My secret is hidden, yet so loud.
The feeling you can’t
Feeling the crisp night air
When people talk about growing up black, they tend to focus on hair, clothes or music.
I couldn’t write a poem
“Ok, now you can smile.”
The stillness, of stillness
To be black, alive and woman
I feel the cold of the thin, sharp razor
Finally finding someone who understands, is like finding a cure to the monotonous heartache …
Beauty is something we all possess