Collection 02.
My relationship with sleep borders a crutch, maybe an addiction. It is not simply the rest a nap brings, it is the unrest of the rest of the world that I am trying to avoid. I wrote these poems about sleep, and I put them together after a much undeserved nap.
AFRICATOWN, USA
In the autumn of 1860, 110 of them bound and chained together, enslaved Africans from Dahomey into Mobile, with one person whose soul, so filled with song and sorrow, flew back home–
Ugh, Not Love again…
I titled this collection “Ugh, Not Love again…” because I wrote these poems at a point when I couldn’t take the push and pull of Capital L — Love. Going through the motions, I was winded at the intensity that Love brings and stunned by the feelings left in its wake. While frustrated with the constant theme of love, these are the ramblings of a scared, hopeless romantic, who uses cynicism as her disguise.
A Reckoning…
I haven’t thought about what life is, or what it isn’t, But I’ve acknowledged time and time again just how unbearable it can be, how profuse the struggles seemingly appear, how stressful it is in nature, how abundantly depressing it can be…
Trauma’s Legacy, Unity’s Triumph
At its heart, this poem encapsulates the essence of resilience, demonstrating how meaningful connections only occur within vulnerability. It emphasizes the profound strength that emerges when one learns to give themselves the love they have tirelessly sought in others. It unfolds a story of redemption and renewal through poetic language, illuminating the path from pain to power.
Learning Love
Mama never told me what love was like, she never told me it was something I could have, never told me it was something I could grab, so I never thought about it.
The Cape of Good Hope
I breathed the air where the two seas meet, Where the perceived worlds old and new connect, The Cape of Good Hope.
Self Thuggin’ Love
I never wondered who I would be without you, I thought we were like peanut butter and jelly, like Kelly and Nelly, not thinking there would be a Dilemma.
Collection 01.
These poems connect only in the sense that when I wrote each of them, I was thinking about beliefs, religion, and God — what God might be like, how I think about God, and how I imagine God might think of me.
A Cursed Inescapable Beauty
Being Black and Beautiful is a prison. I walk the fine line of a supposed “gift” and a detriment to society. To escape is inescapable. To be or not be a beautiful hell.