Ex Umbra 2025 PDF

EX UMBRA

Leaving A Legacy

NCCU Literacy Magazine

EX UMBRA 52nd Edition

North Carolina Central University Literary Magazine

Editor-N-Chief Ciarra Spleen

Editorial Staff

Haley Moore

Anessa Muhammad

Bernice Thompson

Joie Jacobs

Zora Pattillo

Editors Note

I must first say how grateful I am for being entrusted with such an impactful movement. I refer to “Ex Umbra,” Latin for “Out of the Shadows,” as a movement because, since the Spring of 1965, when the first volume was produced, Ex Umbra has been an outlet for creatives to bring their visions into existence, a safe haven for the voiceless to be heard, a blank canvas to express the unspeakable. The birth of Ex Umbra was during the peak of the Civil Rights movement, a pivotal time in history that has sewn the very fabric of resilience that Black America continues to embody today. As I studied the past volumes, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of surrealism. As if being in a time capsule, but upon return, not being able to tell the difference between the world being described on the page and the world we are currently existing in, it was quite unsettling, I must say. To have a sneak peek into the mind of the artist who endured the pain of a close friend being lynched, of a son whose mother became a casualty of the war on drugs, a silent victim who never got their justice. It made me realize how deeply connected we are still through our pain and suffering, but also through our resilience and relentless will to continue fighting.

This volume was constructed as a mirror to allow each one of us to see that we are the reflection of our alumni, and the legacy left by them holds the tools for us to navigate a game that was intentionally rigged for us to lose. Legacy is powerful because it reveals to us the very values and knowledge of the foundation that our institution was built on. It tells our story of what takes place beyond the verdant greens and sloping hills. It paints a vibrant picture of brotherly and sisterly love amongst one another. It reminds us that service and community are the heartbeat of our university. It exemplifies that through our willingness to be selfless and pour into those around us, and how transformative the act of giving and showing love can be. So, let's continue to be the positive force in a world that lacks love and empathy.

It is important that, in the pursuit of making the world a better place, we must understand how we got here in the first place. It is no secret that history tends to repeat itself, but WE have power over the narrative this time. We are a people whose value has always been derived from our bodies and what they can offer, but what about our minds? I don’t know if you noticed yet what's creeping over the horizon…revolution. Now is

not the time to start biting your tongue; say it! Stop thinking about it; do it! And stop waiting for permission, and know when you’ll have to ask for forgiveness instead.

We must continue exercising our right to freedom of speech while it is still free, or without harsh consequences. To understand the importance of creating dialogue, because there can be no change without exposing tensions and dealing with them directly. As artists and creatives, we have a God given right to create art where we unapologetically express our thoughts and feelings in pursuit of aligning with our true selves and creating social change. This is especially important during times of uncertainty and confusion.

Ex Umbra Vol. 52 stands as a reminder that as students of THEE illustrious North Carolina Central University, our capacity for greatness is limitless, no matter the circumstances. I hope everyone who is reading this right now understands what it truly means to be an Eagle. What it truly means to soar above adversity. To understand that this storm we are entering, instead of hiding from it, we must use the updrafts to find it to our advantage to lift us higher.

Above the chaos, above the political unrest, above hate and doubt. It’s time to turn to one another in solidarity and love because we aren't just heading into a revolution, but we are the revolution. Welcome to the movement.

#Outoftheshadows

#Justicefortreyreed

#blackmendontlynchthemselves

#Freepalenstine

#Makelovenotwar

With love, Editor-N-Chief, Ciarra Spleen

P.S. Never stop creating!

Acknowledgments

Firstly, to all of the artists who contributed to making Ex Umbra Vol 52, this project simply could not have been accomplished without you. Creating art is a deeply vulnerable act, and I am truly grateful that you entrusted Ex Umbra with your creative work. Your patience and dedication, even as we faced challenges and setbacks, made this publication possible. Please continue to create boldly and shine your light; your mark will forever remain here at NCCU.

To the editorial staff, this publication began as a vision and was brought to life through your commitment, creativity, and teamwork. This process has been an incredible learning experience for all of us, and I hope you continue to share your talents and voices in future creative spaces. Together, we turned an idea into something tangible and meaningful.

