Sister, Don’t Die

“..I wondered, for a second, what it must be like to exist in the constant moon of violence. To be colored, stained and decorated by its promise or threat or both, while also retaining a blue-black hue of power for oneself, for ones family, for ones essence. The light changed and we parted ways. I thought of her on my elliptical. Sweat dripping, brow drowning with anxiety and perspiration for the mere thought of how different life might be if I were her and she was me. A futile mental exercise because those who have tasted male privilege cannot fathom…it is much like humans opining about how the earth feels; those exercises are cute, for show, for play-play. The more correct course would be to stop polluting live sustainably and gift thanks but even those are empty gestures. I hate such comparisons as the do the ongoing work of super-humanizing or dehumanizing black women, femmes, queers and men. We do this thing, perhaps because our humanity is a common jest, where we are either Gods or Dead. Perhaps we are both. Or perhaps, we too are humans…or Gods wrapped in flesh like the rest of the wayward blood bags ravaging the earth, ravaging each other, consuming blue-black black girls in glowing the lights of libraries and upscale gyms…”

By and By

The saints tried to move the Earth itself in an attempt to save this boy from himself. Jamal sat in the middle of this circle of twisted divine intervention and waited. He waited for the shouting and the praying and the beseeching to end. He waited for the olive oil to stop dripping down his forehead, for the backs of those saints to straighten. He waited for his father’s wrath to subside, for the belt to take its last swing. He waited for silence.

Black-Out

by Christopher Williams My brother hates me to this day. He hates me more than he hates a darkie on the street or our “slave shaded” mother. But most of all he hates me for looking exactly like him… We’re only minutes apart. He’s older by 11 minutes and 50 seconds, born 31st of December,…

Brother To Brother: Kindling A Fire That Heals (Part 1)

A series of letters, exchanges of love and healings, from blaqueer brothers across space and often violent, times. This is post 1 of 4. For Hari’s response, check out the reblog or head over to the phenomenal RaceBaitr. My Brother Hari, There is so much on my mind, but in the midst of it all, I…

The Ballad of Sai

I have no tongue. No voice. It was stolen from me along with the freedom I used to have. A month ago I lived a life some would call dull but I loved every moment of it. I lived in a two bedroom apartment with my dog, Shango on the east side of town. No…

Beautiful Monster

Wayne Dequan Robinson III. My given name. I haven’t gone by Wayne in over three years, not since we took that trip to Ghana. That’s where my family started looking at me as more of a creature and less as their child. “It’s fine that you’re gay, Wayne. Whatever, we’ll get over it. But why…

The Club Kidd

Thursday night at Pandemonium is where I see God. She waits for me in my makeshift dressing room directly across from the women’s restroom and the garbage shoot. She is beautiful, fine, and expensive. Finest Korean lace-front I could manage. She’s modeled after two of the kidz’ idols– B-Day Beyoncé in shape but Loud Rihanna…