Face Me: a declaration

Olivia Keenan

• Publisher: The Unapologetic Voice House LLC
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN: 9781736545201
• eBook ISBN: 9781736545218
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: American Poetry
• Index: Literature

Face Me: a declaration reveals the complexities of a mixed race identity through religion, sex, American history, and colorism. The poems in Face Me reject any white supremacy that dictates Biblical interpretations, historical truths, and beauty standards. This collection of poems follows a journey that begins in uncertainty, but concludes in celebration. Within its pages, declarations are unwaveringly signed and spoken. Black bodies are praised and exalted. Faith is reexamined and reclaimed. And Face Me exists not as a question, but as a command.

Face Me: a declaration

Face Me:
a declaration

Olivia Keenan

Face Me.
© 2021 Olivia Keenan.

Book cover design by Caroline Weis
Interior photography design by Caroline Weis

ISBN: 978-1-7365452-0-1
E-ISBN: 978-1-7365452-1-8

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other— except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published by: The Unapologetic Voice House
Scottsdale, Arizona

www.theunapologeticvoicehouse.com

for my sisters

i.
exposition

click

click

There is a suspicious man in the parking lot. I lock the car doors. I avoid eye contact. I walk past the mall kiosks with my head down. I take the freeway into the city. I hold my breath when I get cat-called. In other words, the man in the parking lot is Black. And I happen to be afraid of who I am.

click.

I skip past the SOCIAL MEDIA STORIES THAT EXHIBIT HIS DEATH LIKE THIS IS SHOWTUNES SHOWBIZ SHOWCASE US LIKE THIS IS EASY FOR US LIKE THIS IS EASY FOR MY FOURTEEN YEAR OLD SISTER. I can’t even breathe WATCHING THAT SHIT.

click.

I flip through more stories. People are posting SILENCE IS VIOLENCE.

I type, re-type, delete.

“as a Black girl…”

I haven’t said anything yet and therefore I must be a part of the problem. And I don’t know how to say it is so HARD, it is so HARD to say something besides from PLEASE when you can’t breathe.

click.

I imagine guns in the cars that blast the same music me and my white friends listen to. Me and my white boyfriend’s breath fogs the car windows. Silver tinted. If we get pulled over we’ll get a slap on the wrist. Shiny cars fly down the roads. Me and my white friends like to speed on the parkway with the windows down.

click.

Right now I am afraid for (of?) my city and my country. There are red white and blue flags being snatched out of the ground. There are red white and blue lights and sirens and I close my bedroom window. There are red white and blue popsicles in the freezer. That’s an onomatopoeia. Pop. In suburbia, we hold out our fingers like a sideways “L”.

click.

pop.

click.

I skip past the news because all I ever see about Black boys is all I ever see about Black boys. And all porn says is BBC and all sports say is athlete and all the papers say is death and all the news says is riot and then I lock the car doors. Then I take the freeway. Then I avoid eye contact. Then I blame myself.

click,

I press play. I watched the video tonight. Because there’s only so many times you can skip past it before you see.

breathe, please.

Let ME. Breathe PLEASE.

I breathe in. I hold my breath when I get catcalled. My kid sister can’t even breathe watching that shit. Now all I can say is that I’m glad I don’t have kid brothers because no one would ever suffocate her (right?). I breathe out. Me and my breath fogs the windows. I write “I CAN’T BREATHE” into the dew.

I eat all the red white and blue popsicles and throw up the american flag. The ground is speckled with holes: where the flags used to be. I sing a song about the hood and take the freeway to pass it. My white friends say fuck the police and I wonder if they have ever been afraid of them, too.

I kneel at church and my knees burrow into the floor. I am suffocating someone while praying for good grades or some shit. The ground says PLEASE and I kneel harder. I keep breathing.

HOW do I say this?

I feel like a problem. I lock the car doors. Again. Again. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. The man in the parking lot pounds on my window.

CAN YOU BREATHE IN THERE.

Maple Tree Ln,
Brookfield WI 53045

I apologize for scaring the fam...

Table of contents

• i.exposition