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They say the black woman Is an angry woman. She raises her voice Untethered from expectations And screams In the face of injustice. They say she is wild Feral even, as though she were an animal Meant to be kept In some cage. They shame her And reduce her To their stereotypes. Disregarding the messages In her cries. They refuse her autonomy While stealing her culture. Sanitizing it, bleaching it Making a mockery of her Art. Black woman, do not falter. Do not let them steal you

I love rainy days. I love how the smell of earth dances inside my nostrils. Like a perfume perfectly curated for me. And how each droplet that grazes my skin, Ever so slightly touches my soul. I love how the pitter patter of droplets crescendos into a roar so mighty it moves entire nations. But most of all, I love the calm. I love the last moments of a storm, When everybody has gotten home safe And has found their way to their beds. Snuggled under a heap of blankets. Awaiting