“I found my old diary tonight. A brokenness I had forgotten pen pressured so deep it punctured page. I ran my fingers over my words and there inside ridges black I found a little girl desperate for someone to save her, desperate for the very woman I have become.”

Hour 36 of labor. I pull at god’s necktie dig a hole at the hospital floor.

You can’t go to a kindergarten teacher after me.

One tornado I lived through got the house.

The argentinian kisses me on a beach in tulum.

May my children never read this.

You’re rolling me in coffee hands I’m u-turn smoked rubber coming back- oh I’m spent, ask on the still.

When I reached for what I wanted, they said I left my needs behind. But if all birds need is on the ground why then do they fly?

Oh the salt water I had to sweat to realize there was an ocean inside of me.

This morning I tell the kindest man on earth after two dates, you are good and you are not my man. My man is not as good as you.

I know this won’t always be a good deal for me I make it anyway.

Don’t get too used to being alone.

I want to be in an Jane Austen novel with you.

God is a woman and like every woman has millions of years of men speaking for her.

I keep saying over and over. I’m sorry but I have to go now you are not my person.

I play with the nativity and tell mary she looks good in that color blue.

The day my children move out is years I can count on two hands I have them half this time years I count on one.

The Buddhist expresses it in one way, the Christian in another, but both say the same: We are all one.

Never become bitter, and in the process, be happy and just go for it.

The bus was among the first ways I realized there was a black world and a white world.

I wish to raise a Black man who will not be destroyed by, nor settle for, those corruptions called power by the white fathers who mean his destruction as surely as they mean mine.

Black holes are where God divided by zero.

Whenever someone refers to me as someone “who happens to be black,” I wonder if they realize that both my parents are black. If I had turned out to be Scandinavian or Chinese, people would have wondered what was going on.

Hating people because of their color is wrong. And it doesn’t matter which color does the hating. It’s just plain wrong.

Black people have always been used as a buffer in this country between powers to prevent class war.