The Bloom of My Mouth

There's a portrait of me now,

The artist started with my mouth,

How big it looks in full bloom.

The bloom of my mouth,

I love it now, but in the past...

They called me rubber lips,

Because my lips were lush.

Behind the bloom of my mouth, I was empty of words,

for them my tormentors, words swallowed down

hoping they would go away.

They mimicked chimpanzees, 

I swallowed down the assassins words

that were in my mind

 until they dropped into my gut, 

turned into stakes of fury, that burned,

All hidden behind the bloom of my mouth,

telling the truth, a faraway place that could only bring woe.

Woe and pain, if not pain, saliva, a droll of snot,

Anywhere, maybe unknown.

Not that indignity.

I pretend I cannot see or hear,

Pretend that me and the bloom of my mouth,

are not there and ride out,

the storm of racism once more.

Because the bloom of  my mouth is beautiful and so am I.