2004-10-07 - 10:00 a.m.
She doesn't understand my poetry.
Thinks I'm overly dramatic.
She doesn't see herself as I.
No warrior queen.
Nor exquisite Goddess.
No tangible manifestation
of Yemeya
or Obatalla,
or Allah.
She doesn't see droplets
of Atlantic Ocean water
trickling down the surface
of a brown, African silk.
Just tears
running down her cheek.
She cannot see herself
as beautiful.
Just regular woman.
Black
and sad sometimes.
She is completely unaware
of her divinity,
her subtle sensuality
and the sheer delight
insider her smile.
