Saying "thank you" and showing respect
are the easiest and most fundamental forms
of positive reinforcement.

I never think much about the fact that I am black.
I know I am black.
Like I know I am a girl,
Like I know I am an American,
Like I know I am nineteen.
It is a fact; I am black.

I hate when people say I am not.
My parents are black.
Their parents are black.
We are black.
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not be black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I don't 'act' black.
How does one act to be considered black?
How am I acting? How is it not black?
Look at my skin,
It's dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not act black?
I am black.

I hate when people say I speak like a white person.
A way of speaking is not exclusive to race.
I am not white.
I do not speak like a white person.
My words are coming out of my black mouth.
I speak properly,
The way my black parents raised me to.
Look at my skin,
Its dark and it's beautiful.
How could I not speak black?
I am black.

I HATE when people say I am a white person trapped in a black body.
I have NEVER heard anything more insulting.
I am NOT trapped.
This color is NOT a cell.
I wear it proudly.
Look at MY skin,
It is DARK and it is BEAUTIFUL!
How could I ever be trapped?
I am black.

I am in no way white,
Nor do I ever want to be.
I am black
And black is beautiful

Why are those dressed in black always so in pain?
Ever looked at your reflected image in the irises of a dark-eyed person?
You can't see yourself in lightly-colored eyes
You can see your reflection better in black
And those who dress in black
Are surrounded by it
They see their own image everyday
Their own flaws flashing back at them, everywhere they look

To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.

I know that you are a poet
I know that I don't matter to you
I know that I didn't really matter to you back then either
But back when I was actually on your mind
When I was under the impression that maybe you cared about me
I wonder if you ever wrote a poem for me?
I sure wrote many for you.
That's all I know.
I'd like to burn them with you now.
Along with all the memories and feelings.

I understand your frustration
With my lack of motivation
And my repetitive procrastination
But you need to realize
I'm only doing what I need to
To survive
Music and books
Keep me alive
Therefore
if you wish to see me
Tomorrow morn
Please leave me be

I want to text him



right now.

Delicate as you were our love was cast away like wilson. I ate the fruit and basked in joy as ploys were set to feel some, kind of arbitrary. The way we rose to crash and fall was quite unnecessary.  Your soul infests me barely.

It used to make me whole, Used to sooth my mind. Used to to pay no tolls, Used to have you here. Used to have no fear, I used to love you endlessly and now the end is here.

Never thought we'd die. My mind was always lost because your presence got me high, My shine was always tossed because id rather be in yours. I loved you like iv never loved anyone before.