Standing Up to the Elements: A Community of Trees, Sharing Strength Through Their Roots

Your poetic prose is music to the soul — thank you for your power and glory...

Keep writing Miyah Byrd for surely your voice is honouring all the great, great grandmothers, aunts, sisters, groaning under a weight they most often had not time or space or tools with which, to articulate.

I thank you for motivating me, giving me strength, in the depths of another winter in which my sisters continue their silent treatment

Tortured for too long, and some of us become not blackgirlmagic but broken and reshaped into tools, for our torturers to use

Speaking truth to power hurts the most when the centuries-old custom of collaborating divides and rules, those you love/(d)

You stretch the sinews of your soul to understand

(While your body bleeds from fresh wounds)

Your broken bones have become stronger

(They live quiet days of desperation and morning T.V)

As they degenerate, becoming numbed

They have succumbed, settled for the mouldy crumbs

The sugary poisoned treats, from the oppressors’

Blood-soaked claws

You bandage your wounds, you wonder and you wait

As you want to draw them back to their own womanist glory

But they stab you in the back and tell you with their silence, 'shut up'!

They have a guilty conscience and while ghosting you,

They are sucking up to the ones with power,

Presenting elaborate feasts, they look away from the bloodied claws,

One sister’s thyroid stutters, the other one’s pancreas packs up

They’re dying, dying slowly from a bottomless hunger, and diabetes.

See, what happens when the miracle of blackgirlmagic

Does not happen?

I’m an artistic writer who loves to use pen, paper, clay and computer to support self and societal health, empowering thru the light of truthtelling stories.

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Aza Y. Alam

Aza Y. Alam

I’m an artistic writer who loves to use pen, paper, clay and computer to support self and societal health, empowering thru the light of truthtelling stories.

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