Purple Hearts | a poem

Owen Zantsi
Dec 10, 2025
1 min read

Petticoats

Violin notes

Enticing the Men

The Men

Cycles repeating

Waters breaking

Over and over and over

Again.

The wife

The mother

The maid

The burden

Burning the black books

Scaring the kin

Forging the struggle

Right onto their skin.

Silent but deadly

Seen but not heard

Black and blue scars

Littered with purple hearts

Overtones of innocence

Painted on white dresses

With bouquets of roses

Thrown over her head

Aiming for hands

Prepared to reach

Their cruel and untimely

But undeniable end

Comments

I'll admit it. I can't tell the difference between what's ai and what isn't.

I suppose such an idea reeks of my ignorance,doesn't it? You're probably telling yourself that this is not how the world works. I know that.

Dec 20, 20254 min read

Black Woman | a poem

They say the black woman Is an angry woman. She raises her voice Untethered from expectations And screams In the face of injustice. They say she is wild Feral even, as though she were an animal Meant to be kept In some cage. They shame her And reduce her To their stereotypes. Disregarding the messages In her cries. They refuse her autonomy While stealing her culture. Sanitizing it, bleaching it Making a mockery of her Art. Black woman, do not falter. Do not let them steal you

Dec 11, 20251 min read