Cool With Being Me

I don’t go camping

I have never skied

Oldies but Goodies don’t make me wanna dance

And I don’t need Cocoa Butter for dark spots on my knees

I am a black girl, African-American woman, simply cool with being me

Don’t put me in the One-Size-Fits-All box

I don’t have a big juicy booty

I don’t have rolls that make my man happy (take that literally)

And I really could care less if water makes my hair nappy

I am a black girl, African-American woman, simply cool with being me

I will never be seen in pajamas outside

I don’t wear my husband’s shirt to go to breakfast with the dog

I never read the newspaper, but I spell better than most

And I have been known to lie in the sun along the coast

I am a black girl, African-American woman, simply cool with being me

Please don’t ask me to make you some soul food

I don’t eat that shit

Please don’t ask me to play Bid Whist

I don’t play that shit

Please don’t ask me to do the Cupid Shuffle

That’s some stupid ghetto shit

Ask me to dance one-on-one

And I’d love to do that shit

I am a black girl, African-American woman, simply cool with being me

I overachieve in whatever I believe

Because that’s what I’m supposed to do

I appear sweet and thoughtful

But I will kick your ass if I have to

My face may say what my mouth won’t

But I will cuss you out if I need to

I am a black girl, African-American woman, simply cool with being me

I don’t wear size 16

I don’t use double negatives or misconjugate my verbs

I never put Vaseline on my lips

And I won’t change a nation with my hips and curves

But I will teach you to love when you’d rather hate

And I will show you why it’s wrong to be colored-people’s late

I will give you my very last dime

And I will write you a poem that doesn’t have to rhyme

I am a black girl, African-American woman, simply cool with being me

Silent Dialogue

Stacey Joy

In the beginning,

Almost anything can happen.

This is when you first hear the news

When light becomes dark

Days blend into nights

And whispers are noisy

Like everyone knows the secret

Except you

You have the “C” word

The word that’s harder to say when it’s personal

You have cancer

This is the very beginning.

The doctor is not yet someone you admire or trust

more the bearer of news you’d rather never hear

White and powder blue lab coats don’t know your name

Your face is not yet recognizable

This is the opening scene, Act 1

Cancer creeps on stage

Cloaked in mystery

Suspicion

Doubt

Anguish

Your solo is now a duet.

Act 2, the middle

Everything normal fades

Medications and doctor’s appointments

Scans, needles, questions

Probing and searching

The second scene, Act 2, takes place in the sky

The first-time skydiver’s descent

Praying through the fall

Not to hit the bottom

Before deploying the automatic activation device

Backsliding through MRI’s, PET Scans, and ultrasounds,

Crabbing from hospital to home

The parachute opens

as your duet falls freely to the ground

Only to realize you will jump

Fall

Jump

Fall

Many more times through Acts 2 and 3

But you always rise again in Act 2

Until the duet

Becomes more complicated

Cancer’s silent dialogue

Competes with your spoken monologue

The fall begins to feel more like the end

Intermission awaiting remission

But Act 3 opens

You and cancer take center stage

                Who has more lines

                Who has more pain

                Who has more strength

                Who has more life to live

                Who can change the blocking for this scene

You need a wardrobe change

Gowns grace everyday fashions

Hair and Make-up artists can’t fix

Bald

Sensitive

Broken skin

skin with remnants of vitality

Water, cancer water, fills you

Cotton pricks your skin

that burns fragile, transparent, bruised

Act 3, The Grand Finale

This is the last straw

The last row

The last one chosen

But this time you didn’t want the part

The lab coats, needles, and scans

The last round of chemo

The last chance for poison to protect

The last prayer to SAVE a solo

The last stench of the putrid bile

The last “morphinic” stare

The last cry

The last blink

The last kiss

The last hug

The last breath.

No Curtain Call

Everyone leaves

Cancer now a solo act 

Without an audience.