Gossip Is The Foul Smell From The

It Doesn't Hurt. Nothing Hurts Except The Small Smiles And Blushes That Flash Across The Room Like Tiny Sparrows.

Do They Choose To Be So Dense? Were They Born That Way? I Have No Friends. I Have Nothing. I Say Nothing. I Am Nothing.

Momma Said That Ghosts Couldn't Move Over Water. That's Why Africans Got Trapped In The Americas.. They Kept Moving Us Over The Water, Stealing Us Away From Our Ghosts And Ancestors, Who Cried Salty Rivers Into The Sand. That's Where Momma Was Now, Wailing At The Water's Edge, While Her Girls Were Pulled Out Of Sight Under White Sails That Cracked In The Wind.

I Am A Gluttonous, Gorging Failure. A Waste. My Body Isn’t Used To High-sugar Carbs Laced With Witchcraft. It Can Barely Cope With Soup And Crackers.

It Was Like Looking At A Knot, Knowing It Was A Knot, But Not Knowing How To Untie It. I Had No Map For This Life.