Cleo
My Grandmothers Tell Me to Stop Crying
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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 |
