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  • Writer's pictureThe Black Nightingale

April is Poetry Month!

I don’t write as much poetry as I used to, but sometimes they just pour out. And sometimes (like today) you find something that you typed up months ago in the middle of the night...


Black people say things like fifty-leven

and eleventy hundred. Words that trip off the tongue in joy.

Less than a million but more than infinity, they continue even when I’m done.

And I’m just so done...

Black people say a minute

Measuring time in the day

A hot minute - fast as hell

Ain’t seen you in a minute - a long ass time

And I been done for a minute...

And the shit black people say

Sparkles and shines with wit

Effortless onomatopoeia

Creates singing language and shit

From the bling to the grip

When suddenly it’s “hip”

The language starts to flip

Can we just own *something*...SHIT

I’m just so done...

Black people speak in codes

We know the timbre and the tone

How to match our voice to yours

Just to get us through the door

And you parrot back the party songs

For proximity points and move along

But you won’t repeat the words

Black Lives Matter


Breonna Taylor

should still be here...

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We talked about you today. We made fun of the voice you made when you you made fun of yourself. We all laughed with your laugh. In that moment, you lived.

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