KOKUMỌ is a musician. Have you heard her debut EP, “There Will Come A Day”? Stop sleepin’. KOKUMỌ is the thought leader responsible for influencing the very framework of the modern-day Trans Movement. Yep! She’s your fav’rite advocates, fav’rite advocate. KOKUMỌ is a performance artist. Her first play, “The Faggot Who Could Fly” headlined the world’s biggest African-American poetry conference, The Gwendolyn Brooks Conference, when she was only 23. She even put together a cute tour. Dat’z cool! Broadway wudn’t ready. KOKUMỌ is a poet! And this, is her first book of poems. Enjoy! Fat/intersex/dark-skint/femmes fuckin rock. You ain’t know?

A Diff’rent Kinda Eve

I don’t wanna take yo place
I jus wanna know how it feel
how it feel ta know dat no matta how hard life is there
Will always be sumone waitin ta love you
how it feel ta not think sumbody holdin yo hand
in public
is an act of revolution
I wanna glow, have people think life growin inside ah me too
of course not like it grow inside you
but ah unique birf
I want you, n na whole wide wurl ta know I’se gettin gravid
say shit like, “yes I’ve neva been so happy in my life”
or, “I just can’t seem ta decide on a name”
and my personal fav’rite, “heyyy yawl, I’m eatin fa two ”
I neva wanted yo man, jus one brave enuf ta luv me
but dat’s what I get fa thankin you was happy wit yern
but I’m not him, he beat you, not me
he left you ta raise dem kids, not me
you was so livid
you cudn’t even realize dat I been dere
tha whole time
I was yo chile, I was the child, I am the child
So I taught myself
n got tha wounds n nightmares ta remind me
like I said gurl
I neva wanted ta take yo place
I jus wanted ta walk down da street in my sexy and not worry
I know da wurl dun did u wrong
I was right right dere when dey did it
but I’m not tha world, dey even tried ta force me to join in
and when you was drunk on yo pain you begged me ta too,
but I didn’t
cuz I knewded sumn waz growin n me
no, not like dey grow in you, but how dey grows, in me
I know it sound funny n sum would e’um say m’postible
but I feels it,
a diff’rent kinda cycle,
a diff’rent kinda conception,
a diff’rent kinda trimester,
a diff’rent kinda pregnancy
See! See! See!
touch my stomach
Feel lat?
kickin, movin roun in my crawl,
thowin off my gravity
n bringin me back
I’se pregnant!
finna give birf!
to a diff’rent kinda goddess
not hea ta take anybody seat on the throne.
but ta take my rightful place amongst the pantheon

Love Is Not The Revolution

Who gon hol me?
Hol me when da flashbacks start n I can’t be comforted.
But I want you ta try anyway.
I needs, you ta try, anyway!
I’m tiyad ah speakin ah truf don’t nobody wanna hea.
I’m tiyad ah fightin fa otha people’s right ta have a love
I ain’t gon eva kno.
Been shoutin from mountain tops longa den Moses n Martin.
Fightin from trenches longa than ya fav’rite fuckin war hero.
But who gon help me down dough?
Who gon unclench my fist n tho da grenades placed n my hand?
Not cuz I eva wanted em.
But cuz ain’t nobody else hah my aim!
You see, contrary ta popula belief.
Samurai don’t really relish solitude,
They simply master the art of living alone.
And sometimes, even tornadoes are embarrassed,
By the devastation they wield.
All, I wants, iz sumbody ta lumme.
I dun bent realities, toppled regimes,
and freed slaves Harriet Tub style!
But, who, gon, luh, me?
Lumme when I puts down, da bullhorn?
Massage my feets afta, da tenf mile ah da thirty-six march?
N I ain’t da mos poppin activis on da block no mo?
I’se dun released enuf hot air ta extinguish da sun.
N cried enuf tears ta supply ah wata park big enuf,
Fa evry orphan in Haiti.
Nah who gon lumme?
Not becuz I’m weak!
But becuz I’m tiyad ah havin ta be so goddamn invincible.

Psychological Share-Croppin’

Get tha fuck off me, muthafuckas!
The constant triangulation!
The convenient respectability!
Then ta top it allll off.
My pain, is now magically your platform.
I ask you.
When did community become a form of currency?
They only love you as long as they can use you.
They only show up when the bodies hit the ground.
And eum then, it’s just ta take pictures ova da corpse.
U hea dat?
Iz da soun ah my bonez
whistlin from u suckin em dry fa sound bites.
Iz da soun of my joints poppin from overextendin
demselves fa people who’d neva return da fava!
They made it illegal ta hunt elephants.
But wat dey shudda outlawed, was u unoriginal,
pedestrian ass muthafuckas,
from bitin da analysis of actual intellects,
via da social media milieu.
The devil, is in the DM’s and subtweets my nigga.
The DM’s, and subtweets, my nigga!
Niggaz swea upndown, dey been sent from da burnin bush.
When alley did waz bite yo analysis,
n slap da face odda right typa wrong on it.
But you should be so lucky,
if any of the assorted market-made messiahs,
do decide ta, “amplify” your voice.
Jus don’t be surprised if dat amplification
look mo like da muzzlin offa rabid dog.
Cuz make no mistakes about it,
datz precisely what you are ta dem.
A dog.
A dog barkin n bitin at da heels ah da good nice white folks.
N we’s can’t have de undesirables,
fuckin it up fa da beautiful people.
Now can we?
They eat first ugly.
And if you’re good!
You get to lick their fingers.
Imma jus say it like dis.
As long as progress is gauged by strides in assimilation,
we’re all doomed.

Beauty Is My Revenge

each wig represents a world/one I hope to become a part of/in my line of work femininity exists in a land of fantasy/where songs rival the impact of bombs and dresses are loaded with more artillery than tanks/excuse me if I sound unrealistic/but the world has entitled me to only my dreams/unfortunately the necessity of survival always trumps the longing for escape/reality witnesses me saving tips to a place where my body is more than just your entertainment/one day imma dance to original material/fling back my head and listen to folks reciting my lyrics with abandon/choreographin productions ta my virtuosity/bendin hardwood floors/splittin vocal chords to the soundtrack of my evolution/in my story imma princess/I use garters, satin, duct tape, and oil sheen as my weapons of choice/I go into battle not with a metal suit/but girdled silhouette/those who take me as jest come to dey senses when the spotlight touches me/equipped wif countless facial contortions and arm gesticulations/I undo the memory of your favorite antiquated idol/ocean of hair/mountain of body/I can be reached through only a punctual high-five, organic work bitch, or demurely folded dollar bill/gather around children and let me tell you the story of one who from the bottom of nowhere/built dazzling spectacle from nothing more than wardrobe, imagination, and insanity/once upon a time/there was a queen, no, a goddess, with a penis/and she lived, happily, ever, after!

Reacquainted With Life

wade through rocks
punch fist through earth
reach for the moon as if it were a life preserver
climb out one limb at a time
spit out worms
gnaw mold from fingertips
wipe eyes of tears and dirt
massage throat
allow fatigue
clinch torso
awaken voice
then find pride in where I lay
wounded, but alive

ReacquaintedThis excerpt of KOKUMỌ’s Reacquainted With Life was provided by Topside Press, which will release this debut collection of poetry on September 15, 2016. You can pre-order Reacquainted With Life at Topside’s online store.


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