my spirit is too ancient to understand the separation of soul
Ntozake Shangewe need a god who bleeds now
a god whose wounds are not
some small male vengeance
some pitiful concession to humility
a desert swept with dryin marrow in honor of the lord
we need a god who bleeds
spreads her lunar vulva
The slaves who were ourselves had known terror intimately, confused sunrise with pain,
Ntozake ShangeStichwörter: oppression slavery african-american-history
i loved you on purpose
i was open on purpose
i still crave vulnerability
Stichwörter: poem-love-sorry-guilt
i am really colored
Ntozake Shange« erste vorherige
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