I wonder how old I have to be before
people stop seeing my body
before they see me?

all life long
little black girls are sexualized
before they can even form a concept of the self.

12 year old me
standing in line at Smart & Final with my grandma
wearing my favorite romper
adorned with vibrant yellow sunflowers
and a conservative white shall.

That was the first time I got t h e stare
The licking of lips
and flirtatiously raised eyebrow from
the mid 50-something year old cashier
who kept a straight face until my grandmother looked away.
His glare of desire will always be engraved in psyche.
I didn’t know pedophiles existed
until I looked one in the face.

We can’t help that we bloom early
Blossom early into our womanhood
even when we are still kids.

What has to give before my DDD’s
stop entering the room before I do?
Before the melanin in my skins stops
telling my story before I even have the chance to speak?
Also….
what else has to be said before men
can comprehend that comparing my skin and my body to chocolate
and to meat is NOT a complete.
It’s dehumanizing.
Just. fucking. stop.

Ethnic women do not exist for the male gaze
or to be the starting point for your think pieces on feminism.
We are more than our bodies
and more than our skin tone.
We are the spirit
We are light
We ARE the blueprint
and the curator of most things
that you know and love.
Put some respect on our names
and treat us as such.

Tall and proud, cast in shadows, the silhouette of a man,
A figure forged from fire and pain, his spirit steadfast, a fan.
For every trial, a lesson learned, inscribed upon his skin,
Like ancient symbols etched in ink, his countenance within.

His body, made of steel and stone, a vessel unbreakable,
A force to be reckoned with, unyielding and unshakable.
His muscles, like the roots of trees, unbreakable in their grip,
The bond of ancestors unbroken, through every trial and slip.

His eyes, like burning embers, flames flickering within,
A soul that’s seen a thousand years, yet still alive and raring to win.
His scars, like tales of triumph, etched upon his flesh,
A testament to fortitude, a spirit that won’t rest.

Through every desert, every storm, he’s journeyed through the night,
Rising ever higher, like the phoenix, taking flight.
Breathing in winds of change, igniting flames of hope,
His heart beats with a newfound strength, a soul that’s learned to cope.

My Dear Body,

This letter is to express my gratitude and love for you. You are more than societal ideals and judgments; you are a masterpiece. Strength and beauty shine through your delicate frame as you carry me with grace and endurance, allowing me to experience life fully.

Together, we have faced challenges and overcome obstacles. In those moments of doubt and uncertainty, you have shown me the power of perseverance. Your size does not define your ability to achieve greatness. You are a force to be reckoned with, capable of so much more than what meets the eye.

I apologize for any unfair judgment I’ve placed upon you. Those moments were not a true reflection of your worth. You are worthy of authentic love, respect, and kindness, regardless of your size or shape. I admire your strength and resilience, carrying me through each day. I promise to love you, care for you, and embrace our uniqueness

Together, we will celebrate our individuality and embrace the qualities that make us who we are. We will stand tall, even in the face of heartbreak, knowing that our worth is not dictated by external appearances. We will redefine beauty on our own terms, radiating confidence and self-love from the depths of our souls.

Remember, Body, we are a team. We have each other’s backs, and we will support one another unconditionally. Let’s embrace our differences, celebrate our strengths, and be proud of who we are, regardless of our physical appearance. But I want you to know that these actions are not driven by a desire to conform to societal standards, but rather to ensure your well-being.

You are a gift, and I am grateful to walk this journey with you. In a world that may try to diminish your light, know that you are cherished. Thank you for being my consistent companion.

With boundless love and gratitude,
-Anna G.

There is time you spent looking
somewhere in the course
of the day
or days
or weeks and months
maybe even years

for that certainty of presence.

This is where you are no longer any sort
of impostor
of fearful
of lacking
of emotional
or dramatic

when the only thing there is, is that you, yourself, are.

those noises in your head are you
however not you

the illumination from introspection is many thousands of years old
from the masters it is possible to experience
the presence of who you are being
there is a grayness before the shining bright white
the smell of this work is the odor of freshly cut grass
and the sense of it, is that what you are looking for, is no longer missing.

That what was missing was always there, even so.

Poem copyrighted 01/2023, Ray Whitaker
Photo Copyrighted, 01/2023, Ray Whitaker. “Snowstorm over The Garden Of The Gods”