Of course all art is omnidirectional, but this is straight from the bones of my grandmother’s joy as she reaches for a new book and the love bled into my lungs by my mother’s womb. This is straight at the sick-souled man who taught me how to fear instead of love. This is for the children I have taught and the women I have brought into my kitchen and fed meatloaf, cake, cinnamon rolls. They fed me love, from the other side of fear, What words can scrub away the places I have been and the people who have placed me, broken, here.
Share this post
On how you are an infection
Share this post
Of course all art is omnidirectional, but this is straight from the bones of my grandmother’s joy as she reaches for a new book and the love bled into my lungs by my mother’s womb. This is straight at the sick-souled man who taught me how to fear instead of love. This is for the children I have taught and the women I have brought into my kitchen and fed meatloaf, cake, cinnamon rolls. They fed me love, from the other side of fear, What words can scrub away the places I have been and the people who have placed me, broken, here.