They say our poems are often too black, too full of death.
“There we were, filling the space with the sound of us.”
“Writing is a process where you place sentences in a sequence.”
“What is patriotism to a body that is never enough for their country?”
“Every ocean has known us.”
Tell them that I was one who loved not wisely but far
“The tiny predator thinks not of history, only survival.”
Losing can be a love language too
“Say it. Say it. Say it loud, ‘I’m Black, and I’m proud.’”
When will Black lives really matter to you?
Did you know how hard it is to stay woke?
Kito Fortune, performing “Black Love”.
For Black boys from the hood who rollerblade, like the world ain’t already trying to catch us slipping, prefer us a body in a hole, and never whole in our bodies.
From the point of view of the nightstick.
“My mother’s truest mother is grief, who taught her the slack-jawed abandon of joy.”