Heart of a Little Brown Girl//Anxiety Pt.I
Breath, talks back.
lip out, arms crossed.
Breath, like a child,
skips rocks against hearts when angry.
Sees how many waves she can create against the ripples of blood stream.
Counts the cracks on the stones, once landed
she kintsugi’s the mistakes afterwards.
Breath always gives lip. Tries to sneak out under the moon
& grows tired of this body,
working it all day.
I’m sure she is one step away
from leaving me for good.
Wringing out my lungs.
Taking every last bit of herself from inside
& packing it so tight my face blues.
Breath takes her sweet time;
locks the door,
leaves her spare key,
& saunters up and out
like a child.
She doesn’t even care
to look back.
By Autumn Smith
A Cleveland bred poet, Autumn focused on the rhythm and conveying her ideas through image and senses in her poems. Originally a spoken word poet, she participated in the Brave New Voices competition in 2011, ran a spoken word club and poetry workshops throughout college, and is now a contributing editor for Barnhouse Journal. Through exploration of race, mental illness, and humanity, she delves deeper into her own existence. Her main inspirations are Andrea Gibson, Anis Mojgani, and Naomi Shihad Nye.