constellation.

I received 100% on the test.
When I remember Sunshine and her Jesus,
I covet my constellation.

Boys connect like two semi’s driving down the highway,
both along for the ride.

Girls connect like two flowers in the same pot,
their roots grow and intertwine.

When boys fight, their semi’s collide, crashing together.
Afterwards they renew their parts and impart on the same journey.

When girl’s fight, they dig up old roots and cut off the other’s water supply,
denying each other the nutrition they need to mend.

Boys are like microwaves, and girls are like ovens.
Girls need to be pre-heated. Boys only need 10 seconds to be ready.

In the moment when a boy and a girl connect, the boy’s physical meets the girl’s emotional.
The boy feels himself inside of her, and the closeness of their bodies.
The girl feels a connection, and their hearts beating as one.

She said to me…

If I was white, I would buy nude band-aids.
If I was white, I would go to any salon and get my hair done.
If I was white, I would dare to get lost in a small town and stop and ask for directions.

I said to her…

If I was black, I would wear gold and look like a goddess.
If I was black, I would flaunt my curves and be proud of my body.
If I was black, I would love the color of my skin and have pride in what it represents.

She told me stories of injustice and cruelty done to her because of her skin.
I cried, and she HELD me… consoling me, when it was my skin that was the enemy.

I said sorry.

I told her stories of the effects I’ve seen my skin have on people of color. About the uncertainty that creeps up in their eyes when they see me at the bus stop at night. I always end up sitting alone. As if I deserve my seat.

Again, I said sorry.

Hiya guys! I received my first tattoo last night and it was awesome! I shall put a picture up soon, It is really big so it isn’t finished yet, the shading still needs to be done but I had to tell someone!!!!