One of the realest and rawest poet Zora Howard performs her poem "On Things of Which I am Ashamed", which sees her recounting a relationship in which she "happened upon" a text thread between her partner and a woman "with the apostrophe in her name."
2 am. Night has settled into herself. Unhooked her lady bits, the darling darkling and let them slide, hang, and sprawl open wide, she’s ready for a show. Outside the way your snoring claws at the still and silent, all is quiet. I watch you sleep. Each of your breaths is fistful of stones dropped from my throat and anchored in my chest. I cannot believe you do not hear the bones, well-oiled cogs, rolling in my neck. I’m ‘bout to turn 2 am all the way up in here, up in here like DMX. Your face, the car before the levies break. I wonder if in the haze of your unassuming slumber you saw my fist diving for your lower lip. How I hovered over our box sized bed like a lunar eclipse. I’m ‘bout to knock yo’ lights out, nigga. You fin’ not know who, nor what, hit you when I’m finished. May Jesus and all his homies be my witness, I am not the one.
