Something I was born with,

stained skin,

muddled motions,

definition tinted,

part of a collective,

lover of a people,

member within a movement,

something I didn’t choose…

but humbly embrace,

these shades aren’t small,

symbols of struggle and progress,

driven by belief,

my complexion doesn’t make me…

but it molds the product,

how it perceives this…

global community,

call me Black,



most preferably,

I am history.



My Mind

My mind,

my words,

filling the spaces in between,

vessels comprising the human race,

expressing this dimension,

rivers surging through shocks and sinew,

gray matter grand?

often speaking until my thoughts perish,

but do they…

do they actually die?

Sleepy Eyes Testify

It’s bedtime people!

A time for foreign yet familiar thinking,

secret intellectual philosophies

which slip into the ornery corners of the subconscious.

It’s also a very precious moment in space:

a tipping point;

where popularity

and social histories don’t matter;

ones where I am alone

and others when…


I am among.

Sleepy eyes testify…