There Are Two Ways To

I Am A Stranger, Learning To Love The Strangers Around Me

I Am Working Never To Be Late Again.

There Are Two Ways To Worry Words. One Is Hoping For The Greatest Possible Beauty In What Is Created. The Other Is To Tell The Truth.

As A Poet And Writer, I Deeply Love And I Deeply Hate Words. I Love The Infinite Evidence And Change And Requirements And Possibilities Of Language; Every Human Use Of Words That Is Joyful, Or Honest Or New, Because Experience Is New... But As A Black Poet And Writer, I Hate Words That Cancel My Name And My History And The Freedom Of My Future: I Hate The Words That Condemn And Refuse The Language Of My People In America.

Let Me Just Say, At Once: I Am Not Now Nor Have I Ever Been A White Man. And, Leaving Aside The Joys Of Unearned Privilege, This Leaves Me Feeling Pretty Good.