There is no graceful way to carry hatred.

I've found, in my own writing, that a little hatred, keenly directed, is a useful thing.

Writing poems is my way of celebrating with the world that I have not committed suicide the evening before.

Yes, Mother. I can see you are flawed. You have not hidden it. That is your greatest gift to me.

The animals of the world exist for their own reasons. They were not made for humans any more than black people were made for white, or women created for men.

We are all substantially flawed, wounded, angry, hurt, here on Earth. But this human condition, so painful to us, and in someways shameful- because we feel we are weak when the reality of ourselves is exposed- is made much more bearable when it is shared, face to face, in words that have expressive human eyes behind them.

My ancestors make up the skin of the world. That's who that is. That's what that is. That's us.