 This poem is called Who's gonna save them when ghosts live here now? I Wasn't around to see the tears blood being spilt guns blazing hoses gushing But I see their faces gazing somewhere Thinking about way back when I Can put my fingers in the dents and trace where it all began tears rushing creating rivers Their faces tell storylines and seeped in the bloodlines complacency and empty homes and communities Fragmented lost hope no hope a City that's forgotten them. I See the leftovers Only a handful of leftovers Gun shells on the grounds have created another art piece Murals decorate empty walls vacant buildings storefronts and homes tell the story Where have the people gone? Who's gonna save them when ghosts live here now? Who's occupying the place making space because we've been abrooted dragged pushed and pulled? Memories tag along like leased cotton balls on clothes and the violence continues Who's gonna be brave enough to stop it? creating a martyr without a cause Welcoming bullets and excited about the life dead men walking I Wonder what it will look like if someone would just take them all Nobody's gonna take me away from my community our spirits remain here until You listen have a few more poems that's in that book as well It's in my book. I'm gonna tell you more about that Pretty soon. This next one is not published, but it's also about San Francisco. It's called Blackness saves hallelujah San Francisco finally has its first black woman mayor after she was cheated this honor because some thought her not worthy She had to wait her turn yet again. So whiteness could teach her how it's done Mass has been doing it for years trying to make excuses to prove how great America is and But let's be clear and America has never been great There's evidence along the trail of tears and race riots last for years Today blackness haters have gone viral. So you can't forget that black lives matter. I Never I've never been one for speeches whether great ones or well-intended ones. It makes no difference to me I tune out when that part is televised because when there's business as usual and the cameras are off, where are you and There she goes a safe day on her walking tour smiling through it all Even as the first needle shows evidence of a people that's been forgotten Her smile is radiant her background. She's from the hood Maybe I would like her more if she finds a way to bring black folks back to their neighborhood before their extinct. I Still miss Barack Obama president Barack Obama smile and commanding voice. He stood regal deemed Excuse me Why does this happen? He stood Regal Deemed to make the job done and he was left with a mess, but he too had blackness haters Even today as he travels to Africa blackness haters keep hating No one is perfect no matter how you try trust me. I know I've tried but I will forgive if you admit you're wrong so My name is Aquila and It's a Latin. It's also an eagle. It's one of the constellations I found out that my ancestors on my dad's side are from Barcelona, Spain and There's a lot more about them, but I don't really know too much about I have a writing poem Writing prompt that I did for the black guards business movement district in Oakland It's a it was during the women's history month women right workshop My name lives in the mist My name lives in the mist. I am miss Droplets drip from aching breasts coddling my babe I'm exquisite as dew drops sweat glands peek through after drinking another energy drink I like fruit punch best I Am as intricate as footprints as long as and I long to follow you which hasn't been done before You see I was never taught to follow. I am my own. I am fierce as a radical monarch Curious as a girl can be making my mark so girls can be just like me and better I'm from Vallejo and And My poem or this memoir that I'm gonna share with you is from verses voices and visions of Vallejo by Vallejo port laureate DL Lang This poem or this memoir This memoir excerpt is called home is where the heart is I Thought I had given up on love. I thought I was free from the disappointment. I Like so many others became victim to what it was How does one resurrect a memory that should stay buried? But the story needs to be told so with reluctance. I try to tell it. I Grew up here and Vallejo Not really sure if I should be proud of that because here is where I learned about the cycle of fear and love and hurt And I've been searching for home ever since Have you ever wondered the best place to tell your story? Where do you start? How does it begin? Especially when you can't remember much but pain Sometimes through a picture you can try to piece together forgotten memories But in the midst of constant pain and disappointment there was so much beauty surrounding us The landscape was painted by vivid memories of events and attractions. I had visited through my stay here Juneteenth festivals parades Marine World Africa USA it was back then and today the amusement park is renamed six flags Discovery Kingdom and there was a Vallejo ship Shipyard Vallejo musical theater Dan Foley Park and Blue Rock Springs. I can still hear the peacocks repetitive call and response Throughout my childhood. I tried to draw from memory butterflies and birds such as these and had rock and marble collections to pass the time For exercise we walked the marina waterfront and even got worn out of Phoenicia State Park We walked everywhere Leaving a trail of tears from Echo Summit onto many drive and then turn right into the busy Sonoma Boulevard That seemed to last for hours Each hunt got us closer to our destination or maybe it was a sign of a few approval I wonder if folks were jealous because we have the energy they wish for But what they didn't know was that we had to keep walking to be on time to our due diligence and clean the church Which was then placed on Virginia Street now after years of perfect planning and prayer it is painted on Broadway Boulevard We walked for exercise or maybe it was because we didn't have money for the bus or even a taxi I think my mommy wanted to make sure all our energy was gone So we'd take our nap without complaint or hesitation and when we lived in the brown