"Sweet Butter" is a captivating collection of poems that delves into various themes, offering insightful life lessons, heartfelt love stories, and cherished cultural memories of black girlhood. The poems beautifully navigate the nebulous anxieties often experienced in the late 20s to early 30s, capturing the essence of those years filled with immense pressure and expectation. Using the metaphor of diamonds, the book provides a unifying theme that symbolizes resilience and strength.
Within its pages, "Sweet Butter" offers an abundance of comforting verses specifically tailored to inspire and uplift young black women, infusing them with hope and encouragement. The poems effortlessly weave together moments of introspection, joy, and self-discovery, creating a soothing blend that resonates deeply with readers. With its engaging and fluid style, "Sweet Butter" serves as a literary smoothie, elegantly exploring both the harsh realities and the everyday experiences of BIPOC individuals. It is a testament to the power of poetry and the ability of words to convey profound emotions and ignite transformation.
"Sweet Butter" is a captivating collection of poems that delves into various themes, offering insightful life lessons, heartfelt love stories, and cherished cultural memories of black girlhood. The poems beautifully navigate the nebulous anxieties often experienced in the late 20s to early 30s, capturing the essence of those years filled with immense pressure and expectation. Using the metaphor of diamonds, the book provides a unifying theme that symbolizes resilience and strength.
Within its pages, "Sweet Butter" offers an abundance of comforting verses specifically tailored to inspire and uplift young black women, infusing them with hope and encouragement. The poems effortlessly weave together moments of introspection, joy, and self-discovery, creating a soothing blend that resonates deeply with readers. With its engaging and fluid style, "Sweet Butter" serves as a literary smoothie, elegantly exploring both the harsh realities and the everyday experiences of BIPOC individuals. It is a testament to the power of poetry and the ability of words to convey profound emotions and ignite transformation.
1
Sweet Butter
You better manage that attitude, girl,
or else you’ll burn bridges.
Lotion lacks moisture
on my color, the desert—
It’s too dry for it;
too beautiful for it to lather,
too deep for societal measures.
My mind repels their aesthetics,
growing anger, sprouting pain,
and fighting to filter the words:
“Just leave me alone.
Let me learn how to be a Black girl
while I’m still young.”
You better manage that attitude, girl,
or else you’ll burn bridges.
All the while, I burn my skin
and the liquid within.
Sweet drips of chocolate
pour prophetically.
Slipping on to my knees,
“Give me freedom,” I plead.
“While I’m still young, gifted, and Black.
I want to taste butter on my lips.
Will butter cool my bitterness?”
I’m moaning to live without fear,
but why is the strange fruit still ripening?
2
Magazine Minds
I got this room for the view,
yet I’ve shut the blinds tight.
Magnolias are blooming behind me,
and my magazine mind needs mercy.
Will I find a vision before 40?
Will my vintage magazines
have cut-outs where images were,
or will my heart have holes?
My mind dreams of all that’s beautiful,
yet ignores the graceful beauty before my eyes
because of trapped trauma.
I usually like it warm, but there is something
so lovely about a breeze that awakens your soul
and accepting that always being comfortable is dying.
You’ll surely cry.
Growth is an adventure as vivid
as tears falling during sun showers.
As the clouds settle, you change.
When you go to wipe that tear
and taste water, you grow.
3
Get Wet
I need a lover who listens when the waves grow stronger.
I need a lover who drowns in my waves and survives.
He can hear my tears as the waves roar.
He can push through my waves to catch the last tear
that falls before I’m too tired to swim.
He holds on to my tear and my body while he swims to shore.
4
Trophy Trashy
I'm dressed in a blue corset
that is made of the finest satin
and embroidered in tulle and crystals.
However, I'm not pleased,
for my lover does not know how to love me.
He treats me like a luxury rug—
something beautiful
that is made of wool and silk
to be laid out beneath him
as he struts.
He vacuums my lint annually
because like so many others,
he’s been mistaken that luxury goods
don’t need regular attention.
