salt.

by Nayyirah Waheed

you broke the ocean in half to be here. only to meet nothing that wants you. – immigrant

does he not remember he is half woman.

she asked ‘you are in love what does love look like’ to which i replied ‘like everything i’ve ever lost come back to me.’

bleed every month. but do not die. how am i not magic. – the lie

the ancestors weep at how much we look like the hate that came to eat us

i have seven different words for love. you have only one. that makes a lot of sense.

i don’t pay attention to the world ending. it has ended for me many times and began again in the morning.

you tell me ‘burn yourself white, it will make me happy.’ my sadness is sharpening itself against my teeth.

white people are not african. because they are born/live on a continent they murdered their way into. – there is no such thing as a white african

stay soft.

i am a brutally soft woman.

i will tell you, my daughter of your worth not your beauty every day.

|every time you touch me. my ancestors place a curse on you

the pain with no name.

never trust anyone who says they do not see color. this means to them you are invisible.

when i am afraid to speak is when i speak. that is when it is most important. – the freedom in fear

if i do not want me. the world is nothing but endings.

anger is a healthy and natural response to oppression

it’s not about making you uncomfortable. it’s about making me comfortable.

i think one of the most pathological things i have ever seen is stabbing someone and then telling them that their pain and anger over being stabbed is making you sad. – white guilt

you can not remain a war between what you want to say (who you really are). and what you should say (who you pretend to be). your mouth was not designed to eat itself.