No More Fucking Butterflies (19/30)
I have decided the next man I meet
who makes me nervous
is getting blocked,
walked away from-
I'll run if I have to.
No conversation,
no glances,
no more whirlwind romances,
I'm not giving chances.
I'm through.
Who the hell decided butterflies in the tummy
was something to romanticize in the first place?
For me, I think it's my body trying to tell me to
get as far as I can from this demonic creature
who will only cause me harm but
I kept thinking it's a good thing if his presence
can make me stumble over words.
Hell no.
Neutrality is the way to go.
The man you're mostly unaware of
until he gives you good reasons to be.
The one who doesn’t prey on the
unbalanced chemical reaction that happens
when you lay eyes on him.
And maybe the love story won't be
the stuff of an indie romance film
but it will be stable and real.
It won't give you more material from which to heal.
It will provide you with bliss more enduring
than the intoxications of fleeting butterflies.
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Leila Mottley was regularly writing and performing poetry even before she published her novel Nightcrawling at only nineteen, in 2022; today we get an advance peek into her forthcoming first collection, woke up no light. Divided into hoods—sections on Girlhood, Neighborhood, Falsehood, and Womanhood—the poems instruct us, as here, in the art of noticing, speaking boldly, and feeling deeply.
what to do when you see a Black woman cry
stop. hum a little / just for some sound / just for a way to fill us up
it is streetlamp time / all moon-cheeked black girls are
mourning / a wailing kind of undoing
don’t mistake this as a tragedy / it is sacred
don’t mistake this as a glorious pain / we hurt.
don’t tell me it will be alright.
make me a gourmet meal and don’t expect me
to do the dishes after
don’t try to hug me without asking first
if i slept last night / if i need some
jasmine tea / and a bath in a tub
deep enough to fit my grief
and if i say i want a hug
don’t touch my hair while you do it / don’t twist
my braids around your fingers
or tell me my fro is matted in the back
from banging my head
on the wall of so many askings
you think we are sobbing for the men,
but we are praying for the men / their favorite
sweat-soaked t-shirts
we are screeching for our thighs
for our throats / and our teeth-chipping / for the terror
and the ceremony / and the unending always
of this sky
so if i let you see a tear drip / if i let you see my teeth chatter
know you are witnessing a miracle
know you are not entitled to my face crack / head shake / sob
but i do not cry in front of just anyone
so stop. hum a little / just for some sound / just to fill me up
More on this book and author:
Learn more about woke up no light by Leila Mottley.
Browse other books by Leila Mottley and follow her on Instagram @leilamottley.
Click here to read Leila Mottley's curated list of recommended books about the San Francisco Bay Area.
Leila Mottley will be in Brooklyn for a Poetry Night reading and conversation with Tatiana Johnson-Boria at Books Are Magic (Montague Street location) on April 24, 2024 at 7:00 PM. The event will also be livestreamed for free on Youtube.
Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.
To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.
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Black History Month
Maya Angelou (American, 1928-2014)
Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit
a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woma
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
from And Still I Rise • Copyright © 1978
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En Gratitud
I've been meaning to
saunter my way back to this space
but I always hesitate-
Mostly because I have everything
yet nothing I want to say
and I'm often afraid of the words
my brain amalgamates in haste.
But, whoever you are
wherever you are
whatever you aren't-
You are appreciated.
The knowing that on any given day
an unknown person out there
might be reading these poems I write
as an act of radical self-love, self-care,
healing, resistance, resurrection,
both medicine and illness,
but mostly in hopes to understand
and be understood
could be out there understanding
and being understood too
helps me to feel I have done more
than merely exist.
For that feeling,
I am immensely grateful.
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