bend.
Written by myself and the beautiful Oluchi How do I tell them I am wrapped in clear plastic, wound tightly across my limbs with rumpled brown cellotape. How do I make them understand that I am my own music, my own hallelujah. That I keep myself to myself like a small vial of oxygen in […]
the curve.
your woman’s hair is a struggle for independence, listen close enough and you can hear the war chants. it is a historical account of a mother’s bony hands dipped in acrylic hair texturizers; working its way across a resilient scalp. it is the manifestation of the amazon rainforest. it is skilled in the art of […]
