We’re at the same juncture where Black people are met with the same struggle, one which seems to never end. We’re still fighting for our lives to matter. We still can’t breathe as the knees of oppression bends into our necks, killing us. We’ve peacefully marched, we’ve walked with our anger boiling beneath our rich and beautiful skin, but yet this ugly history of us being beaten down, being hosed down still continues today. A reflection of us standing up against the fences, the faces of an established denial of my place in the world, where I dream as much as you do. I wish to sing my troubles. But it is the same tune. What else is there for us to say out loud, write down and shout, We shall over come… Should I tell the next generation it’s up to them now, to carry this anger, this despair, this anxiety of living outside, while I can’t even escape it myself? My life is ordinary like the songs of any bird-call voicing an incandescent sound, but because of the hatred of my existence I am martyred for my race, for my color: Black!

Black is the beauty
of the night forever and ever
Black is what brings light


I was getting rid of some boxes that’s been just sitting in a corner of my apartment.  And I came across a book that I thought I had misplaced.  It’s the Collected Poems of Robert Hayden.  Flipping through the collection I came across a favorite, Snow.  The reason I think I’ve always enjoyed this piece is that it uses so little to express so much.

Snow by Robert Hayden

Smooths and burdens,
endangers, hardens.

Erases, revises.

Vistas of lunar solitude.
Builds, embellishes a mood.


Here’s my attempt at using as few words as possible to express my feelings on my hair:


Nappy nappy
springs split-ends
soft wild dusky velvet.

Bold black beauty
spry leaping panther
rich as the Nile
subtle as wisdom

Nappy nappy
springs split-ends
soft wild dusky velvet