@15 minutes ago
@1 day ago

I’m Not Like the King of Black People by Morgan Parker 


I’m sorry I don’t
know why I like
grape soda or how
my hair got like this

I couldn’t tell you
where the watermelon
thing came from

I’m what
you don’t swallow
the glossy dark

I read somewhere
my folks used to be princes
Their earrings were
pulled out
in their sleep

Then one day
they woke up

@1 week ago with 239 notes

"Black people have been in Canada since 1604. Their contribution to the nation-building process is, however, subject to erasure and their presence is often taken as a sign of trouble, “a problem.” Furthermore, African Canadians, in spite of their long history in Canada are seen as recent immigrants and thus not a part of the historical memory of the nation. Erasing the African Canadian presence retroactively liberates Canada from the context and rich histories of the Black Diaspora, and the Trans Atlantic World."

Black Canadian Studies Association Conference 2013
@1 week ago with 1 note

#HowardUniversity students silently speak out. #PleaseDontShoot #powerful #HU #HowardU #iftheygunnedmedown


#HowardUniversity students silently speak out. #PleaseDontShoot #powerful #HU #HowardU #iftheygunnedmedown

(via mixedcreation)

@1 week ago with 4353 notes
@1 day ago
Absolutely Brilliant

Absolutely Brilliant

@3 days ago with 7 notes

First Kiss

We lay beneath a mound of blankets. The peach fades into my nightgown. Zucchini lingers on your breath. I remember it as juice on a slide. Your mother’s back becomes a shadow through the shutting door. You whisper, “Let’s play house. I’ll be the wife and you will be the husband”. I felt I should be “wife”. If only because I was shorter and younger. If only because you were always a princess getting your way in your house. In your house your mother feeds me orange juice. I hate it. In your house you are always in peach satin, with dolls, your hair is pressed and juts out. Six, I was. Six were the seconds your chapped lips lasted. The natural strangeness. And innocence. My teeth resisting the pulp. All the green and black fruits. The black echoes in aeons. In the scent of her hair. Moroccan oils and pomade. Unwashed. The sweat. Fingers on a lobe. They curve like the necks of bathing swans. Her dark eyes, the swelling wells, demanding I own my presence. Where sacred mounds will blanket our belonging.

@1 week ago with 1 note

"Given the limited attention given to Black immigrants in the immigrant rights discourse, there is of course little mention of the fact that between 1993 and 2002, Black immigrants tend to be deported more for criminal deportations than non-criminal deportations. Asians (including Middle Easterners and many “Muslim” nationalities), however, tended to be overwhelmingly subjected to non - criminal deportations rather than criminal deportations. Between 1993 and 2002, the proportion of criminal deportations out of all Asian deportations ranged between 24-34%, reaching the peak of 34% in 1999. Compare that to the proportion of criminal deportations out of all Black deportations. During 1993 and 2002, criminal deportations of Black immigrants ranged between 57-75%, reaching the peak of 75% in 1996. In short, criminal deportations are more common for Black immigrants whereas the reverse is true for Asian immigrants.

…In light of these trends, immigrant rights may need to reevaluate its lack of focus on Black immigrants. More to the point, immigrant rights activists may want to question the lack of attention given to anti-Black racism as a structure that shapes the immigrant experience. It is apparent that darker people are not only the target of domestic police measures, this targeting also serves to largely determine who will get deported and for what reasons. As the numbers show, Black people are targeted for deportation just as they are targeted for prisons."

@1 week ago with 379 notes

"Have you ever lost yourself in a kiss? I mean pure psychedelic inebriation. Not just lustful petting but transcendental metamorphosis when you became aware that the greatness of this being was breathing into you. Licking the sides and corners of your mouth, like sealing a thousand fleshy envelopes filled with the essence of your passionate being and then opened by the same mouth and delivered back to you, over and over again - the first kiss of the rest of your life. A kiss that confirms that the universe is aligned, that the world’s greatest resource is love, and maybe even that God is a woman. With or without a belief in God, all kisses are metaphors decipherable by allocations of time, circumstance, and understanding"

Saul Williams’ Said the Shotgun to the Head (via descroissants)

(via inquilabipoet)

@1 week ago with 1164 notes