Text Drafts (excerpt)

3. We have history and you
flow thru me like the mighty Niger…
Founded in Baobab root can we possibly
last as long?

5. Brown speckled bears
segment the yearnings of
grown women who skipped
adolescence. Now, too
mature to mention all that
was missed, she clenches to
stuffed animals dreaming of
childhood bliss even amidst
the “muscle-cut arms” she sleeps
wrapped in like an old blankie.

Days of snowball fights
and getting lost under garland
and Christmas tree lights.
Days of riding daddy’s shoulders
until the sky fell atop her.
Days compared then vs. now seem so evil.
When she was special to one man.
Days Imagined versus Reality.

13. I wish I could tell you every thing I enjoy/ like how the motion of your tongue spiraling my neck spins my mind and how your dick conforms to whatever shape my hand measures/ but since this is a Mans World…. Guess I’ll shut up and lie here motionless and mute.

©2016 Tyra C. Owens


Dear Baby Daddy:

You know it’s probably easy for you to lay
her head on your chest these days.
She’s immune to bullshit and lies while she’s this size. But when she gets old enough to comprehend,
I hope you’ll have left these games of boys
for some other little girl’s demise.
Don’t ever stand her up on nights
you promised to tuck her in or weekends
when it’s your turn.
Don’t crush her dreams, lest she learn
that a man can break her heart.
Just promise me, that you’ll treat her better than I.

–Sincerely, Tyra

©2016 Tyra C. Owens


For The Record #JusticeForLaquan

The footage and updates of the #JusticeForLaquan protest happening  right now on the streets of downtown Chicago have me deep in my feelings tonight (Feelings of disgust, abandonment, and overall distrust for my Black elected officials AND feelings of worry for tonight’s foot soldiers as I’m praying no more of them will be retaliated against for practicing their rights). One question has been weighing heavy on my mind: where were our (insert: ESPECIALLY Black) elected officials tonight???!!! I was not in attendance, but I’m curious as to which ones were and weren’t there since I KNOW they’ll be door knocking & “peace protesting” come election time. I (and surely others) just want safe neighborhoods equipped with safe, fully-funded schools; empathetic police districts and officers that are grown from the struggle/community; a damn trauma center. So if you’re reading this (elected officials) and your agenda sounds dissimilar, don’t come door knocking this election season. At least not at my/or any of my family’s homes–because you ain’t getting our vote=our money to sit still on these issues or stay at home when the next protest happens.


Mama tells my baby she
walks like her grandaddy;
a man she doesn’t even know
and will probably never meet.
I’m tempted to tell her that Sweet
Baby cannot be an’thing like a stranger
or someone she’s never laid eyes on
or the man who showed me
how to cut down a mighty tree
by separating it from its roots.

©2015 Tyra C. Owens


Caption This

So National Poetry Day came and went this year so quickly that I was totally unprepared to post or write in celebration… Ah, but God! As I was swiping thru my phone gallery I came across the footage I captured of my daughter on our walk from the park. And although I promised my commentary on how daughter-to-mother relationships set standards for intimate relationships in my last post, I thought I’d set this poem I wrote about my own babygirl here to wet your proverbial palates until said commentary is actually written down. Also, the poem is shorter than the back story I’m presenting, but oh well. Oh and Happy (Albeit Belated) National Poetry Day, Enjoy!


Caption This

Here you are My Joy

ever-reminding me

to kick off my shoes

and wiggle freely.

Yes, princess.

Be free!

Live! Toes spread,

eyes wide; live secure

and passionately!

-Sincerely, Mama

©2015 Tyra C. Owens