To Dr. Andrew Williams, I am sincerely grateful for the opportunity to interview you at the beginning of this journey and for the invaluable insight you shared about the rich legacy of Ex Umbra. Your deep expertise in English and the humanities, combined with your long-standing dedication as Ex Umbra’s faculty advisor for over a decade, has left a lasting impact on generations of student artists and writers. Learning about the 2000 volume was especially inspiring and ultimately motivated me to create this new anthology. Your guidance, wisdom, and commitment to nurturing creativity at NCCU have been a true inspiration throughout this process.

To Dr. Prince, Head of the English Department, your continued support and encouragement for student creativity have made this endeavor possible. Your leadership helps keep spaces like Ex Umbra thriving.

To Dr. Price of the Writing and Speaking Center, your words of encouragement came at exactly the moments I needed them most. Your wisdom, kindness, and belief in my ability reminded me to keep going, even through doubt.

To Professor Dixon, I deeply appreciate your guidance and unwavering support. Having you as a dedicated faculty advisor has been a true honor, and I am genuinely excited to continue working with you. Your encouragement and insight have meant so much throughout this process.

Finally, to Chancellor Dixon and to everyone who has supported this project in ways big and small, thank you for believing in the importance of student expression and creativity.

Note From the Head of the English Dept.

Stepping out of the shadows takes courage, audacity, and vision. Editor-in -Chief Ciarra Spleen has boldly stepped out of the shadows with her vision of a special re-imagining of Ex Umbra. Juxtaposing the present and the past, she has produced a volume that pays homage to the proud tradition of literary production on the campus of NCCU, while charting a path for the current generation of creative minds to establish its own legacy. Be inspired, be entertained, be enraged, be thrilled by this volume.

~Dr. John S. Prince

THE VISION OF YOUTH

Ours is a strange age. We live in an age of an ever-expanding social order. The benefits of science and industry have made us a prosperous nation. For the most part, we get what we want, or at least what we think we want. We own our homes, we hold memberships in prestigious clubs, and we possess many of the outward characteristics of an affluent society. Here a strange paradox exists, for our age has also brought us confusion and anxiety in the midst of great material comfort. Something is wrong. We should be the happiest nation in the world, but we are not by any means. We are instead an anxious nation. The pressures of life have escalated the development of modern psychiatry, for we are in a perpetual search for some kind of relief from the thousands of daily cares of our century. Is this pursuit of tranquility a healthy sign? What does it say about us? Is it potentially dangerous, a sad commentary on our present era?

How has this age affected its young people? This is a pertinent question, for the ideas and attitudes of young people are a clear indication of the strength or weakness of a nation. Wherein lies the hope of the nation, but in the young men and women that it trains? What does the young person see when he looks about him? How can he not see a society in moral decay, a society that has over-emphasized materialism at the expense of humanism? We have fast become a nation of soul-less people. We have developed a society that wastes its lives and energies in anxious pursuits that have no real underlying moral value.

What does this mean? It means that there is an ever-increasing need for a re-commitment to moral values in a materialistic age. Humanitarian values do not automatically replenish themselves. They depend for their existence upon the continuing commitment of those who embrace them. The future of spiritual life in America depends upon the ability of the nation's young people to act as forces for reform. The older generation is too much involved in the

materialism of the age. It cannot see the emptiness of the nation's soul. Suspended in a state between childhood and adulthood, youth can see farthest for it has most vision.

Action has become the watchword of youth. We have popularized the things past generations have hated most. He frequently shock and enrage our parents with ideas of a new morality. For all this, we have won the name of the "beat generation". We are condemned for our disregard of established values and norms, but those who condemn us fail to realize that we are products of our age who see our task as that of reform rather than acceptance. We can no longer accept the beautiful but highly romanticized childhood picture of the world. Our daily experience and historical knowledge point out all too clearly that the world of romanticism is a cruel hoax. We tear away the veil and reveal the world as it is, a world of barbarous outrages against humanity -- Hitler's merciless slaughter of the Jews, the nuclear destruction of Hiroshima, the reign of Stalinist terror, the brutal suppression of the Hungarian revolution, the nightmare of racial injustice and the constant threat of nuclear war. All around us we see our contemporaries scheming and plotting, ignoring the values that they offer to young people as sacred. Is it any wonder that this young generation rejects the older generation's hypocrisy?

The youth of this generation must make its own methods tally with its principles. We have been witnesses to the gradual breakdown of old forms. We feel that we are about to enter into a new era which shall usher in new ideas of social justice and a new emphasis on human values. We hold that the world is moving with us toward the fulfillment of this new era. Old patterns and

old forms must evolve into new patterns capable of restoring value to human existence. In this process of evolution, the present social order must be subservient to the demands of a re-invigorated, humanistic, young society. We must reject all customs and traditions which act as stumbling blocks to moral goals. Civil disobedience can be a justifiable tactic in combating unjust laws. Men are not infallible.

