To Skate On Sun

representing everything I came here with.
Recent Tweets @KamoneFromPluto

Angry Blk Girl                       

                                                            Manifesto

 

ANGRY BLK GIRL RESERVES RIGHT TO BE ANGRY.

                        ANGRY BLK GIRL RESERVES RIGHT TO SAY NGGA                        ANGRY BLK GIRL RESERVES RIGHT TO SAY BTCH.            ANGRY BLK GIRLS RESERVES RIGHT TO CALL HER BTCHS NGGAS.      angry blk grl writes a book. angry blk girl must validate authority. angry blk girl lives in mirror. angry blk girl is BLK GIRL authority.             ANGRY BLK GIRL IS TOO LOUD but small small small              ANGRY BLK GIRL is perpetual apology ANGRY BLK GIRL is tired of being sorry angry blk girl is not sorry is angry blk girl prefers anger than SMILE SMILE smile thinks smiles are standard lies   is not a liar. ANGRY BLK GIRL LOVES ALL PEOPLE. BROWN PEOPLE. PURPLE PEOPLE. GREEN PEOPLE. ANGEL PEOPLE. WHITE PEOPLE.           blk girl does not understand whiteness.          BLK girl is afraid of whiteness. ANGRY BLK GIRL LEARNED whiteness THE WAY THE FIRST BORN ALWAYS DIES DURING PLAGUE. Angry blk girl is baby blk girl until death under the foot of whiteness.             IS NOT BABY BLK GIRL.   IS BIG GROWN ANGRY BLK GIRL. Angry blk girl deserves to be just as angry as angry white girl. does not share the same anger white girl owns. white girl wants blk girl to fight in WHITE GIRL army but tells angry black girl “not for you today but tomorrow maybe tomorrow”      ANGRY BLK GIRL CANNOT SAVE HER ANGER FOR tomorrow,

don’tspeaktomelikethat

itdidhappentomethisdisplacementisnomyth

donttalkktomelikethat

            don’t tell me it’s not that serious. don’t you dare tell me to quiet down/its not that serious.

BLK GIRL BELONGS TO NO LAND. BLK GIRL IS CONSTANTLY IN TRANSPORT. BLK GIRL MOURNS THE DISTANCE. BLK GIRL IS THE DISTANCE. BLK GIRL IS BOTTOM OF THE ATLANTIC. BLK GIRL LIES STILL BENEATH CITY COURT HOUSE. IS STUCK STILL. IS STUCK STILL. IS BARELY FOUR GENERATIONS OF LOSS. IS ALWAYS LOST.

Tonight!!! The turn up will be incredible. so excited for you to see what we’ve been working on. Growth indeed!!!!

My new sounds:

Setting up shop, I guess

As always, thx for reading.

Xoxo

“Did you love him?”


The therapist asks.


I pause in my breath, make it short and listen to what the circulation is telling me. “Yes,” I say, “I think I did.” And how could I not? He was the stuff of the big boy universe, a monument of what it meant to

have a big brother. He was annoying, and picked on me, but made me meals and helped me learn how

to recognize unfamiliar humor and when to laugh. We laughed some afternoons, the house thick with

summer sweat, our joy deep portals, the television a frigid murmur in the rooms. All day, we’d disobey

the rules and be glittered about it, waiting for our grandmother to come home and dial through the

roof.


“So, you loved him.” She says, and sure, yes, what does it really take to admit it, the moon is full tonight, anyway.


Sure, I loved him, because I was made to. But things got weird and the body holds a lot of what does not belong to it. I carry him in ways I’d wish away, but here we are.


“Most women cannot say the person by name or even a pronoun. You take this on well.”


That’s what you all call it. Is there ever a living, perforated thing that can escape a bleed? I’m not dealing, I’m not dealing with it, I’m not accepting it as mine but I talk about it, shoot at it, take

all the right medication. Is that enough? Sometimes. Today.

borderlinepoetry:

Vol. 3 - Autumn/Winter 2014 [Nettie Farris]

borderlinepoetry:

Vol. 3 - Autumn/Winter 2014 [Nettie Farris]

99 plays
Gil Scott-Heron,
Pieces of a Man

givemypoorheartease:

Gil Scott-Heron—“Home Is Where the Hatred Is”

Pieces of a Man (Flying Dutchman 1971).

(via blackboybe)

Yup. Another Marvin’s Room Remix. I know. I know. Listen, though?

Happy New Year

There is no
Resolution to missing you.
Each day travels in
and out of itself
My bold name falling
in and out of
Any stranger’s mouth.
These days I
look perfection in the face
And shrink
with each lie. I was
Beautiful once. I was a bloom for time’s eye.
I was an allergen,
a schism of breath’s sake.
I loom through these sordid yellow rooms, teething with
deep misuse, your name starving me out. Absence is the heart’s dying muse.