The shelf that holds the broken things has broken now in half
It cracked beneath the weight of grief and sorrows deep and vast
Spilled on the floor I saw my soul seep into the cracks
Resigned I watched and wondered would I ever get it back.
Read MoreI know you even though I don’t know your name
You are my mother, my sister, my auntie, my friend
When I rise, I rise up on your shoulders
When I fall, I am healed by your touch
Read MoreOpen your lips and sing until all the dead things have come streaming out.
Purge your esophagus of all the bile that swirls around in the back of your throat
Choking your capacity to taste and see.
Arresting your ability to see and know…
Read MoreDo I hold a grudge against an elementary-school-aged boy whose name I can’t even remember? Of course not. Because at the end of the day, what left the strongest impression on me wasn’t even the words that he said. It was how he said them. His self-assuredness chipped away at my own sense of security. His boldness made me feel intimidated. His aggression made me retreat.
Read MoreConfessions is my way of trying to shake off my old habits of appeasing white friends and peers. It is my way of liberating myself to become a more authentic version of myself. I’m sitting on my bed in Boston ready to post this, the beginning of a story, my story, the story of a black woman who is done being safe.
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