ROUND 3
Form: Terza Rima

Mic Ting: Our Account

I have watched my people come under attack as of late
Innocent bystanders made victim on land they call home
No good deed or assimilation protecting their fate

Someone’s grandfather caught on camera with blood on his dome
His assailant disappears into a crowd of silence
While our country turns a blind eye to let these cowards roam.

Anxious and afraid, we look to our leaders for guidance
Hoping that someone will stand up and say this isn’t right
Yet time and again, we see inaction lead to violence.

I once thought racism could not survive under the light
Of a thousand eyes looking down upon its twisted face.
But now I see the true nature of this endless fight.

What do you do when the thing people see about your race
Goes against everything you know to be true in your core?
I wish a motherfucker would name the time and the place

Just to give me a chance of settling the fucking score.
Instead they throw glass at young boys and light women on fire.
Emboldened white CEOs threaten what Trump’s got in store.

I am over apologies that mask true desire
In a world where the President makes jokes about Kung Flu
Then turns around and begs China to get him rehired.

I could scream of the injustices until I turn blue,
But to even draw breath is a blessing not all can count,
And I don’t want to waste mine on those without a damn clue.

Every day, it seems, there are new challenges to surmount.
I don’t wish to place my community’s problems on top.
I just pray for the day we get to settle our account.

Treesje M. Powers: Post Partum

There is a darkness 10 to 20 percent of us face
It has made mothers forget they ever smiled
A form of depression dressed in diapers and lace

3 months postpartum after my second child
I found myself, a shell of woman and soul
Body literally torn apart, hair wild

I clawed my way to the edge of the black hole
I was ship in the Bermuda Triangle without sail
Diagnosed and prescribed but no where near whole

I thought this body of mine a jail
Staring outside myself praying to be free
Every attempt to escape an epic fail

I felt sentenced to a lifelong purgatory of apathy
Each day a glorified solitary confinement
My reflection a daily visit from someone I couldn’t see

I hung my head so long my spine needed realignment
Playing pretend for the social media feeds
Even my self esteem was on consignment

Some days, my womb mourned her seeds
Thinking how long it would take for this sunflower
To push past all these emotional weeds

Motherhood is more than making sure my son’s shower
It is getting back to learning myself
It is praying for a moment of joy leaning on the son’s power

Though I got the prescription, I left the bottle on the shelf
I found joy in poems and song
Holidays came I forced the issue and became Christmas elf

Anything to keep from crying too long
It was the touch of my baby boy that brought me to life
Something that at first felt unnatural and wrong

It was allowing my husband to comfort his wife
Instead of hiding mental illness behind this brown skin
It was deciding to cut through the fog like a knife

I found peace by being honest with the pain within
So many women dismiss the darkness on the heart
I refused to let depression win

I chose to choose my family from the start
I healed but will never forget the journey
I defeated suicide and depression, with my pen and my art.