When the Butterflies in Your Stomach end up Actually Being Acid Reflux.


I am not

your excuse to harm

while claiming you’re unarmed

I’m not the one

you’re about to place your blame upon

your grimy sinew that connects your con.


I’ll tell you what:

You might have deceived me at the very beginning.

Not wanting to proceed with caution

and now I’m over here ending

a bond that was based in inequity

a bond where only YOU were free.

Severing a connection that was truly one-sided

that because of my brown skin and my Queer ass-

-was one that you prided.


You saw my emptiness and used it as fuel

to help yourself heal,

get free meals,

and used me as your fool.


Your silence is my evidence,

your shadiness built my resolve.

The fact that you had nothing to say to me

spoke loudest of all.


I refuse to shed tears for you

instead I cry for me

and the pain that I endured in order to be freed

from a person who ain’t know how to nurture something healthy

someone who instead fed it their long-standing history

of toxic and viral white feminist fragility

sprinkling in my Queer Black ass in hopes of achieving intersectionality–


That’s why I had to get from underneath your spell

and now that I am out of it

my hindsight had me truly compelled

to write you out of my world today

but were you ever really in it?

Or was I some sort of tool for you to remain complicit?

Written by me | 7.31.17

Finding love seems easy, but having a healthy means of conveyance is the hardest part. I hope you let my experience show that we all are struggling to find our heart’s content, so try not to be deceived by a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Until Next Time,


Polyamorous Productions

To queer forms of love and fellowship! We’ve only just begun to speak our truths.


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[Corporate] Pride Month!


You ever feel like


The feeling of of confinement has you


to flee to any other place but here

It’s Pride month–for whom?

Cause I know that I fear

for my life

and my love

and my hope

and my loins,

my mind

and my gut seems to have

deeply conjoined

in a steadfast race to ‘who-will-die-first?’

Why am I to feel safe

in a world where I’m cursed?

Walkin’ down the streets knowing I’ve been marked

knowing that on top of that

I’m disabled;

I don’t know where to start





But if I don’t choose one

I will succumb to my writhing.

Written by Me | June 30, 2017.

I hope that all my queer family has had an eventful Pride month, and hope that y’all were able to avoid all the corporate BS that has co-opted it.

Until next time,



Inspiring! Solidarity!

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From Whence I Came.


I dreamt of you last night

your voice

your hair

your smile.

It was so real to me

the dream me began to compile

a list of questions I had for you

that only you would know

I had to put it all together

just so I could really know

it was you.

But you didn’t even let me get to number 1

you told me that wasn’t why you were here

that it was time for us to have some fun.

So, I took you around the city for a tour.

Took you to my university

and explained the lure.

I told you things I haven’t even told your daughter,

and by the look in your eyes

I’ll never recover

from the day I spent on the town with you

in my dreams,

the way I got to catch up with you

How our connection so easily reconvened.

How every chance you got

you reminded me to cook

and every other glance at me

confirmed I had the look.

No time for confirmation

Even less for consternation

You just wanted me to know about

your undying appreciation

for the person I was

and how I got me to who I am

You just kept smiling at me

and kept reminding me of when

I used to run around the neighborhood

with reckless abandon

used to leave my shoes

which somehow ended up on your landing.

“But your dead,”

I kept saying to everyone who would hear.

No one seemed to care

they were just excited you were here.

They loved meeting you and seeing from whence I came

“You have my smile, child,”

was among the many things you exclaimed.

I never touched you

for fear you would disappear.

I didn’t want to wake up

to leave you

where you were revealed.

As I realized I was waking up

I extended my hand to you.

I figured I might as well

Since I was leaving too.

But you didn’t grab my hand

in fact, you were nowhere to be found

except in the extremely warm and comfortable

home in my heart



and proud.

Written by me on 5.31.17

Until next time,


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Little Chaos, Less Sleep.

Thoughts from a Master.

How do you focus when you can’t breathe?
You need a breather
But breathing is hard
your heart pounds
But you tryin’ ta sleep

How are you gonna make rent?
How you livin’?
As you sip on your fancy bourbon drink




What is in a dollar?
A Hundred?
How about a penny?

I walked outdoors and begged for
it to rain
on me
on my skin
cleansing my iniquity
and rendering me new

But sadly,

Sallie Mae would still have my number

and would call me out the blue.

I miss writing. I miss it so much. I had to steal away from things and release my consternation. Now back to the final stretch of this degree!

Until next time,


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Have you ever felt like you’re dying?

Like you’re killing yourself to succeed?

It’s a feeling that makes you sick to your stomach,

it’s a feeling that will not heed

your incessant cries and pleas for it to stop

turning your mind into chaos

cutting deeply into your flesh

but the blood refuses to clot.

What do you do when your treachery effects your life?

When you want to do anything to stop living this double-strife?

But you know you can’t

’cause if you could you would.

You know what they say about




but they never mention what happens

when your life is meant in vain

when society is set up

for you to maintain

the violent roots that thrive from you losing

and constantly blaming yourself

for the fact that you’re bruising.

How to navigate this land of treachery!

There’s no sort of directory

no atlas of beginning again

we are bound to repeat this

to try and be free again.

But what does that really mean

to truly be free

when it’s at the hands of your own treachery?




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A Month of Black Love: Weekend Edition


What happens to a dream repressed?

When the weight of it all comes crashing down

leaving you distressed?

What happens when you can’t sleep

and all you think of is your failure?

You think of all the ways you fostered your dream

and now you’re preparing its burial.

What do you do now, just bail?

Act like a part of you isn’t writhing in a jail?

A theoretical and abstracted prison of contempt

knowing that you may never be whole again

because of the dream that gave you so much hope

is buried down under the wreckage

of systemic inequity

and violent oppression.


-Written by D.


Found online. Inspiration


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A Month of Black Love #3

“I’m poor, I’m Black, I might even be ugly; but dear god I’m here! I’m here!



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