For Coloured Girls

Dark frazzles of womanhood, of never having been a girl
Half note, scattered without rhythm
No tune distraught, laughter falling over a black girl’s shoulder
It’s funny, it’s hysterical the melodiness mess of her dance
Don’t tell nobody, don’t tell a soul

She’s dancing on beer cans and shingles
This must be the spook house,
Another song with no singers, lyrics no voices
And uninterrupted solos, Unseen performances
Are we goons, children of horror, the joke?
Don’t tell nobody, don’t tell a soul

Are we animals? Have we gone crazy?
I can’t hear anything but maddening screams in the soft streams of death
And you promised me, you promised somebody anybody
Sing a black girl’s song
Bring her out to know herself, to know YOU
But sing her rhythms, caring, struggle, hard times, sing her song of life,
She’s been dead for so long, closed in silence so long
She doesn’t know the sound of her own voice
Her infinite beauty

She’s had notes scattered without rhythm, no tune
Sing her side, sing the song of her possibilities
Sing a righteous gospel
Let her be born
Let her be born and handled warmly
And this is for coloured girls who have considered suicide
And moved to the end of their own rainbows


My Stuff

Somebody almost walked off with all of my stuff!

And didn’t care enuf to send a not home saying,

I was late for my solo conversation,

A two size is too small for my own tacky skirts.

What can anybody do with something of no value on the open market?

Did u get a dime for my things?

Hey mehn!, where u going with all of my stuff?

This is a woman’s trip n I need my stuff to ouu n ahh about!

Honest to God, somebody almost run off with all of my stuff!

And I didn’t bring anything but the kick n sway of it,

The perfect ass for my man and none of it is theirs.

This is mine, Guanita’s own things, that’s ma name.

Now gimme ma stuff!

I see you hiding ma laugh

And how I sit with legs open sometimes to give ma crotch some sunlight.

This is some delicate leg and whimsical kiss,

I gotta have to give to ma choice.

So you can’t have me unless I give me away.

And I was doing all o’ that till u run off on a good thing.

And who is this u left me with, some simple bitch with a bad attitude.

I want ma things!

I want my own with the hot iron scar; I want my leg with the fleet bat.

Hahaha… Yeah I want my things.

I want my callous feted quick language back in my mouth.

I want my own things, how I love them.

Somebody almost run off with all ma stuff.

And I was standing there looking at myself the whole time.

It wasn’t a spirit that run off with my stuff.

It was a man, whose ego walked around like [rodent’s] shadow.

It was a man faster than my innocence.

It was a lover I made too much room for.

Almost run off with all my stuff.

And the one running with it, don’t know he got it.

Am shouting this is mine! and he don’t even know he got it.

My stuff is the anonymous ripped off treasure of the year.

Did you know somebody almost got away with me?

Me. In a plastic bag under his arm, me Guanita Simms

Somebody almost walked off with all o’ ma stuff.