I Am Very, Very Happy

For We Have Been Socialized To Respect Fear More Than Our Own Needs For Language And Definition, And While We Wait In Silence For That Final Luxury Of Fearlessness, The Weight Of That Silence Will Choke Us.

Hatred Is The Fury Of Those Who Do Not Share Our Goals, And Its Object Is Death And Destruction. Anger Is A Grief Of Distortions Between Peers, And Its Object Is Change.

All Writers Have Periods When They Stop Writing, When They Cannot Write, And This Is Always Painful And Terrible Because Writing Is Like Breathing.

I Am A Black Lesbian Feminist Warrior Poet Mother, Stronger For All My Identities, And I Am Indivisible.

There Are No Honest Poems About Dead Women.