one thing I don’t need is any more apologies i got sorry greetin me at my front door you can keep yrs i don’t know what to do wit em they don’t open doors or bring the sun back they don’t make me happy or get a mornin paper didn’t nobody stop usin my tears to wash cars cuz a sorry.

our dreams draw blood from old sores.

I am gonna write poems til i die and when i have gotten outta this body i am gonna hang round in the wind and knock over everybody who got their feet on the ground.

i found god in myself and i loved her i loved her fiercely

Right now being born a girl is to be born threatened.

in our ordinaryness we are most bizarre.

And this is for Colored girls who have considered suicide, but are moving to the ends of their own rainbows.