i just devoured salt.
and she is swimming
in my blood
light-ing and burn-ing
warming and soothing
giving life to
my brown parts.
blessed.


kisses for nayyirah
thank you sister ( )

I saw a comment/review somewhere when I was adding this book that mentioned that while it was good, it was no longer relevant, that somehow, "we" as a culture had evolved beyond needing these words. I'm not sure who wrote that, but they were wrong. I don't think anyone can evolve beyond being told that they are worthy and valued while still surviving in a society that does neither.

So read the book, feel the words, and stand up straighter for a few hours. ( )

A possible entry for 2021 PopSugar Reading Challenge prompt #34: A book about a social justice issue
Also for prompt #35: A book in a different format than what you normally read
While I do not consider myself a fan of poetry--especially not this kind of writing style--some parts remind me about issues I also experienced while growing up:

you ask
to touch my hair
or worse
touch it without asking.
this is not innocence.
this is not ignorance.
this is not curiosity.
this is the very racist and subhuman belief
that
you have a right to me.
–– i will break your hand. do not ever touch me | every time you touch my hair my ancestors place a curse on you ( )

Nayyirah Waheed can give you feels and emotions in just a couple of words. ( )

These poems were full of emotion. Waheed writes from the perspective of an African-American woman, and her poetry is full of pain and confusion at her lost heritage and questions of identity, but also startling beauty and love. I started bookmarking all the poems that spoke to me in some fashion and ended up with almost 3/4 of the poems marked.

Here are some of the ones that really made go oof:

what
massacre
happens to my son
between
him
living within my skin.
drinking my cells.
my water.
my organs.
and
his soft psyche turning cruel.
does he not remember
he
is half woman.
— from

if
we.
are
with child.
and
you believe that fatherhood
begins
when my body pours a baby into your hands.
not before.
you do not deserve this child.
you are a coward.
— you are a father the moment you enter me

And finally, this seems very timely:
you broke the ocean in
half to be here.
only to meet nothing that wants you.
— immigrant ( )