As I scroll down my Facebook News Feed daily, I am forced to see visuals of black and brown bodies: some dead completely covered in blood with a white police officer towering over them, some who have already passed and have been used as martyrs for other types of political movements, or some with their… Continue reading The Dangerous Effects of Media and Black Oppression
A couple of years ago, my little brother stormed out of the house. Before I could catch him, the police were called by a lady who said he tried to kill himself. They took him; handcuffed his hands super tight so that his skin wouldn’t bite the cuffs off. Pain opened his mouth so wide;… Continue reading My Brother: A Boy Misunderstood (Poem)
P apa is rolling stone Piece of sediment covered with dirt rain soot fractures my mother’s tears Praise its speed Praise its swiftness Praise the mineral that was never concrete A tribal stone that rolled its way from Africa and cotton field Praise the stone that broke too many glass houses glass women This Rolling… Continue reading Papa Was a Rolling Stone
I am here to recollect the stories of one family. A family who must face judgment from Death, the decider of its fate. She has an ink-filled scythe, red eyes, and dwells in her sulfur lair, acting swiftly with no remorse. The members of this family live in dungeons; they are in hellholes that hinder their… Continue reading Family Reapers (a short story)
Yes, I’ll admit it. I was a choir boy. I was the seven-year-old that would have singing lessons with his grandma that wouldn’t end until I either held my notes longer than her, or practiced my scales to her pleasing. Embarrassingly, I wanted to be in the choir for many years, and when I finally… Continue reading My Kind of Gospel
Imagine a 15-year-old black boy sucking dick on a staircase while his mother thought he was at the library. Or a 15-year-old boy going to Pride to have sexual encounters with random men on the street. Or even a 16-year-old boy scared to go to the supermarket out of fear that he might see the… Continue reading What’s the Real Danger Here?
2014: A conversation with my father I walked with my father to the store in the rain. “So…” my dad said. “I heard that you were gay.” “I am,” I said as I moved from underneath his umbrella. “Well, you know you are going to hell, right?” I paused, getting drenched in the rain. “And who… Continue reading Love as a String
I woke up on Sunday morning in my grandmother’s apartment, smelling the steam that came from my ironed dress pants that hung on the wall. I could hear the loud voice of Pastor Joel Osteen on the television preaching about forgiveness and the goodness of God. “By the glorious grace of God” or “Turn to… Continue reading Sundays With My Grandmother