Nonfiction
the bottom of the earth to clear skies
like a record player that breaks, i’m talking seasons, i’m spitting out winter on repeat; the rubbing alcohol on my fingers, the unapologetic sickness that takes over, arriving without preparation, making a splash, like the last person you want to encounter in a restaurant or at a movie theatre, or anywhere, really. vulnerable thoughts, anxious […]
The Deluge
“I’m overwhelmed”… That’s a term often thrown about in the wrong context. I’ve heard girls use it when their best friend comes out of a dressing room looking incredible, “I’m overwhelmed how amazing you look!” (come on! Your friend is beautiful! Have you had Roy Orbison’s glasses on all this time?!) I’ve heard it from […]
Getting rid of drug addiction
I have spent many years trying to get rid of drugs that made my life miserable. It is a fact that drugs have helped me feel good for a short span of time but in the long run, it has only created problems for me. It has not been easy for me, and I would […]
small town summers
sipping wine coolers by the lake in the shade, making out by the water’s edge close to midnight, nowhere to go and nowhere to be. late drives through town in a fresh july air so thick you feel like you can breathe the best and worst at once. fast food signs along the highway route […]
It is not a Dead Future, it is a Living Art: Afrofuturism for the Artist, for Everyone.
Originally Published @ Afrokanist Magazine, London. 2016. Shoutout to Abi. — A Beginning [to “Home Is Africa” – Horace Parlan] James Baldwin said, “Literature is indispensable to the world. The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter, the way a person looks at reality, then […]
Anger Issues: I’m an Object Abuser.
I have anger issues. . . I’m an abuser. I can’t stop the fury from welling up inside when I perceive that I’m being purposely messed with, and that’s when I lash out violently. Who do I abuse? . . . Oh, no-no, I need to explain myself better. I don’t abuse people. I would […]
Where were all the Mr. Klusmans?
My thoughts on the passing of a teacher and the hateful events at a basketball game
The Hair Chronicles
1997-1999: I didn’t know what it was like to be self-conscious just yet. All I knew was that it felt too warm to always wear my hair down. The texture was thick. The curls felt heavy. The humidity was sticky. Whenever I could, I’d have my mom brush my strands back into a tight ponytail. […]