He places his shoes neatly beside me.
He plays with my metallic tassels
while spreading me wide
to embrace his stride.
He walks away with my heart,
always returning to please himself
as I fade away.
5
Diminishing Colors
Some colors are pleasing at first sight,
from bright cyan to Egyptian blue.
But as they grow on you,
they become dull and weak.
They are no longer new.
They lack hue
and splashes of perspective.
They lack meaning.
As they become recognizable,
the sizable joy decreases.
6
Black Girl, Stay Woke
I guess someone told you that Black girls need light,
smooth skin to be right,
and long flowing hair…
round butts—
a small waist and lips and nose
with no respect for the size or shaping of her heart.
I know someone told you—
before you knew what Black was,
before you knew that Black mattered—
that Black needs editing.
So, you couldn’t agree that we deserved a chance…
Before the knife pierced your vessels,
Before the cream faded your flesh,
they told you Black is only right in some ways;
Black had to be washed away.
To see the shore clearly,
they didn’t tell you that black rocks
and black sand exist on a beach.
They told you to throw your Black away
right before they profited from your Black,
right before they died.
Kill their lies with smiles.
Kill their lies with dreams.
7
Pause and Be Still
If time could pause on a beach,
we would fast-forward to a life worth living,
to truth in its most natural form.
Light exposes every wave.
No matter how small,
they all sway together.
Some grow stronger,
some drift navy or splash white,
and others just remain steady.
The storm eventually reminds us
that no matter what,
we’re all waves.
While some find balance,
others may appear like a wrinkle or a lump,
but we’ll still find a way to sway,
sometimes drifting into the unknown
and following the sun till it sets.
8
Messy
If you keep a junk drawer,
you’ll soon throw parts of you away
that are useful
simply because you failed to clean them.
Separate them from your stored mess.
9
Yoga
I can’t even flex.
Nothing’s flexible in matters of the heart.
Like most poses,
balance is maintained,
not by strength alone
but by steadying your position.
You only have one way to bend.
We still need someone to remind us to breathe—
someone to remind us to go a little further or stop.
If you bend into the stretch too much,
it’s sometimes painful.
It stretches your body till dew rises
and folds pearl through the crease.
It’s risky, but risk is life’s only true love,
and even that trend only lasts
for one full cycle with no spin—
only spur-of-the-moment kisses.
If you bend into the stretch too much,
it’s sometimes painful.
After that comes love.
10
Cold Summers
Hot girl summers are cold for Black girls
who wish to come home
and are done with shedding nurtured skin
while our hearts are made of leather.
Sweet Butter is a collection of poems about the soul of a woman and all that she goes through in life. The anthology is broken up into three sections: “Lemon Butter noun – survival,” “Honey Butter noun – success,” and “Chocolate Butter noun – significance.” The first section describes a woman’s experiences trying to survive dating, loving others/herself, and possibly motherhood; the second section describes moving past traumas and mistakes; and the third section describes multiple women, mother, grandmother, girlfriend, the younger self, every woman imaginable and her significance to herself as well as through the eyes of others.
Sweet Butter has a vast pool of poetry that was very relatable to me. One of my favorite poems titled “Yoga” begins with “I can’t even flex,” and that immediately spoke to me, because I suck at yoga, until I realized the poem was talking about learning to love and that yoga was a metaphor for how the narrator’s heart wasn’t flexible. Sweet Butter has many poems that take modern day activities and align them with how the heart loves and changes over time, relating the narrator’s experiences to something the reader can easily understand and identify with.
However, there were some poems that flew over my head. These poems had metaphors that were too vague, with only three to four lines for me to read, so there wasn’t enough substance for me to grab on to. Also, these poems seem to be less on theme with the rest of the book and just left me confused. But there are only a few poems like this and all of them are very short and the reader can breeze right by them. Plus, it doesn’t take away from the overall great writing that the author did.
Sweet Butter is 4 out of 5 stars that will have you looking at the strength and love of women or yourself very differently and is a must read.