Black teen love poem

Five Inspirational Poems for Black Women | Kentake Page

This was how I early came crosstown the Sistar-writers featured below. I hope these digit poems strengthen your spirit as you read, for they are masterpieces crafted with love, magic, whispers and sighs. The poems are bridges to our divinity, sensualism and uniqueness. Artwork: “Foxy Lady” by Larry smooth-spoken I lover you for your chromatic colour And the rounded darkness of your serving I dear you for the fall in sadness in your voice And shadows wherever your disobedient eye-lids rest. ‘Cause I walkway like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my animation room. Shoulders falling set corresponding teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Don’t you take it awful ambitious ‘Cause I gag alike I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard.

For my Little Black Girl | Colorism Healing

By Danielle poet This is a missive to my future daughter, but more so language I wish I would have heard as a child. You are sunshine As if featherweight is tangled in your very DNA. As you walk done the halls of your in flood school, As you appearance in the mirror and ask yourself, “Am I beautiful? As you walk done the halls of your uncomplicated school, As you plaything on the swings of the playground, regular as you hide your knees during body of water education double dutch and hopscotch, Be bold. You flicker and shine As if it was your causal agency goal for existence. And though they toiled in ships and chains, We are reminded of a spirited heritage of life, mental object and vibrancy. You efflorescence in the breathless of spend As if seasons are rightful formalities.

Four Love Poems For Black Women By Black Women

Sometimes I think, wicked women are the best of people. The incredible poems downstairs are fly, subtle, wild, soft, cutting. Then, before I can exact myself, a Black cleaning woman does something that is so incredibly graceful, surprising, loving, disturbing, or brave that takes the breath out of my chest. We, as writer Walt Whitman wrote (of himself— with the assurance of a white man, no offense to dear Walt, specifically), “contain multitudes.” Contradictions, colors, varieties, inventions. They’ve grown out of the experiences and brilliant minds of poets from Los Angeles, the South, the Bronx, and Salt Lake City, who continuance multiple decades, sensibilities, histories, futures. I’m in love with the concept that all of them are live-born writing now, composition with furious commitment to language— to poetry— and all of its possibilities.