“I always wanted to be more than my brown skin, when you told me I was sweet like cinnamon.”

He reminds me of the shadow between silences.

I want to separate writing from heartbreak but I don’t know how.

This brown body is not an explosion- it is light and honey.

Your heartbeat is a holy thing.

How do you mourn the loss of someone who was never yours to begin with?

I want to be something to pray for but I don’t know how to be.

And what am I but the smallest of footnotes in the universe’s everlasting memoir?

This country collects too many tongues, until our only language is silence.

I don’t know how to let you out without destroying us both.

Seek refuge in the space between my bones.

Somewhere inside my throat lives your ache.

I like to trace the ghosts of your fingers on the back of my hand. They read- I don’t know how to hold without you.

I pocket grief and it beckons me like a lover.

My silhouette is an ocean, your lips a sailor.

There is a calmness in not knowing.

Every beauty mark, a country to roam. Every stretch mark, a river to cross.

We believe in the dignity of man as an individual, whatever his race, colour or creed, and his right to better, fuller, and richer life.

Sometimes all you need is a pop of color.

Those who can serve best, those who help most, those who sacrifice most, those are the people who will be loved in life and honoured in death, when all questions of colour are swept away and when in a free country free citizens shall meet on equal grounds.

As long as there is pink in the world, it will always be a better place.

I used to be homophobic, but as I got older, I realized that wasn’t the way to do things. I don’t discriminate against anybody for their sexual preference, for their skin color… that’s immature.

You are an ocean. I know your colors and the sound of your waves, but I’ll never see beneath your surface.

We want to keep doing our own music and show our own colors.

Isn’t blue such a good color? Let’s try and keep it that way.