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Cleo

My Grandmothers Tell Me to Stop Crying

     I.  Barbara: Stop Crying Over Boys 

I did not cry all that time for you to do the
same thing and not stand up for yourself. 
You’re fine and if you aren’t, you will be. 
You come from a line of planted women 
Planted as in buried alive,
As in you tried to drown us but we drank it
up,
Clawed our way out of the ground and
cooked dinner with the dirt still under our
fingernails kind of women 
Venus flytrap women willing to swallow a
man whole and choke on his bones before
having our throats slit into a bouquet again
Dandelion women who have bent easily and
wilt slowly 
Who wilted into wedding bands and men’s
arms 
So how dare you let some anything
except God’s own hands root you to
anything you don't want
Use the voice we taught you that you
deserved. 
Make your own money so no man can claim
you as his own. 
Drink wine, watch Fraiser, and read more
books. 
The sky is not falling and even if it is, you
know what the femmes in this family do
You come from a line of smoking women 
Like we shouldn’t have been burned in the
first place but we will gift you these ashes
like roses
Because you don’t have to burn anymore. 
This line ends with you
You have generations worth of tears to
extinguish yourself 
You are allowed to cry, but you are not
allowed to cry for long. 
     II.  Cleo: Stop Crying Over Failure  

Stop looking for my legacy in your face. 

     III.  Soni: Stop Crying About Dying
 

​That psych nurse did not think we were a
good pair–
She said two broken people could not fix
each other
Did not think about how one knife sharpens
the other 
She can’t tell that we’re family, either 
Can’t see past my light eyes, your brown
skin 
We do not share blood but who couldn’t see
that
I gifted you my snarl, and my wild hair
I gifted you a halo and wings made of
fucking steel.
You grew your claws on your own,
remember to sharpen them every morning.
I have you seen with a dead heart before 
Cobwebs in your aorta and all 
I saw you, you curled onto the floor
claiming your heart was split in two but I
knew they were just growing pains 
Slapped the word “burden” off your face
“Heartache” is a word that does not deserve
a line in your poems
Take your fucking meds. 
You aren’t broken, your body just hurts
because it is growing 
See the wings are breaking through your
spine and cracking through your skin 
And that you’re free now to fly.
 
You tried to die.
Not even you can kill you.  

 

Biography

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Cleo (they/them) is a Black femme genderqueer poet. They have been blessed with opportunities to perform through school and the ACUI in their home of New Jersey, Boston New York, Chicago, Houston, and Philadelphia, both individually and on poetry teams, either for showcase or competition. They were a member of Penn State’s 2019 1st place earning CUPSI team and a member of the 2018 2nd place earning “Ashe Not Ashy” FEMs tournament team. They aspire for their work, whether it be in elementary education or poetry, to be honest, healing, radically joyful, and unapologetic. 
 
            Instagram: blackmsfrizzle_cleo
            Twitter: @cleonotpatra4
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ISSN 2639-426X
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    • Issue 29
    • Issue 28
    • Issue 27
    • Issue 26
    • Issue 25
    • Issue 24
    • Issue 23
    • Issue 22
    • Issue 21
    • Issue 20
    • Issue 19
    • Issue 18
    • Serenity
    • Issue 17
    • The Audio Room
    • Issue 16
    • Issue 15
    • Issue 14
    • Play It Again
    • Issue 13
    • Issue 12
    • Issue 11
    • Issue 10
    • Issue 9
    • Issue 8
    • Issue 7
    • Issue 6
    • Hand to Mouth
    • Issue 5
    • Issue 4
    • Issue 3
    • Issue 2
    • Issue 1
  • Submissions