I admit I run up on cliffs then have to retreat But its because there’re these Lines in the sand that I just can’t see. Feels like sometimes I touch a stone and it turns into a leaf I seek freedom but find locks with keys out of reach I mean it’s like damn, can I get a map? I try to climb mountains but get trapped in these cracks I mean why Is the land set up like that? And then of course I have my own cliffs, traps, and dark valleys So life’s real interesting with all of these territories But what’s funny is that Despite all Slowly I’m starting to love even a crack’s glory starting to love riding the valleys edges and hills of my story And I’m even learning to love unlocking locks and making keys And appreciating all the sky’s Between mistaking rocks for leaves (c)2015 Kristin Richardson Jordan Continuing the poetry challenge. This is #4 of 5.

Baobab trees are known for their swollen stems and their ability to hold gallons of water their ancestral connection spiritually And their vitamin C rich fruit called ‘cream of tartar’ They live for thousands of years and share all that they’ve got with other plants animals and human beings Justice is like baobab trees its fruits feed revolutionaries and it’s strikingly beautiful even when there’re no leaves rationally, justice always holds water emotionally, it shades truth and the strength that taught her Lovingly, it’s just a sturdy beast with a trunk dozens of meters high and perpetually deep (c)2015 Kristin Richardson Jordan Continuing the poetry challenge. This is #3 of 5.

Continuing the poetry challenge. This is #2 of 5. Mules Fight Back I’ve been taught that the Black woman’s “lazy” the Black woman’s “mean” She’s just this crazy “Emasculator” or a “baby machine” A “hoochie mama” or a gluttonous mess I’m taught I’m nonsexual, oversexed or “sassy” at best And I’ve also been called stupid, emotional, unclean I’ve even been judged by those who call me their “queen” And I work like a beast but am stuck outside America’s dream Just trapped and attacked then labeled as “mean” But I am still here and I still demand to be seen I survive all! I victoriously breathe See you can think me your burden or feign me your daughter But I’m far from helpless I. am. impossible to slaughter I am neither a “hoe” Nor a “bitch” Nor a “foreigner” And though cops may kill me I’m far more than victim or mourner Cause I am the point where gendered race meets the principled argument and the shouts from the streets Put me down, cover me …