Greetings family! The circle of griots at BlaQueerFlow are excited to announce a call for submissions. We are interested in poetry, prose, fiction, short stories and art. We are also increasingly interested in book /film/music reviews that touch upon the themes and topics of concern to the AfroLatinX & Queer/Woman of Color communities. Please note…
“I loved him in a secret place. It wasn’t hiding. It was somewhere, some where, some place I couldn’t put my tongue to but I knew it existed. I didn’t know where it was but I knew it was. I knew because it was a soul-truth. Not one of those truths where your tongue just does a few tricks and flips and clicks and some sort of phrase comes out that sounds good enough. Not that. Not that type of love. That type of meaningly notion of love that has no power. Has no blood or sweat behind it. That type of love that wasn’t paid for with nothing but time. Time is cheap. Time is going to be spent anyway. Spent with them* or spent with just you doing something else meaningless in this world of meaningless activity masquerading around as productivity when it is really just capitalism doing what capitalism, running you down and making you feel about your own euthanasia, that’s what it do! I’ll tell you true, now, just listen here. THAT. IS. NOT. THE. WAY. I LOVE(D)?. THEM*.”
23. Weaponizing your new-found social justice lingo; to cover up your fuckshit
24. Shading folks for doing in public; what you do in the dark
25. Acting like all discomfort and disagreements are violence
26. Acting like you in love when you know it’s just lust
Growth. It is most often painful. New parts of you sprouting from once smooth, thick, impenetrable surfaces. Growth is violent. It breaks what once was. It is a rupture of structures, of surfaces, of composition and plans. Growth is violence, but not all violence is bad. Unless of course, you’d rather be the seed than…
I wield no knife at my throat, nor pills at my bedside. But I reserve to right to die, when living best serves those who seek to devour me.
o calmly wild;
there’s pure ecstasy in the way You see (through) me
the way You rip me apart in the name of edification
how do You find purity in my despair?
and I heard the lamentations of a million hearts
regretting life and crying for the grave,
and I saw the Negro lying in the swamp with his face
and the northern cities with his manhood maligned and felt
“The life that remains. The life that continues to defy certain removal and dismemberment of self from self from his/herstory from family from truth from gods from us–of old, new, now and tomorrow–we celebrate, that even still our death has not been won, paid for, laid claim to. We celebrate that at least, for us, the power to die remains the province of the flesh hold the beating heart in its crevice…”
“The revolution will cost all that we have. It will cost our lives, with the ever-elusive promise, that we might transcend the products, producers and midwives of violence we have become…”
By Vernon Jordan, III i. raising me I hope was easy. Like the Sun of a spring day, the ease of a Fall breeze; grandma, I remember you teaching me to wash my childish, brown hands, my boney coal elbows, and knees. You carried your skin like a rope of jewels ‘round neck —…
Dark and fat with star and misery she could not swallow me into anonymity, hips swinging blacker than her Cosmos, smile brighter than Moons mighty, known and named Ancestors wrought my spine Soul onyx with the remnants of shooting stars aiming for purpose found in my stride Of black gumbo soiled through ivory incantations cross…
Originally posted on Skool Haze:
SkoolHaze is on that BEDA – Day 1 of 31 ============= What does that mean? BEDA means, Blog Every Day in August. I stole this whole concept from Evelyn of the Internets. She’s one of my long lost Internet cousins. You probably are too. Back in April she decided to…
Surely, no child should have to pay an additional cost–to the carceral state–for having the audacity to refuse to be murdered.