By Charissa Pierre
Featured in Caesura 2020: Imago
black boy bloom.
To the black boy with brown eyes
Look up at the clouds and listen
To the song that is teaching you a dance
Listen to how the clouds move when the cloud maker lets them
Oh how the clouds let the wind take them to where they are destined to be
Note.
This particular scene is phenomenal and beautiful all on its own
Even in the silence
Even from afar
Pay close attention black boy.
Remember that you are phenomenal and beautiful all on your own.
And just like forgotten seeds defy all odds,
Bloom. Though it doesn’t make sense.
Bloom. You have always been enough.
Bloom. Take off your shoes, child.
Bloom. You don’t always have to be tough.
Bloom. You are not a visitor here.
Bloom. You are allowed to make this house your home so
Bloom. Though it doesn’t make sense.
Bloom.
Though it doesn’t make sense.
Bloom.
Welcome home.
When there is snot dripping down your nose
let it.
Stop interrupting your body mid-sentence
Stop halting the process of completing what it started
Of not letting it feel
Not letting it breathe
Not letting it break
Not letting it cry
Not letting it rest
To rest is to let your body celebrate all that it is capable of accomplishing
To rest is to let your body finally come home
To finally learn to do what it was meant to do
To be introduced to itself
To learn its name in colors and shapes and symbols
So when there are tears
Racing
down your cheek
let it.
Bonus poems:
A song in itself.
Darling, do you hear that?
Place your hand on your heart and listen to the way your heart beats still
Still steady. Still strong. Still soft.
Darling. You are a symphony. You are a ballad. An orchestra all in one.
Do you hear that?
It’s in your eyes, in your smile, in the song that you sing merely by being alive
Even here. Even now. When you don’t know how it will all work out
Darling, have you forgotten?
None of this journey is in vain. All of your tears. All of your pain.
Darling. Have you forgotten
That to see, to smile, to breathe, to cry is also to sing
the ballad of who you were always meant to be?
Close your eyes. Tune your ears.
Take a listen and remember.
Remember what song you are singing, what song you are living.
Feel the chorus,
How it rushes through your veins.
Pay close attention to the bridge,
It will take you where you need to go, over many valleys- over many mountains- listen.
To the way your palm on your chest reminds you
You are still here.
Still steady.
Still strong.
Still soft.
Still singing.
Darling, do you hear it?
Though the symphony is slow it is still here.
Though the ballad is soft it is still beautiful.
Though the orchestra is hidden it is still intricate.
It still has so much to offer.
Though the music is not as loud it is still lovely.
Do you not hear it? Do you not see?
Darling. Like the symphony you are still here. Though your ballad is softer you are still beautiful.
Though you feel hidden
you still have so much song left
So place your hand on your heart and know
Know that who you are is lovely. Know that your heartbeat is a drumbeat waiting to kick in.
Turn the music all the way up to remember the sound of your own heart beat.
This too is a song.
Do you hear it?
Fall.
what is fall but
a picture of getting back up.
of landing where you are meant to-
of baby steps
of change- in heart, weather, feeling.
what is fall but a faithful repeating
reminding us that we are but only arriving.
with every step, every breath, every fall.
because even if it breaks doesn’t mean it’s broken.
even if you crack all the way open
fall. it is a reminder that you are allowed to let go,
you are allowed to get up again.
you are allowed to trust and know that this is not the end.
though it may not always feel this way, fall.
even when it hurts.
even when you scrape your knees.
even when you taste the dirt a little
or a lot.
fall.
even if it’s cold out- even if it’s freezing.
fall and keep on believing.
yes, the ground will still be there, and you will meet it right when you’re supposed to.
seasons will be there and the colors of the leaves will change exactly when they’re supposed to.
so fall.
Hope will be there exactly when it must.
fall. don’t you hear that?
the melody?
the symphony?
the song.
listen to how the wind rushes past you-
through your hair
on your skin
through fingers
again and again
fall. into the music.
close your eyes, let go, and listen to the song you are singing just by being alive.
choose the melody as it chooses you. and dance with every step forward that you take.
don’t you hear it? your song?
it’s been waiting for you.
Charissa Pierre is a bilingual, third-culture kid with more than one place to call home. She is a lover of stories, words, songs, and people. On any given day, she would rather skip the small talk all together. (Really, she always has a deep question she's curious to ask.) Anyway, you can probably find her listening to musicals, boarding a plane, or talking about the Enneagram.