There Be No Fancy Way to Cry

Speak of your pain in such a way

That fits our gentrified communication, you say

But there be no fancy way to cry!

“Tell us where you hurt, but don’t offend our sensibilities” you say

But there be no fancy way to cry!

 

If you see or hear me crying

Know that I be hurting

And when I be hurting

I be hollering

‘Cause there be no fancy way to cry!

 

My cries and my tears speak for me

They share what can only be said and heard

Through cries and tears, making itself heard

Across every culture, tribe and tongue

‘Cause there be no fancy way to cry

 

Here, I say, pointing to the tight spaces I occupy

And I cry, but you don’t ‘understand’ my cries and my tears

So you ask me to cry in a way you understand

But hurt and pain know no gentrification

So there be no fancy way to cry.

 

God gave us tears and cries

So that even babies, the dumb and the illiterate

Could communicate and articulate their pain

In every language, size and color

So they need no fancy way to cry

 

Where does it hurt, you say?

In my body, my Black female body, I say

The perception, reception and reflection

Of my Black female body

Makes me hurt so bad!

 

But you can’t hear, you say

You can’t see, you say

You don’t understand, you say

I need a fancy tongue, you say

And a fancy way to cry, you say

 

But Lor’ help me, chil’

‘Cause there be no fancy way to cry!