I’ve been hurt a lot
But I’ve thought about you a lot
Pretending to be someone I’m not
Always acting like I forgot
Suffering from unforgiveness
I know it’s just business
The Lord as our witness
I know that’s artificial kindness
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate you
I appreciate all the things you do
I love how you don’t let negativity get to you
I love how you saw your recovery through
But then I realized you were just pretending
And you didn’t really care about me
That really hurt
I mean I wrote about you
I mean everything I said was true
I really thought you were amazing
I really thought I was dreaming
For once I thought someone was worth believing
But I was wrong
I guess I’m not that strong
I guess it’s just been too long
Since I’ve had to say so long

Black God, Unholy Saint,
Wings tainted darker than the colors most men can think,
Feel yourself begin to sink in the very world you’ve woven for yourself,
Feel the guilt of all the things you did without much thought and no cares for anyone else,
As your evil intent was brought to light and darkens more than your inner self,
Feel yourself submit to the pain and hate,
You fiend of light and devil of fate,
Are you man of man or man of demon,
Your angels have fallen,
from the infinite mind chasms ceiling,
To be honest this isnt the only way to go,
Fiend of light for where will you go…
—  G.K// Fiend of Light
I don’t know how to love without using my whole heart. I don’t know what its like to love someone ‘half way’. I practice giving love in the same way i’d like to receive it.
—  Reyna Biddy
Laments for the English-Speaking Latina

    Is english your first language?
My only language.
     Where are you from?

I get all the questions
And have none of the culture.
All of the accent,
And none of the language.
I am the Nuyorican, Dominican York,
Native born, Brooklyn.
The Hyper-Americanized Latina 
The Hyper-Pigmented American 
Who can’t talk in her “native tongue”
But still wears her skin brown
And her hair in curls.
I belong to everyone and no one,
Which is the very worst way
To be alone.
I belong to no where.
The one they laugh at when
She tries to speak
And words get tangled on the tongue,
In Spanish,
And English, sometimes too.
Do I pronounce the “h” in this?
I can never remember.
La Gringa.
La Americana.
The one who’s not enough
In any language, 
In any color.
Too white at home.
Too brown everywhere else.
I belong to no one.
I belong to no where.

-Daniella De Jesús

“Him,” he repeats distastefully, his lip curling. “You like him.”

“Yeah, I do,” She shot back, her eyes flashing.

He sneered. “Why?”

She stared for a long moment at the boy standing in front of her, the boy who had shattered her heart.

“Why?” She asked coldly. “Why? Maybe because he’s nice enough to pick up the mess you left behind. Maybe because he doesn’t ignore me when he’s had a shitty day. Maybe he actually cares and-”

For just a second, his expressionless face revealed more than he had intended to show. “Don’t you dare think for a goddamn second that I didn’t care.”

And without warning, he grabbed her and kissed her. He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe and she was intoxicated on his scent. And just like that, she knew she didn’t like that other boy. He never left her breathless from a single kiss. Her heart never felt like it was going to pop out of her chest from a single glance.

What a twisted life it is, she thought, whilst her forehead was pressed against his. The boy who broke my heart is the only one who can make me feel whole again.

—  n.g. // excerpt from a book i’ll never write #8

The White girl laughs at Blacks who cannot swim,
The Black girl told the White girl,
I know all too well of sunken Black bodies marinating in the ocean.
Pools polluted with acid to burn off Blackness,
Police that pull up on pool parties where the barrel of their gun whispers “This is White only”

Dear White woman,
I prefer showers over baths because there is something about being submerged in a white tub filled with water that feels more waterboarding than cleansing

—  McKinney, Texas by kinghijabpin

Charles E. Boles, aka Black Bart, was an outlaw who robbed stagecoaches in the Wild West. 

He was considered a sophisticated ‘gentleman bandit’ and was known for leaving poems behind after his robberies, like: 

Here I lay me down to sleep
To wait the coming morrow,
Perhaps success, perhaps defeat,
And everlasting sorrow.
Let come what will, I’ll try it on,
My condition can’t be worse;
And if there’s money in that box
'Tis munny in my purse.
— Black Bart

Black Bart (right) and the men who helped catch him (left)

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