I’m tired of wanting to be wanted.
Of pinning for and after minds too simple to understand the complexities of
Of indirectly degrading myself because I have not found love from within.
Every damn poem is about you.
The faces change, but You remain the same.
Come, heart –to-heart:
Please, stop this love.
Find yourself, in the sweetness of your skin.
The soft-spot in your chest.
The beauty of everything evenly remotely related to you.
You are more than them. You are more than the ways they have been raised to
You are more than his bed, his arms, his love.
You. Are. love. Be love.
Feel love from every crevice of your being.
Know that you are indeed a Queen.
Don’t just walk down the street, Glide across that motherfucker.
Consider our reflection and conjure up your future, with whom do you want to
The you that needs him to affirm that you are worthy of love?
Or the you that makes love with her reflection?
You, who is so taken by the mind and body you inhabit, sometimes you sit
just to admire the woman you keep becoming,
You who will not be pleased with the sleazy ways words carelessly bounce off
the tongues of those who are finding ways to make products of bodies, stake
claim on things they do not and cannot own, and grow weary at the sound of
They are mere microcosms of a larger sin.
They too are America.
And you are weary/wary of all their ways.
Let them come to find you,
Nestled somewhere between glory and beauty.
Somewhere between your own thighs,
For you are your own gift, and no one’s prize.
Somewhere, between the lines where self and God meet.
May the waters of our meeting be the well that never runs dry.
May you want no more.
Zanya, 28, loves food, twerking, black people, singing and spending time with her students and friends. But most importantly, She's a big ole scaredy cat who runs away from cultivating and sharing her talents. She's excited (and terrified) to start pushing herself and she's grateful for this platform! :)