“but he apologized.” “he served his time.” “we should move on from this.” “he said sorry…” but apologies don’t fix broken women. apologies don’t make it easier to breathe. apologies don’t make walking down the street alone easier. they don’t take away the nightmares, they don’t make the flashbacks stop. stop… but he didn’t....

I AM SORRY I am sorry that when time comes I never know where to go. I try to tread carefully to avoid hurting the grass but my feet have long destroyed the ground. The sound of my footsteps awakens the souls long gone. How then should I maneuver with no direction? Give me...

I look in the mirror and you still form part of my reflection I try to find prefect words to perfect this narrative but it wasn’t perfect, so why am I doing this? Clouds of If only, Why & how storm my chest in dark alley gospels. Thunder strikes, in roars that whisper; why...

There’s a story on my arm, i am forced to wear. A story nobody can ever re- write. Black ink stands firm fighting against my melanin it wants to be seen, Waiting like an open canvas for life to pour out. As a woman I always add a colored feather, that brightens my day...