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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A Month of Black Love #2

“Not everything that is faced

can be changed,

but nothing can be changed until

it is faced.”

-James Baldwin

Keep this in your mind as you go about. Keep this close to you when you want to ignore the tumult that is our nation.


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A Month of Black Love #1

As a way of showing myself love and care I am going to share something meaningful to me everyday this month. As a way of showing my Black communities love, I will share meaningful things.

*Update, apparently my life did not allow for a post/day, so I will when I can. #life

First and foremost, there are Black and Brown people on the front lines here in NC being arrested for speaking truths to our corrupt regime and need funding to get out of jail.

Here’s where you come in.


Please help by donating and sharing their website as much as you can. Click here for their site.

My first meditation of the month comes from June Jordan. June is a constant source of light and motivation in my life, so I look to draw strength from her powerful words. Feel free to read along while listening to the audio I found on YouTube.

Poem about My Rights by June Jordan

Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear

my head about this poem about why I can’t

go out without changing my clothes my shoes

my body posture my gender identity my age

my status as a woman alone in the evening/

alone on the streets/alone not being the point/

the point being that I can’t do what I want

to do with my own body because I am the wrong

sex the wrong age the wrong skin and

suppose it was not here in the city but down on the beach/

or far into the woods and I wanted to go

there by myself thinking about God/or thinking

about children or thinking about the world/all of it

disclosed by the stars and the silence:

I could not go and I could not think and I could not

stay there


as I need to be

alone because I can’t do what I want to do with my own

body and

who in the hell set things up

like this

and in France they say if the guy penetrates

but does not ejaculate then he did not rape me

and if after stabbing him if after screams if

after begging the bastard and even after smashing

a hammer to his head if even after that if he

and his buddies fuck me after that

then I consented and there was

no rape because finally you understand finally

they fucked me over because I was wrong I was

wrong again to be me being me where I was/wrong

to be who I am

Which is exactly like South Africa

penetrating into Namibia penetrating into

Angola and does that mean I mean how do you know if

Pretoria ejaculates what will the evidence look like the

proof of the monster jackbot ejaculation on Blackland

and if

after Namibia and if after Angola and if after Zimbabwe

and if after all of my kinsmen and women resist even to

self-immolation of the villages and if after that

we lose nevertheless what will the big boys say will they

claim my consent:

Do You Follow Me: We are the wrong people of

the wrong skin on the wrong continent and what

in the hell is everybody being reasonable about

and according to the Times this week

back in 1966 the C. I. A. decided that they had this problem

and the problem was a man named Nkrumah so they

killed him and before that it was Patrice Lumumba

and before that it was my father on the campus

of my Ivy League school and my father afraid

to walk into the cafeteria because he said he

was wrong the wrong age the wrong skin the wrong

gender identity and he was paying my tuition and

before that

it was my father saying I was wrong saying that

I should have been a boy because he wanted one/a

boy and that I should have been lighter skinned and

that I should have had straighter hair and that

I should not be so boy crazy but instead I should

just be one/a boy and before that

it was my mother pleading plastic surgery for

my nose and braces for my teeth and telling me

to let the books loose to let them loose in other


I am very familiar with the problems of the C. I. A.

and the problems of South Africa and the problems

of Exxon Corporation and the problems of white

America in general and the problems of the teachers

and the preachers and the F. B. I. and the social

workers and my particular Mom and Dad/I am very

familiar with the problems because the problems

turn out to be


I am the history of rape

I am the history of the rejection of who I am

I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of


I am the history of battery assault and limitless

armies against whatever I want to do with my mind

and my body and my soul and

whether it’s about walking out at night

or whether it’s about the love that I feel or

whether it’s about the sanctity of my vagina or

the sanctity of my national boundaries

or the sanctity of my leaders or the sanctity

of each and every desire

that I know from my personal and idiosyncratic

and indisputably single and singular heart

I have been raped


cause I have been wrong the wrong sex the wrong age

the wrong skin the wrong nose the wrong hair the

wrong need the wrong dream the wrong geographic

the wrong sartorial I

I have been the meaning of rape

I have been the problem everyone seeks to

eliminate by forced

penetration with or without the evidence of slime and/

but let this be unmistakable this poem

is not consent I do not consent

to my mother to my father to the teachers to

the F. B. I. to South Africa to Bedford-Stuy

to Park Avenue to American Airlines to the hardon

idlers on the corners to the sneaky creeps in


I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name

My name is my own my own my own

and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this

but I can tell you that from now on my resistance

my simple and daily and nightly self-determination

may very well cost you your life.






Until next time Comrades,


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Inauguration Party


Light a candle

turn out all the lights

focus on your existential fright.

It’s very real, the fear you’re feeling

enveloped by the reality of our regime changing

it’s not like before you thought you were safe

like you could express your inner freedom without fear of malice


Focus your eyes to the light of the candle

in the midst of your dark open space

think about the powerful flame

and all the energy it takes

to fill that dark space all by itself

just for a second you begin to see

the power of your rage manifested

among all the darkness and tyranny


But just when you note this

you notice the room

all dark and filled with fear

there is energy in the chaos

of the evil force that leers.

You don’t feel safe,

because you know you aren’t

it’s overt now and you have no place to hide

in your own skin you are punished

because brutality presides.


Breathe in your discontent,

your fear and palpable anger

for at least the next four years

you’re in clear and present danger.


The light of the candle

think about how it fills the space around you

that’s the light of your community enveloping you

your lifeline

your safe place

your home-base and more

don’t forget you have them as a lighthouse

and powerful core.


In this next indefinite space

it’s important that it’s strength and courage you take

to get through the day and move to the next

SELF CARE in the interim

get through it at best.

Throughout it all remember you ain’t alone

remember that it’s connection to hone.

Be vigilant

Be ready

Be home

Be light

amidst the tumult of power that incites.



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I’m sitting here looking at the grooves in your skin


‘we have the same blood coursing through our veins.’


as the weight of your words slowly crack the surface of my deepest cognizance


‘we have the same gaps in our teeth.’

Avoiding the weight of the world that your words bring into my existence

all I can focus on

is mom’s smile that we all inherited

while avoiding all the things I’ve merited

in my life story

that is no linger true, nor is it real.


I’m becoming undone by those words that reveal.

‘we have the same moles on our faces that look like freckles,’

and all the while

my inner child boos and heckles

those things you are telling me that’s supposed to be real

cause all I wanna do is go home and begin to heal.


What I end up doing is writing and crying then write some more,

to try and discover the real and get past the lore.

Thinking about the ways we are so undoubtedly connected

as we sit here talking

I’m simultaneously dejected.

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