Poems by Diane Dawson

THOUGHTS ON THE 5PM J TRAIN

Heading home, not too excited

Sleeping: Not a big deal anymore, no one to keep me warm on a cold winter’s night

Eating: I need to keep my strength up, its no big deal

My body: Wearing baggy clothes, so no man can see

Showers: (Overrated.) No one can get close enough to really smell me anyway

Feeling invisible, sometimes it’s cool, can be around 100 people, and i’m all alone with my evil thoughts

Am I still a poet? I don’t know

Music, the key to my sanity: It fills the empty holes all over my body

Poems by

Diane Dawson

ME, MYSELF AND I

Me, selfish me, greedy me, give it to me, don’t care about nobody but me, give me money, who do I trust? Me! Me has no doubts, no regrets, no remorse, no mercy. Who stabbed you in the back? Me! Don’t fuck with me.

Myself, I don’t want to be by myself, no confidence in myself, ashamed of myself, no self-esteem, no hope, I talk to myself, I eat by myself & I sleep by myself, I got myself infected.

I am woman, I am strong, I am smart, I pay taxes, I walk with my head held high, I am a poet & you know it, I can push your buttons, I can kick your ass, I know what I want & I want it now.

Me, Myself and I

These are the 3 elements that hold my being together—they cannot exist alone because there is a constant battle within, as they try to dominate each other.

I am good, however, I am evil and everything in between.

I am street, however, I am educated

I am love, however, I am hate

I am Diane

THE SKIN THAT I’M IN

The skin that I’m in, brown & scarred, sometimes ashy

The skin that I’m in does not lie; if you look, really look, it tells my story

Once upon a time it was paper thin, like the skin of a tomato, delicate,

born with a birthmark the color of a butterscotch Lifesaver.

My first scrape of the knee, I thought I would die, but then this wonderful

scab formed & when picked off, it left a mark, my first mark of battle.

Tasting my blood for the first time—exhilarating, fearless, feeling immortality.

My skin surprised me, every bruise, every cut, every scratch (self-inflicted or not) always

healed—amazing. With every new mark on my delicate, brown skin, I formed layers

like an unpeeled onion. Those layers formed a thick skin (so I thought).

As I aged the scars got more severe & the skin was like Sir Lancelot’s armor & shield.

It was like Superman’s chest, bullets ricocheting everywhere. Little did I know, all that

protection did not apply to my brain, my mentality, & my emotions—they were left

wide open for attack from the enemy (ME).

The skin I’m in, has endured so much pain for 2 lifetimes, yet it is still protecting me,

still so soft to the touch.

TODAY I CRIED

Today, I cried...I voted for a black man and I cried. I cried for my father and my grandfather and all grandfathers before him. I cried for my uncles, my one brother, and my three nephews. I cried for the black men I have loved and those that have loved me.

I cried for the millions of little black boys (not forgetting the girls) over the centuries that did not, in their wildest dreams, imagine that they could run for the Office of President. I cried for their despair.

I cried for all the men and boys incarcerated (justly, as well as unjustly) that lost hope in themselves and have taken the wrong path in life.

I know that this was “just the primary.” But whatever the end result may be, today I voted in the United States of America for a black man, and I cried.

If I should die before the presidential election it will be OK. Because today I voted.

I voted for a black man and I cried.

ASK ME HOW MY BLOOD FEELS?

Ask me how my blood feels when I hear certain shit. Hearing the wind is God whispering in my ear, advising me which way go. Hearing the rain hit the hot pavement, are raindrops dancing in the club, stomping out the dirt and blood we leave behind. Hearing my own laughter is like music to my ears, music on a cerebral level—can you feel me? Hearing hatred coming out of another’s mouth is fear that it will travel to a child’s ear.

Ask me how my blood feels when I see certain shit. Seeing a heart-shaped cloud covering the sun. Seeing children playing in the playground. Seeing an East River sunrise and a Hudson River sunset. Seeing my smiling face in the mirror. Seeing my hard-earned paycheck, knowing that I did earn this. All of these things makes my heart want to burst, overwhelmed with joy.

If you ask my blood how it feels? The answer would be fine, just fine.