Tiffany Haty
She is your complex history Out of the haze go forth the lips of our sister in Zimbabwe A tapestry of eloquent lilies
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
Introduction
Monday, March 13, 2017
The Tall Night of the Nyekundu Woman and Depth of Words Spoken
Monday, March 6, 2017
Ziba
Nanshe’s blossom
I was a Royal Dancer of scented Jasmine in the land of one thousand suns as I inched closer to Rabat’s sands as I danced for a Ram
I was covered in gold sequins and veils and then I was a serpent that would clank during the strange night, and my eyes were black as death and my skin was brown in a perfumed night palace
Your camouflaged tongue has lied
Your frame of mind shattered and died
I danced hypnotically as an exotic Nubian with many arms with my brown skin that became Black, and the lips of my face were full and my nose flat
I twist my hips towards Cypress, something I play at!
A taboo leaves a scar in Madagascar
Half of my face became a moon as I glittered among night in a cinematic dream flaunting Freya
I was languishing in my brown flesh with Flamingos in a champagne bath in a famed hotel
I was chartreuse painted brown eyes murdered in poverty and my relaxed hair was bobbed in the fashion of Aida
Then suddenly the dancing stopped!
Featurism represses my ebony skin
I woke up and I was now a deserted Black woman stripped of her hidden cities
I lost yesterday’s amour in a padded room
My soul was eaten by the gray moth has died inside of me bloomed
Veils flaunting my Ibo facial features, and my dowry was stolen
I am hidden like Ziba made to serve in the cloistered life suffering under the night of the star goat’s moon
A Banquet
By Tiffany Haty
April 19, 2025
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Debra and the Lane
We rode through the lane
The trees towered above our smooth Cadillac and those trees would sigh standing tall on the grassy boulevard
Autumn leaves changing from yellow to a crisp brown were falling, falling to the pavement would now scatter and whirl
My pretty Black Mother was the Diva of practicality whose words were like ice splintering were stinging my soul and my sensitivity would gush; the hurt made my brown eyes water
My pretty Black Mother wore gold shimmer on her lids and her full lips were painted burgundy on her liquid ebony skin
Her relaxed hair brushed into loose waves was coiffed
My ebony eyes were doleful with melancholy’s smattering
I am not a Black princess!
I am not a Black princess!
My Mother and Father
The King and the Queen in an interracial marriage
I was their biracial daughter with bushy pigtails that were wild, and all of my feelings were crashing, crashing and churning like storm clouds in the heavens, and I was a fragile biracial child painted in Black and White
I was silent in the car I became a sullen Black girl
Debra and the Lane
I realized I was not a Princess
Instead, I was a masked interracial child in a plaid jumper in shades of gray and my textured hair was in long ratted pigtails that were messy as the rain would fall from the clouds drifting would cry aloud
It was our weather
The sun hid behind the church steeple would smile on our neighborhood
I love you Mom
I am not a Black Princess!
I love you Dad
I am not a Black Princess!
My childhood was foreshadowed by the beckoning water as my brown skinned Mother whose skin was like the depth of umber took care of me with my father from a foreign land
My brown eyes were taking in the scenery of our lane as my Mother Drove down the quiet lane
As the trees questioned my existence
My eyes met the church spire, and I notice the rain falling in sync with my pitiful dread and my eyes were at an occidental slant
I got an “A” on the spelling test
I love you mom
I love you Dad
I am not a Black princess!
I am a mood
By Tiffany Haty
April 20th 2025
Introduction
Hello, my name is Tiffany Haty. I am a proud cat mom, struggling student, and published author. Last spring my creative non-fiction piece ti...
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Hello, my name is Tiffany Haty. I am a proud cat mom, struggling student, and published author. Last spring my creative non-fiction piece ti...
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Daughter of the flowing earth, she was the embodiment of grace in a deep golden brown female form, and wore the spiritual nobility of h...
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Debra and the Lane We rode through the lane The trees towered above our smooth Cadillac and those trees would sigh standing tall on the ...