Farah Lawal Harris
Hi! I’m Farah.
I am an artist, speaker, leader, and coach that inspires, heals, and educates others through creativity and wellness.

BACKSLIDER (Poem)
I don’t wanna worship with my oppressors—
prey praying hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder
with one eye open.

WATERMELON SEEDS (Poem)
Have you heard of
the girl who swallowed fifty black watermelon seeds?
In 9 months, she birthed sugar babies.

INTELLIGENT STUPIDITY (Poem)
inside kid, clandestine friendships,
advanced academic attention magnet,
stunning and didn’t know it,

PLANT MOM (Poem)
I know I am depressed when I stop watering my plants.
It’s like I need a visual representation of wilting.

PEDUNCLES (Poem)
Static fills my right hip, crrrrsppppp crrrrsppppp!
Begging for a kiss, a loosening.
Despite her shallow roots, my Hoya Hindu rope
has grown peduncles—

YOU CHOOSE (Poem)
I rudely request, require and desire a refrain from chronic pain
because this belligerent, bony, buss-down bundles to her buttcheeks b*tch
is insane, bringing broken bridges and invisible incisions,

THE HAPPIEST PLACE (Poem)
I stare at the sky
and instead of asking “Why?”
I whisper, “Thanks”
and drop tears as tithes.

GENETIC (Poem)
i know how you work, i know just who you are,
a leech tryna suck the glow up out of me.
don’t you know it’s genetic,

NOTES TO THE SUPER STRONG BLACK WOMAN (Poem)
i know you had to act like a woman
and think like a man when you were still a girl.
i know you had to shrink your bones
and turn curves into lines lest you tempt.

THE PRIZEFIGHT
I balled my fists up and assumed a fighting stance.
i couldn’t see his hands.
i skipped around the ring to look menacing.
He appeared to do nothing.

CHOCOLATE
Oh you, black-black!
They say under full moons,
Black girls shine blue.
Girl, I love the way that skin sparkle on you.

THE SQUATTER
A squatter lives in my shoulders
she tore down the drywall
and built boulders,
armor for words of judgement to pierce less

THE HAUNTING
That feeling of foreigners invading my temple
hunts me.
I am hunted by emptiness behind the detectives’ eyes.
I am hunted by the ugly yellow linoleum floors

PILLOW
I desired to be pillow, soft and unassuming.
Nobody hates pillows.
If I could stuff my tummy with white feathers,
there’d be enough cushion, enough down

DREAMERHEAD
Bald head, chemo girl ain’t had no hair to curl
threw up, grew up, I just bout glew up
Needed to stop the inner control freak
Stopped drumming for a while, let God control the beat.

LAYING ON MY BACK
On my chest sit
bags of sand.
Almost 40-year-old version,
me with artificial titties.

MS. WORLD
I actually thought I had to earn love—
keep my brows arched and teeth white,
suck my lips too thin for fear that they’d be
too big, too Black for you.

FOR THE SURVIVORS
Forget the men who saw buds on your chest and declared them breasts.
Forget the rain showers and the smell of hot guilt rising from pavement.
Forget the new moons in the sky, the clouded nights of hidden stars.

RHYME TIME
Light skin, brown skin, dark skin, caramel—
definitions of skin tone live in a tin of sin
akin to a pin pulled from a hand grenade.

NO WOMAN
“No Woman, No Cry” personified,
Black woman with the thickest hide,
skin slick to slip off insults and pride.