Poetry
Where testimony meets confession. These poems trace the crawlspaces between identity, memory, and survival — from exile to self-acceptance, from silence to speech. Some began as love letters, others as eulogies, but all as evidence that I was here.
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To the womanwho complimented my locs and giggled with my mom,who listened to me rave about supporting a small Black businessas she sold me a car with a dead battery.To my first love poems,begun preemptively when love wasn’t even in the vicinity,finished prematurely for a manwho spent years studying mebut still couldn’t read my unhappiness.To…
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When people call black women strong it’s not areference to the tearing and rebuilding of muscletissue better than beforeThe result of careful practice, consent andintentionalityBut rather how the edges of their being isweathered, is pummeled, is worn until they haveeither become smooth as pebbles or as fine as dustEither way she is left something smaller…