Everytime a hot comb simmers
we dread. We get hurt so often
we think it's a nickname.
When we say we remember
we mean hurricane, hunt
meadow, lust, duty, escape,
settle, mourn, birch, baptism,
tithe, kneel, Sphinx, throat,
offering, animal, deadwood.
We get hurt so often we never
run. Every time we lick our lips
the day obeys and repents.
Glory glory hallelujah.
Hot comb on the stove.
Train tracks in the weeds.
Black Women for Beginners Pt. 1 by Morgan Parker
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How I love us, Black unicorns, I love the youth of our adaptation. I love every way our bodies tell us not to blend in to what surrounds us, but instead to break through with brave sensitivity. Though we are hunted for exactly what makes us strong, may we always be embraced in the words of the Lorde. May we ever attune ourselves and support each other in this breakthrough. I have always believed in us.
from Undrowned: Black Feminist Lessons from Marine Mammals by Alexis Pauline Gumbs
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I am interested in poetic formulations such as "we are the ones we have been waiting for" which collapse the distance between this present and a future, challenge the confidence with which narratives of reproductive futurity are advanced, introduce risk and uncertainty into present speculations about futures, and urge those of use still here now to action without guarantees.
from Queer Times, Black Futures by Kara Keeling
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Adrienne Raquel, Eye to Eye, from Onyx
Adrienne Raquel, In Her Element, from Onyx
Adrienne Raquel, Blu Bills, from Onyx
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