“My poetry holds a great sentiment to many parts of what I am: my egos, my emotions, my creative practice of expanding my voices in poems, and most importantly, my lifestyle .”

“Would you hear my cry, wipe the tears from my eyes like my ancestors wiped your ancestor’s babies’ behinds? While their mothers sipped Sweet Tea in the Southern heat... Made by my great-great-great grandmother’s withered hands on her tired feet.

Would you even let me scream?”

Spike your hair and stop worrying about what they like.
Spike your hair and love every second of it.
Spike your hair and scream with me.

It is important for me to make sense of who and where I come from, so that I may be more thoughtful in how I treat others and live my life now. I’m not here to scold anyone out of asking the next person they meet, “What are you?” But, remember that human beings are not a “what.” We are a “who.” And, we may still be figuring out just who we are.

I ignored my passion for writing because I did not think it would take me anywhere. I thought about what kind of stable careers would help me live a comfortable lifestyle during my middle school years. Writing was not that career.

“The taste of bone stalled my anxiety. My teeth are in my mouth.
Stress dreams after beautiful sex taste like chicken tacos and Jamaica. One without the other? It could work? One could fall asleep calm and collected? But the taste of my stress dreams refuses to disappear from my restless mouth.”