Dominique Durden
TW: assault/abuse This poem is an ode to all of those affected by assault/abuse/misconduct. We are here for you. and we believe you. You and your experiences are valid. I. Harvey Weinstein pulls out his anatomy as a gross display of dominance over an 11-year-old. She laughs a nervous laugh. I read somewhere that
This poem was inspired by the riots in Charlottesville, and the attacks on black and brown bodies all over the world. If I am to die tonight, Cradle me in the arms of the angels. Where all is good and pure. Where the air is clean, and the soil is fertile. When I die, bury
This poem was inspired by my own personal struggles with religion and finding my own path, and growing through it all. I. I only know God in the context of teacher. Answer question after question and doesn’t get mad when I ask the same one about the same thing over and over again. Take
This poem is about the different coping mechanisms we use to keep ourselves together. Every story has a beginning, middle, and end. Every church has brick, mortar, and the stain glass windows. Brick. And mortar. Keep it together. Every notebook turned holy. Every poem turned prayer. And how many of us were just wingless birds
This poem is about love and loss and redemption, and has been adapted from its spoken word format for this publication. I. I was a nervous wreck. The make sure the doors are locked 16 times and make sure the shades are down even though I live on the top floor, because someone can see
I have no affinity for your fragile masculinity. Black men and black women don’t date we just create and hate each other for the rest of our lives. Not too many black wives because we are too strong willed. Not too many black husbands because they leave before they can build, uneven foundations and they
In loving memory of Darren Seals, Marshawn McCarrell, and the countless others who have died fighting for the cause. I. We lost our leaders. II. Oh, what heavy grief, grief swallowing us whole. What beautiful stars, steadily glowing. Steadily chanting and championing for a cause bigger than us, bigger than them. Steadily dimming. Still chanting.
This poem was inspired by images of police brutality seen in the media and has been adapted from its spoken word format for this publication. There is a dead child’s body on Congress’s floor. Stop. There is a friction between clothes and skin. Stop. First wound in the womb. Stop. The shadows lag. Lag
This poem was inspired by the many black boys we lost between 2012 and 2016 to police brutality. This is for them. You don’t know this but when you leave the house and don’t pick up the phone I panic. Baby your black skin can get you into a lot of trouble. When you said
I really like the way you speak. Your lips have a way of moving over words ritualistically and that excites me. I listen to your music when I miss you. Bumping Summer Bunk under a Strawberry Moon, Soundcloud held the soundtrack to our summer love, summer lust, summer story, whatever you want to call it.
Y’all. I finally had the opportunity to see Get Out and let me tell you, I was ready to bag up my edges and send them to Peele because yes, yes, 1000 times yes. Get Out was truly a masterpiece. Now for those of you who might not have seen it, don’t read this article,
