@christiansieber
my hair is natural:
my coffee-colored curls,
my crown, my pride and joy.
in history, our curls weren’t acceptable.
they were straightened,
damaged,
burned off, to be
“accepted”.
in the present day,
more comfortable in our own skin
and in our hair,
women walk the streets,
proud of who they are.
i embrace my crown,
to set an example.
my hair is more than acceptable
in the professional world.
naturally, i am curious.
curiosity has brought us religion,
science, math, technology,
our legacies as human beings.
i seek out challenges
to provoke my mind,
as an intellectual.
like a hiker,
searching for a virginal path,
desiring naturally, to delve deep
into areas of interest.
curious minds brought us
the power of information
knowledge of the world’s happenings,
by barely lifting a finger to a device.
curiosity has made
the acquisition of knowledge
a natural reflex.
when i write, the words flow naturally
from my pen.
not unlike the inspirational woman
whose name i share:
maya angelou, the voice of the people,
my poetry sprouts without water.
how better to motivate others
than by the stimulation
of their left brain?
art causes the most logical of us
to let go
if only for a minute.
a scholar, i allow my art to be
a natural means of inspiration.
having taken a moment to strum on my guitar,
i am fueled creatively
for hours of work.
when i perform on my saxophone,
my stage presence is natural.
i thrive through improvisation,
i let the notes come to me naturally
letting the saxophone play me.
as charlie parker once said.
a natural sense of stability:
invaluable as a student.
balancing a platter
overflowing with activities,
smelling strongly
of challenging courses
heavy
with obligations,
stability,
so that everything
doesn’t come toppling down.
placid naturally
in the midst of chaos,
i keep my head high,
and my mind sharp.
after the blows came like waves,
assault, verbal and physical.
screaming, tears, divorce.
to soothe my family’s stress,
i’m a shoulder to rest upon.
for my mother and brother.
as my family role changes,
and as it grows,
i adjust seamlessly,
readily,
naturally.
unapologetically and naturally,
i am maya.
i am the poet
with a wild mane of curly hair.
i balance schoolwork
with brass band performances
and tennis matches.
the student, the sister, the daughter.
this is who i am, and
i serve myself to you,
au naturel.
maya lynn
born of righteous, proper love,
raised to emerge as a dove.
her truest self tucked down below,
he hates her and he doesn’t know.
the blade plunged deeper into skin,
she didn’t know she would give in.
a hollow vessel, she is so,
an empty glass of fine merlot.
living a life he would deride
he’d yell, and hurt, and scorn, and chide.
for him, she travels veiled and cloaked,
he hates her, but he doesn’t know.
from fire, floods, and famine saved,
by her majesty. and her, she craved.
her life, she protects with her own.
she saved her, but she doesn’t know.
she whispers sweetly in her ear,
she tells her nought is left to fear,
she makes her feel she’s not alone,
by toil and treason, she is betrothed.
she holds her tightly to her breast,
each inch of skin, with lips, caressed.
each day, sentiments only grow,
he hates her, and still doesn’t know.
through the vein, surges the rage,
he’s capable of so much pain.
to tell him is further than she’ll go,
she’ll find a way to make him know.
the knife, discarded on the floor;
the blood seeping from beneath the door,
but, somehow the resentment grew,
he hated her, but he never knew.
maya lynn
