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By Faylita Hicks
Crawling out from between the legs of a woman
with my name still wetly slathered across her chin,
I cradle the lewd silk of our venom
up against the hot swell of my caged chest, wade out
through her front door, into the murky billows
of the damned and the damnable,
By Aurielle Marie
I always feel Black, y’ know? | I close my eyes at night & the tar behind them lids | ain’t nearly as dark as me | I wake to a thousand white daggers
By Rajiv Mohabir
I invite you back
dear wildness dear
unfathomable formless
By Sumita Chakraborty
We may try to change the shape of your body, or the color of your skin,
or the kinds of sounds that your mouths make, to match how we think you should.
By Saretta Morgan
More than a decade after being sentenced I share the news with my mom.
By adrienne maree brown
even now
we could be happy
even now
breathing in
filling our bodies with right now
By mónica teresa ortiz
I wake up sleepless inside a room overlooking giants//mist peeling over olive trees//clouds of pleasure
By Ashna Ali
On an assemblage of screens on another firework evening
Ruthie Gilmore reminds us that abolition is not recitation.
By Arianna Monet
I say Well, it is a compound word, so..
Code. Noun.
A system of marking things with different colors
as a means of identification.
By Aurora Levins Morales
Why do they call us "the patient"
We are not patient. We endure.