... in order to be a true revolutionary, you must understand love. Love, sacrifice, and death.

So much of growing up is an unbearable waiting. A constant longing for another time. Another season.

The words loved me and I loved them in return.

I probably have not killed anyone in America because I write, I've maintained good controls over myself by writing.

Art... reacts to or reflects the culture it springs from.

I still hear you humming, Mama. The colour of your song calls me home. The colour of your words saying, Let her be. She got a right to be different. She gonna stumble on herself one of these days. Just let the child be. And I be, Mama.

Poetry is subconscious conversation, it is as much the work of those who understand it and those who make it.