I, My Grandmother
More Stories Nadine Tomlinson More Stories Nadine Tomlinson

I, My Grandmother

My grandmother seasoned Saturday soups with songs,

but never the ones from the land she left behind.

She anointed my scalp with oil,

plaited my hair with prayers,

spooned love with the chocho into my mouth.

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Freedom
More Stories Claudette Thompson More Stories Claudette Thompson

Freedom

Basic freedom was denied

And daily I cried.

Labeled as the “weaker sex”

Taunted mercilessly. My soul grew vex.

Wretched. Worthless

An imbecile. Senseless.

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Un/furled
Growing up Queer Akilah Growing up Queer Akilah

Un/furled

My doormmates whispered about “the lesbian book”. When I told my church youth group my mother had transferred me to an all girls boarding school the elder boys regaled everyone with tales about the lesbians there who used bottles as substitute dildos.

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these burdens that I carry
More Stories J’Anna-Mare Lue (劉 家明) More Stories J’Anna-Mare Lue (劉 家明)

these burdens that I carry

everything destroyed in reverence of a new god, an unfamiliar god, they called him money. this god had power unlike any my people knew before, and to how my grandfather told it - it demanded servitude, offerings, and sacrifice like no other. It was an angry god.

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I am that little Black Girl
Colourism Kelia/Kelie Colourism Kelia/Kelie

I am that little Black Girl

I can also vividly remember being told by somebody I loved that I was beautiful for a black girl. I can honestly say that I did not fully understand the implications of this comment. I now understand.

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Don't Marry Us. Instead, Stand By Us.
Colourism Jourdan "Riv-Ryker" Lobban Colourism Jourdan "Riv-Ryker" Lobban

Don't Marry Us. Instead, Stand By Us.

The worst part of it all, is that there are deep roots of trauma still plaguing our families yet the outsiders only care about the resorts, the plantain, or the reggae that is overplayed on certain radio stations.

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Invisible Scars
Colourism Pietra Brown Colourism Pietra Brown

Invisible Scars

Here she was, head laid, in the lap of the boy who was her rising sun, the peas to her rice. A tender moment spoiled by a bigoted anecdote.

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Sensory Adaptation
Colourism Child Natale Colourism Child Natale

Sensory Adaptation

Colonialism never done, only adapted; they changed its mask. We see our leaders are nothing but puppets to the same masters. Spitting in our faces progressive rhetorics while doing their master's bid.

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