*A poem about the fear of loss of children* I used to think that nothing would tear me down Like taking away my fingers Or my hands Which I use to play Which helps me give Which helps me live But I realize even deeper than that That my children are my fingers And my hands And without them I would never play again.

*A poem about the stigmatization of those of African descent living in America, descended from those enslaved, who cannot trace their roots to their original country, and who receive the abusive attitudes of anti-Blackness from others, especially towards those wearing deeper and richer skin* They think that our Blackness is a dark hole Where things go to disappear and be ravaged To never see the light again But when I am gone, make sure that you force them To admit That my Blackness was the deep well From which they took Every Good Thing That filled them That defended them That covered them and the Earth In a love so pure that there was never any absence of light In My Blackness For in My Blackness Are great and marvelous magics Healing, soothing, and redemptive oils That would you not know any better You would dry up And crack Not knowing why you had so much pain in your body Because you thought My Blackness could not offer anything of value to you When it

*A poem about sexism and unworthy men* When the men call to me I look at them coolly While I feel rage bubble Because they will never know how giving them my heart Would only trip them Cause them to dash against the rocks Of my Oya spirit So that they would never see clearly Or recover Again

*A poem about when the heart and body need to stay separated* He touched every part of my body And made me feel like None of it was bad He came to see it every week And it always felt like He left too soon And never filled me enough And I ached for him in the meantime When he collapsed on me afterwards Shaking his head in disbelief Of the power he witnessed And gave way to I knew that he had found his home And I ask myself "Why does he keep running away from it?"

*A poem about the grief of the loss of the original mother-child dyad* She liberated me when she told me That she loved me But she didn't have the tools To see me And so I regurgitated the tools One by one Until she had built herself up so strongly That I could do nothing But crawl back inside And curl up Re-enter the womb And wait to come out Again

What they didn't think about When they came and stole the land And laid down on top of our ancestors Is that it's a strange thing To lay down on top of the people Who make your food and provide the dust Your ancestors will use for you How could you not realize We would still completely envelop you From the ground up That your body would melt back into our expanses While we grew all over you? And so you will be overcome As we clap when our children dance And run On top of you And we receive their tears As the quenching water we need To keep holding them up We will consume Every bit of you And that is the beauty The sun will illuminate.

*A poem about class and settling of families in Black communities. Inspired by my family story of my parents buying land, building their first home, and moving out of the city to a suburb* They chose to up and go away From the place society told them They were born to stay And I went with them Most of the way Until I realized Not everyone came with us Then I decided to go back To find out why And that's where I am still, Today So I saw why they left And I saw why they stayed And I realized It wasn't about staying Or going But about how we could house our bits of freedom Forever indebted to the burden of hope No matter where we went We saw its limit And darker spirits aligned to keep us in it

My last blog post was two years ago. I tend to avoid writing when I'm trying to figure out my life. As life changes, we are forced to adapt and find ways to adjust to our new circumstances, and figure out what those changes mean for us. Near the very end of 2016, I separated and divorced my partner of almost 10 years. There aren't any ways that make "why?" either a black/white question, nor one that is owed to any outside party. Since then, I have grown leaps and bounds in my forward movement as an individual, and as a mother and community member. I have spent time defining and refining parts of my personal growth as a bi-ethnic woman of color, and studying how life in the past few years has really brought the invisibilized forces of oppression to the forefront for Black communities, as well as Native communities. Voices have grown, newer generations have began their activism using online platforms, hashtags, and language that both challenges and fits the progressin