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

We are so much more than skin can hold.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a poem.

I have lived too many lives to be only one thing, and instead of attempting to mesh them into a form of a human being, I have decided to love every jagged edge of mine.

I don’t like how your embrace feels like comfort till the knife thrust.

If you wish to read the story of my people look no further than my body.

I am only beautiful when my legs are open and I have forgotten my mother tongue to make room for yours.

Love transcends oceans and I love you in every country we are both made of.

I love you the way rain falls on a sunny day- a kind of marvelous sadness.

I love you like I barely had a land to call my own.

I am tired of living in a world, where I belong deeply, to anyone but myself.

She has learned so much from dying only to be born again.

I remember when I was the only sin you liked to kiss.

I loved each and every one of your faces.

Tear me open and rest inside me.

Here I am, a mosaic of becomings.

I am a child of borderlines and we are two lands, carved differently.

I will never know how you see red and you will never know how I see it. But this separation of consciousness is recognized only after a failure of communication, and our first movement is to believe in an undivided being between us.

Anybody who perceives colors can become a painter. It’s simply a question of whether or not one has felt anything and whether one has the courage to recount the things one has felt.

Some colors reconcile themselves to one another, others just clash.

Colors live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas.

By painting colors and lines and forms seen in quickened mood I was seeking to make this mood vibrate as a phonograph does. This was the origin of the paintings in The Frieze of Life.

We don’t hate nobody because of their color. We hate oppression!

As an artist I would like to eliminate the symbolic pretty much, for black is interesting not as a color but as a non-color and as the absence of color.

Can you imagine what it would be like to all of a sudden see another color that nobody else sees?