In the summer of 1986 I joined the United States Army Reserve. I was 19 years old and had no inkling of the nature of
Remembering Her Through Streams of Words I’ve always felt that I, human, am frighteningly small and whatever this is that we exist within is big,
Come, let me recycle your soul. I will rinse it clean, sanitize it, then send it back to Earth. The sanitization process often erases all
i will write for you i will live and die for you i will tell our story through song and verse through poetry that is
i am more than the words i speak or write. more than what you see. i am the unseen and unheard ends of the spectrum.
Chrysalis i wrap myself inside myself i grow i changei emergei fly
I knew from the day I met you, that every inch of you would be carved into my soul. Writing Prompt: Carve
If I don’t begin posting to my blog daily, I will turn to stone. It’s true. I read it in a book.
I had not been home to Jamaica in over a decade. In August 2015 I took a trip, and while there, visited Marcus Garvey’s house,
There are days like today when the living ain’t easy. I sit in the back of the store—breakroom slash stockroom—waiting for things I cannot name.
Your whispers reach me across time. They find me standing on the edge of awakening. My dreams leave, then your dreams ask to enter the
It snowed last night. This morning the sky was clear and the snow bright. While I do feel a sense of jolly when I look
I built a story that was tall and wide, stretching across miles of land like the Great Wall of China. I did not use brick
Mighty Voices Rise I don’t give two damns about “hate speech” against me, a brown woman. Not two. I have a mighty voice and know
i’ve decided that i don’t want to write, not with my hands anyway. i want to think words onto paper and screens and leaves and
i am the stream… of consciousness. it is 2:38pm, monday, the In The Beginning day of the week august 14. twenty seventeen, whatever that means
We all seek freedom in one way or another. But in the end, we live in an age where none of us know what true
i hide inside myself, in the dark corners of memory, in the light of a thousand what-could-have-beens.
The words leave, drifting atop my misconceptions. I am looking backwards. Why did we come here? Was it only to see if being human was
In the space of memory resides the fence we stand atop, teetering on the edge between hard ground and water. In that space we remember