house We banged out the Jane Fonda's exercise tapes on VHS and sing along with the free-to-be-thin cassette tape by Neva Coyle and Marie Chapchapion and read from its paired Christian book that promised you'll find happiness in Jesus and live healthy We even made yummy food from the free-to-be-thin cookbook My mommy really was on a quest to be healthy back then and she made sure to include us in her search for outer beauty and Jesus And then there was a JFK library where I spent my beloved days and weekends exploring the scores and scores of books I planned my next adventure there and was ecstatic when as a preteen I got paid to clean those books My mommy chose to homeschool my sister and I probably because everyone in the 80s and 90s seemed to do it We were the church mice the perfect little brown ones that went with my mom everywhere I'm not sure why we were called church mice but for years the name stuck until we grew up and left the church to seek out our life for our own and Then the congregation congregation sort of forgot us which was fine We moved here. It was quiet not too many buildings were built just miles and miles of brush and grass At first it was the three of us then my sister came and then they got divorced Years later my mommy remarried then I don't remember too much or I try not to It's just fog where memories should be. I was told that I blocked it out Can both good and bad memories be resurrected? But who wants to remember being abused by the ones that are supposed to love you To this day, I still wonder why my mommy didn't have the courage to pack all our clothes and belongings Or maybe we could have left them. We just had to leave When we did finally leave my sister and I were grown with children of our own But a part of me stayed to be witness to help gather the pieces so I could share with you So I'm a survivor And to that in 2010 I decided that I wanted to rewrite my story I was abused by my dad and my stepdad and so ever since 2010 I've been kind of going out and telling people telling others who also need to be healed from Abuse or surviving sexual violence I'm going to share a poem called the body is not an apology The body is not an apology and I don't have time to apologize My life is my own and I try it on for size size 16 to be exact. I Enjoy these roles big, but big breasts big everything. I Will not hide my everything from you. I will not hide My body is not an apology. I will not use these wheels to beg for charity I'm not a case to be left on the shelf an unsolved mystery Because I can do anything with my teeth. I mix colors on canvas with my feet I can hear the heartbeat and glide to my own beat on various stages Familiance to like my YouTube page and call me an inspiration My body is not an apology. I Can go back to school and get my doctorate expand my mind again Demanding that folks like me have the right to do anything you do because honestly We can do it better. I Am the champion two times over spewing forth my spoken word only the best of the best with the heart to hear can receive this blessing Here I am woman radiant Adorned with hearing aids behind my ears a beautiful accessory that I wear proudly My body is not an apology and I will not apologize. I will not apologize So why don't you try me on for size? I am in love and not ashamed So the next few Poems I'm gonna read are from my book Stop hurting a dance published by Pacino press a local press in Oakland Yeah, I've had some really good moments with this press and also it's great to see your own work being published I encourage you guys if you are poets or writers find a way to get it published This one is called reflection Mirror mirror on the wall who was the fairest of them all? Seeing things with different eyes wearing a new pair of lens fully aware. I reflect on them Standing on the corner hoping Wishing to be seen to be understood Innocence was taken when she was just a little princess Now she is forced to be the queen of the hood. I concentrate on them I pray for them and I see them slightly overweight Stuffing bellies with chocolate cupcakes full of raspberry jelly Consuming them for breakfast Sometimes for lunch and for dinner because it's cheap She's invisible anyway She would never look like the Vogue model grazing covers of magazines She eats the herd away and keeps eating and eating Until there's nothing left She remains invisible to this day I reflect on the old woman who has stories to say but they are falling on deaf ears No one has a time to listen If only they knew that she had the key that will open our doors to freedom If only they knew that her gray hair symbolized wisdom You will learn much when you listen. I know because I've been there many places I learned in stages. I heard it whispered in the wind and fell in love with my reflection My mirror has many things to say. I wonder what is your mirror have to say? And I'm gonna end kind of where I began And it's called Mama Africa Hello Mama Africa. How are you? I long to hear you whisper But what I can tell that is not to be I hear your heart murmur your moans echo in the breeze in the trees Tells the truth how it used to be Mama Africa. I hear you. I feel your heartbeat Hermetic melodic sounds syncopated rhythms sounds of laughter freedom wisdom same sounds we're used to Bright colors red gold green the black star will lead us fetus How can we keep letting them abuse you actin all mean? When the gold rush ended it didn't end with you every day. They steal your precious gold jewels diamonds and pearls Praying on little boys and girls What makes them so bold? Taking from the earth rich soil of the gold and ivory coasts. We heard about since birth not really knowing your worth Through you I heard about those kings and queens who ruled in dignity such majesty reigned victoriously Along to emulate you since I came from you. Please. Tell me how to get back to you We've created a world. We have no business being in living in a world not our world The sins of the father have no end Satan is trying our souls are crying. Oh Goddess breathe life into us Show us forgiveness our masses continue to rule over us the sons and daughters of Ashanti