The Marrow of My Bones
There is a hurt that runs so deep within the marrow of my bones,
Twisted lies
Deceiving smile
Words dipped in scalding tar meant for ill filled gain
The smell of burnt flesh fills the air
As my beauty is stripped, one scar upon another.
You used me to carry out a facade
Bricks and mortar you built
Inhabited by shallow desire of things to fill your bowl of status
Hardwood floors
Gold knobs for kitchen cabinetry
Floor to ceiling bookshelves
Four post beds and classic highboy
Silver encased dinnerware and sunlit porches
Tick-tock went the grandfather clock
People come and go
Your chest swell with pride
Ooo-awww!
Puff it up some more.
Hiding behind smoke and mirrors
Proclaiming a marriage beyond reproach
All the while shattered glass under your feet
causing mine to bleed.
Your insecurities shadowed my smile, turning it upside down
Your imperfections I inherited
My heart singed black by your poison
Seeping into the marrow of my bones.
Buried alive, choking on your shit
I would have suffocated were not for
The marrow of my bones
That rejected the transfusion
Synaptic gaps flush red
Arms stretch wide, take a deep breath
And the breath dug deep down into the marrow of my bones
I am born again
Inhale – oxygen
Exhale – push, push, push
Push out a new life – Without you.
Letter to My Son(s)
LIS–(T)E–NNN
Baby Boy
Some look at you and say that you have a gift.
They’re wrong.
Buried underneath the violence against your hue
Stop and frisk for a headlight
does not necessitate handcuffs
Cut your locs because hiring managers shun you
Refuse to see the spirit in you
Yet your intimacy with words
Flavored in lyricism
Seasoned from joy and pain
Your words, your rhythm marinades in the marrow of the bones
Your vibe leaves us salivating
Our souls stirred by your offering
The musicality beyond doubt
The production credits undeniable
You don’t have a gift, you are the gift.
My boyz,
Do not vibe with the pressure that crushes you,
Vibrate on the level of your solution
Your creativity is your identity It is your essence
Though they plant you as if in the ground
Recall another if you will another time
When hidden in darkness
In your mother’s womb
You emerged into the light of a new day
Today and henceforth,
Go after the sun/ son (or go get your blessing)
You don’t have a gift, you are the gift.
Ann-Marie Maloney is an educator with a diverse background in arts integration, speaking, and writing. She is part of the University of Maryland Writing Project (UMdWP), a chapter of the National Writing Project which focuses on teachers teaching teachers. Her curated lessons are on The Reginald F. Lewis Museum website and she was a featured poet at The National Portrait Gallery. As a facilitator, Ann-Marie designed impactful workshops for teens and launched the “About This Life” podcast along with the “Becoming Enough” online community. With a Masters in Curriculum & Instruction and National Board Certification, Ann-Marie mentors both students and educators, fostering creativity and resilience through arts integration. Ann-Marie is dedicated to promoting healing through poetry, supporting individuals in overcoming life challenges, and helping them find their voice.
Image: Djflem, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
