Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art

months after i last saw you
i still remember wanting to kiss you,
finding my face inches away from yours
and swaying with indecision

i remember thinking you were the most beautiful boy to grace the earth,
to ever hold me close while i kissed him

it's been months since i last wanted to kiss you
with that desperate kind of need
but the residue of that feeling lives in my insides;
when i see your face, smiling and innocent,
i remember you were a delicate boy i wanted to kiss;
it is only a fraction of the feeling, but still it consumes me
just as it had before

how have you been?
are you doing better than you were when we last spoke?
our time spent together was sweet and naive in its innocence,
but not without its flaws;
i remember we alternated between wanting to hold each other,
and holding other people;
sometimes wanting nothing more than to be kissed,
other times begging for the distinct sharpness of a knife across our skin

still, i neglect the bad memories,
or rather embrace them for what they were;
you were a beautiful, broken boy
i may have fallen in love a bit too much with your frayed edges,
loved you more when you were worse for the wear,
but i loved you wholly for who you were

it still makes me feel warm thinking of your arms around my waist,
hand on my hip,
pulling me close,
of our silly chit chat well past midnight,
making my heart feel lighter;
these are beautiful and fragile memories that i don’t want to forget,
as much as you may have hurt me once upon a time

this love is dead,
but it is no longer soaked in pain and bitterness;
i am so much happier having had you in my life,
and having been the person to make you smile at some point
that will always be beautiful and wholesome,
no matter what happens in between.

The experience of a black woman is one that can not be imitated
Although it is not always enough or even always reciprocated
Her heart is full of love, almost bursting out of her chest
And even when it gets tough, the black woman always tries her best
She longs for an equal who shares her level of intellect
Someone to listen to all her problems and attempt to put them in retrospect
The black woman often fears sharing any of her thoughts
For fear of being labeled the angry black woman, which she’s heard lots
Some black men refuse to date a black woman because of her attitude
But thank you to those strong black men that show them so much gratitude
Sometimes the black woman confidently wears her hair natural
The time she takes to detangle each curl is truly admirable
Other times she doubts her beauty as she is surrounded by Eurocentric guidelines
Men gawk at the beauty of those with straight long hair as she stands on the sidelines
Sometimes the black woman adores all of her god given features
But when she sees the women men covet she feels like an ugly creature
The black woman comes in all different sizes, shapes, and color
And instead of black women competing with one another
They must stand together and see the beauty in being black
So that they can truly understand that beauty is not something that they lack
My sisters, all of my black sisters, thank you for making me feel so human
Because no one understands the experience of black woman like a black woman.

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

Little brown eyed girl,
With brown short ***** curls
And dark skin that you
Have not learned how to love yet.

I speak to you.

Little brown eyed girl;
Already jaded
By a world that from birth,
Has declared you unlovable
Just because you look like you.

I tell you, that is a lie.

Little brown eyed girl
With strength in your bones
And love in your heart
So much so that the little boys
All run away.

I say that any man who cannot love you as you are does not deserve you.

Do not be ashamed;
Of your dark skin,
Of your brown eyes,
Of your short ***** mud-coloured hair,
Of your thick thighs,
Of your stretch marks and scars.
Little Brown Eyed Girl
You are perfect, just as you are.

She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.