Category Archives: These Are My People

These Are My People: Anjana Love Dixon

Wild Woman Goddess

Wild Woman Goddess

I remember the day you were born in my heart.
I was ignorant that I would fall in love with you so completely.
I could never have guessed that the iridescence
You displayed would seep into my bones
Leaving me breathless with passion for life.
But there you were.
Clothing barely covering the privacy required
Golden skin flaring sunlight under the spotlight
Of the darkened room filled with soon to be worshipers
Your smile the Goddess’ blessing glimmering
Love on those who cat-called for your attention
As you walked, no, strutted into your skin
I witnessed something that makes me weep
Even now.
I watched you become;
as the fears, doubts, and self-deprecation
Fell to the catwalk in murky ribbons.
And there you were. All of you.
Without reasonable excuse or denial
You became an integral part of my personal journey
The personification of a Human Goddess
I remember the day you were born in my heart
It’s one of my favorite memories.

These Are My People: Linda Looney

Linda Looney's birthday friend.

Linda Looney’s birthday friend.

Each day that her phone rings
And every time she answers
A sliver of her mundane shows
In the music of her laughter.
There are so many fancy words
That could show you who she is
But they are shallow compared to her
Yet deeper than an abyss.
I could lift her up in glory
Extolling virtue and blessing
You’d believe me because I told you
But there’s so much you’d be missing.
Because my Mom is lovely,
She’s neither devil nor a saint
But she’s everything I long to be
And lots of things I ain’t.
I will tell you this much
A truth deeper than the sea
I love my perfectly human Mama
And I know that she loves me.

Happy birthday to my beloved mother. You’re Fezzes and bow ties to me.

These Are My People: Shonda

No More Violence

No More Violence


Tyrannical howls encapsulated
Intent on the destruction
Of their mutated version of devotion
personified by shattered glass while
screaming babies witness the impressionistic home
Painted in blood and bruises.
Kill me first! Kill me! Kill me first!
The begging screams for relief
from their suffering
But, fear motivates shelter
in uninhabitable relationships
with violence the language spoken
in vehement protest against their being
broken people with broken lives.

These Are My People: Avi Knight

Shutterstock
There is a crescendo in my tacenda
Where I am normally, to him,
common time and a capella
My cadenza clumsily proceeds without cadence
Without rhythm or beats
My need for espressivo
longs for a nocturne
requires harmony
but instead is a series of operettas
that fall flat in parody
We’ve played off key for so long
That this piece became, not my canon,
But the silence of my sixteenth note,
A dirge with a pianissimo possibile refrain
of Rococo design.

These Are My People: Eva May

28414-Fragile_Broken_Soul________by_zophie
She wasn’t as broken as she thought
She was, instead, held together
With ropes, strings, duct tape, and
band-aids stained with false assumptions about herself.
Her worry laden back wilted her
Against her walking stick that was decorated
With badges of survival; proofs of journey.
The winds shifted into the sunshine’s warmth.
She lifted her fatigued eyes towards the light
Surprised that the path was always there
But had been lost in the weeds of history.
With a change of clothes, a bathing of her Spirit
A back brace of hope, personal strength flooding
She stepped onto the ancient path
The Universe sighed relief for the prodigals return.