Summer Days

By Danielle Sattaur

As I stroll down the street

A cherry blossom tree extends it’s twig-like arms out to me

It’s pink complexion reminds me of how amazing nature can be

On summer days like these

I reminisce to when I would ride my bike down the hill

While inhaling the scent of a nearby barbecue

The laughter of children fills the air

Everyone is enjoying life without a care

The sun beams its radiant smile upon the Earth

Little birds resound their elegant chirps

A dog barks at a stranger passing by

My, how summer time flies

If only I could relive my most precious memories

To the days I would eat ice cream on my doorsteps

Oh, how I love to relax and enjoy a warm day’s breeze

On summer days like these.

Tired.

By Netochukwu Ifebi

“You are strong…”

“…You endure our pain along with yours and still pull through.”

“You are nurturers and protectors”

“……you are superwomen……”

“…You are ethereal! You are magic!”

“The way you hide your suffering to take on the weight of the world is truly admirable.”

“Y’all are resilient and have great strength…”

“…you are a beautiful struggle.”

Here’s the real deal,

I’ll keep it simple.

I know you mean well but this–

This is just detrimental.

We are in pain.

We are traumatized. We can’t take it anymore.

We need protection and safety. Why won’t you at least give us that?

We are in pain,

We’re human beings.

We are not your mothers or your mules… where is our protection?

We are suffering. I am scared.

Our struggle isn’t beautiful when we’re the only ones left to struggle.

Our pain isn’t admirable if it isn’t being mended in the same reciprocity as yours.

Our suffering isn’t special; it’s appreciated because you‘re so assured you don’t have to.

Our trauma isn’t resilient, it’s uncared for and left to engulf us.

It’s etching down our throats and resting on our backs.

It’s forced upon us at youth

To be this community's Atlas.

To be strong and resilient is perfectly okay,

But that gives you more a reason not to protect us and keep us safe.

I am a woman, I am a black woman indeed.

I can be strong and I can be proud.

But when I get back home from the freedom fighting and shouting,

Where are my needs, where is the time for me? Is that now?

Is it ever?

Can I cry or is it not allowed?

When I slave for you, take care of you and love you,

Where is that love? Did it leave the house? Did you take it and give it to someone else?

Did you just come back to take some more and leave me and my struggle with mental health?

I can be strong and proud,

But I’m tired.

I’m in pain. I’m suffering.

I am a black girl,

But I’m no magic.

I am a human being.