life
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If My Books Shall Die
I read James Baldwin today and realized I was carrying his bones in the crooks of my arms, and that if my books shall die, then I have labored in vain. I have swam through centuries and ran years in someone else’s shoes, I have climbed mountains and crawled under valleys only to bleed death. I have wasted my time carving obsession into paper with invisible ink, Words fallen like stars on deaf ears. If my books shall die, then let me not be born. Take me back to the safety of my mother’s womb, the privacy of not yet existing if my works have been in vain. If my books shall die, then I do not exist. Not on the tops of your shelves, or faced down on kitchen counters, or underneath your children’s beds. Honor me in the palms of your hands and not standing next to Grandmother’s old picture in the living room— Grandmother is dead and I do not wish to die. Give me my flowers today and accept the life I offer you in the form of metaphors On silver platters, For I am feeding you with silver spoons and all you’ve got to do is eat… I… Continue reading
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What Are You Sacrificing?
Last week, I planned on introducing a new Black History Fun Fact Friday. I also planned on revealing the cover to the poetry contest magazine to my social media (which I will do tomorrow, time permitting). This was a busy week for me (more than usual). This isn’t to say that “busy” is a measure… Continue reading
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How Permanent is this Grief?
Something about sorrow sounds spiritual. It sounds like awakenings and revelations. Sounds like pacts and promises. Sounds contradicting too, like hope and despair are twins. We want to shackle ourselves to change. Something about sorrow got us questioning our own mortality. But how permanent is this grief? Where are we two years from now? Is… Continue reading
