Poetry and Short Stories

To truly understand and experience me as an writer, you have to browse through my personal creative work. A lot of my projects center around my life as black lesbian who grew up in the church, and as a little black girl who yearned for representation, I've decided to become the women I looked for.

Nights

In dark rooms, I claw at fabric scented by your memory

Holding it near me and letting it hold me// in place of you

I wonder if the heat I'm missing from your breath will

duplicate itself in hell

If in the dark fiery pits, I'll remember the way you felt

If the flame licking my face will mimic your hand caressing my cheek

Comforting me as your love has prepared me for the heat

girls and words

I wish I played guitar so all the words I write for you could be sung over a few chords

and feel like they mean something.

I remember once you said you would watch my pulse when we fucked

But I've memorized yours to tap to myself, lulling myself to sleep at night

Little Ant

My body is small and nimble, slipping through cracks and crevices// Evading the grasp of public eye.

And when met with the heavy stares being viewed as freakish and pest-like, to be crushed.

Big bug eyed with fidgety fingers, that writhe and wiggle uncomfortably.

My hunger and gluttony drive me to collect, to hoard. I should stash and carry my bounty, standing strong as to not be crushed by the weight of my greed.

My need to collect creates an obsession. A spiral. One that ultimately compels me to stockpile my resources and bring back to my queen. My mother ant.

To work tirelessly, endlessly so that she may rule her colony in lavish comforts.

Love Should Make You Uncomfortable

Love should make you uncomfortable. As the greatest sacrifice you could make for your lover is your comfort.

The first time I fell in love with you, my shoulder was achy and my elbow was bruised from the odd tangling of our arms on the console. I wanted to shift my position, move my weight away, but I was leaning on love. Though it was hours, it felt like minutes and I didn't feel the pain until the next day when it became a marker of fond memories formed with you.

I'm sure you're well aware of this though, as your drool soaked shirt implies. But even the tight chest and butterflies are worth love.