figuring it out
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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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Dear Readers, It has been months since I last shared an update, and frankly, I am still processing my thoughts. Not for lack of trying or inspiration—there’s a collection of untitled and unfinished passages (much like the men—the mistakes of my past) waiting for me to revisit them. Rather, these life lessons are still cooking.…
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I wanted to get right into it because I know that “a non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.” I’ve grown weary of reserving my words for moments of distress and for those who turned those moments into mountains I’m still scaling to this day. This is my attempt to reclaim my words from the…