Grace Bernard final SST11 draft

12 Jun

The cul-de-sac

 

I love walking in the rain clears my mind, my head…

Even though the dirty water seeps into my brain, my head…

Drip drip

Brings me back to the sanity it reverses all the insane doings that Hucknall the white sac did to me.

But now I see. Once you expand the mind and step through to the black cul-de-sac you can never go back

But what if you were born into a white cul-de-sac and the torment inside of you was a worser hell than they made Iraq?…

I find peace momentarily a sweet release as I am dancing in the rain, letting everything go and everything goes…

But then the thought, the memory of you powering over me, comes and stays now again I am saying no, so you force your hand and you grab onto my essence, you taught me how to hate myself so now it’s just nice to feel a presence!

Clever.

Leading me to believe that my kinky hair was a metaphor for how I like to take it raw!

Maybe- Clever.

White sac making me open up the flesh wound door, pushing me into the black sac more and more

Doors shut, not clever

White sac didn’t even need to label me a whore

I gave it to myself when I looked into a mirror I thought I knew what I saw;

Cracked dry skin that only white hands could sink in giant grotesque lips and disproportioned hips a short torso to the ones you white sac know and legs that went on for days maybe because in evolution they’re the ones God gave so we could run run run fast away from the white sack that was covering your face and of course we have to except that this is something time conveniently erased the savage days when children were taken from their mothers because they were of a mix up of a white sac lover that could only exist under cover for God forbid you sleep with that demon but it’s OK to force feed  your seaman to uncharted waters then when all is done you slaughter their mothers and your own daughters..

It’s 2016 and some of us are still living in the illusion of the white sac hell dream but now instead of you taking them and raping them in bed we are all plugged in programmed false words fake stories are rammed into our  … apparently our history began with slavery but everyone seems to forget about the peaceful aborigine

Or why Napoleon shot a cannon and blew the nose off the Sphinx, answer being so that now we can no longer make links

and it’s sad because nobody seems to understand that the soul demands and how can we not collectively see that it was all planned, we need to connect, expand instead of allowing ourselves to be force fed lies upon lies upon lies upon lies upon lies, about everything and everything so that we don’t feel anything

Left numb and dumb.

But now I do feel my soft brown melanin skin and giant lips that were made for giant lips to sink in big powerful curvaceous hips that were made for carrying a heavy load not a burden a strong short torso that if I didn’t see you, would be the only one that I know and long sexy legs that go on for days because in evolution they’re the ones that god gave so that I could walk freely over any dessert, forest terrain…

So white cul-de-sac I’ve walked through the door to the black cul-de-sac and no, now I have expanded I can never going back

Now that’s clever.

So white cul-de-sac it would seem that I have awoken from your hell dream

But white cul-de-sac I forgive you because there is one thing inside of me that you cannot touch and you cannot see

But I am not telling you because that is just for me

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One Response to “Grace Bernard final SST11 draft”

  1. MouthyPoets June 17, 2016 at 11:55 am #

    Hi Grace,

    This is a really ambitious poem, attempting to weave the personal and political/historical together. The premise of the white/black cul-de-sac has potential as a metaphor for two worlds and the different ways in which the narrator experiences them and is treated by them. At the moment you’re doing so much within each line that the clarity and power is often lost. How about taking the metaphor of the cul-de-sac and really exploring that a bit more? As an initial task I’d suggest you imagine these two locations – treat the metaphor as literal so that it can have more resonance. So in the white cul-de-sac (imagining it is literal), what can you see? What do the streets look like? The houses or flats? The people? Walking down the road what does the narrator experience? Hear? See? Then do the same exercise for the black cul-de-sac….you can be imaginative about it….perhaps the colours aren’t reflective of reality, e.g perhaps the ground is orange and the grass is grey (whatever reflects the emotional truth)….Then as a third exercise I’d suggest writing out – just using facts – the event that is hinted at throughout your narration: “you powering over me”. If you can, tell us literally who, where, when, what is around in that environment (whether real or imagined) – it might be only a few lines long. This gives you three texts that then might work well spliced together, so you go between black cul-de-sac to white cul-de-sac to a central event…..allowing the metaphor to comment on that event. — Let the rhymes go, the subject matter is strong enough to hold itself together. Finally, have a think about how you can use line breaks to tell the story and lead the eye down the page, even if written for performance it’s a good exercise…hope this is useful, of course it’s your poem so if you feel like this isn’t appropriate for what you’re trying to achieve that’s absolutely fine. I’m very excited about the potential in this piece, thanks for sharing
    Hannah

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