They can pervert their power to deny natural rights. And there is a natural order that the laws of man cannot violate without impunity, for human ideals have priority over the imperfections created by individual men. We hold that sanction for our course of action can be gained through an appeal to a higher law.

Where are these new forms arising from? The answer to this is incorporated in this generation's view of history. For we see history as the unfolding of conscious design wherein fortune plays little part. Man is the creator and molder of history. These new patterns are deeply embedded in the universe. If they are to arrive at fruiting, however, they will do so as a result of conscious design. Nazi Germany came to its hegemony and changed the course of mankind's development. This is an example of the power, perverted as it was, that may be exerted when man seizes the organic structure whereby history unfolds. Society itself is the physical manifestation of this organic structure, for it is in society that men interact and produce their history. If Nazism can triumph in this process of interaction, can we not use this same process in the service of humanity? Can we not become the instrument whereby these new forms are brought to fruition. We --America's youth -- want a chance to write our chapter in the story of man. Our goal is simple -- we seek access to history.

Leslie Smith, Jr. St. Paul's College, Virginia Ex Umbra Vol. 1 Pt. 1 Spring 1965

WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS IS…

Human versus Human: A Killing Spree, A Mental Deadlock, A Selfish Claim, A Greed-seeking War. These are some of the aspects of human beings' inflictions that are a part of a list that can expand beyond being able to be recorded in this paper. However, from these various acts of humanly inflictions, the question, "Why have people turned against people?" can be formulated. The question seems reasonable, since human beings have faced selfdestructive problems created by themselves since the beginning of time. More appropriately then, the reasonable question would be, "If people are so vile, what can be done to cure the problem?" The answer is simple, and it has become a cliche: "People need love." Because people cause many problems in the world, this answer can be restructured as "What the world needs is love."

The answer, love, can be evaluated in three ways: a personal love, a brotherly/sisterly love, and love for humankind. In order for the answer, love, to be effective, the respective order of these subdivisions of love must be practiced.

First, people must build personal love, or self love, in the sense that they must first evaluate themselves and find and identify their inner worth and being. Through this

identification, they are able to develop self-esteem and self-confidence, which encourage them to take pride in who they are and what they are. All people are valuable, and their existence on Earth is valuable to the balance of the world. Once personal value is recognized, they should have no reason to harm themselves or others.

Secondly, from the development of self love, people are then able to share a love that they have found within themselves with other beings. These other beings can be in a coterie, or peer group, that expresses brotherly/sisterly love. This particular group will recipro- cate personalities that can, thus, establish a relationship that is built upon honesty, trustworthiness, respect, and an appreciation of varying personalities.

Lastly, with a combination of personal love and brotherly/ sisterly love, various groups of all races, nationalities, cultural back- grounds, and interests can establish a humankind relationship through universal love. In this relationship, boundaries set from mere differences can be eliminated because an appreciation of varying personalities, ethnicities, and common bonds will have evolved in the world through deliberate and collective effort. Prejudices will always exist as long as differences persist, but respect and an

understanding of these differences will eliminate the violent persecution inflicted on different peoples.

The world needs love, a love that has three levels: personal, brotherly/sisterly, and universal. Together, these levels of love can establish a harmonious balance among human beings. This can apply to nature as well, for humans have caused not only harm to their own species, but also to both the animal and plant species through their willful and destructive manipulations that stem from a lack of respect and understanding of differences.

In all, love can save man from his simple and sometimes violent misunderstandings. Love can save the balance of nature. However, this love cannot be found without the love that has been established by a "higher being." It is through His love that our love is able to be the love that can save the world.

Alumni Section

DeSpAir

A Dedication to Dr. John Sekora

All of the ways in which he affected my life would fill the largest book. He took time to educate his students, time not many others took.

He answered the question, "How do you teach someone?" With patience, love and a smile. To find another of his magnitude is going to take a while. But we will wait patiently for someone to fill his worn-out shoes. Even if that someone prefers the classics over Dr. Sekora's jazz and blues. This person would have to tell stories that would evoke the loudest laugh; or inspire students with kind words such as "I love having you in my class." Those were his last words to me after I completed an exam on Mark Twain, which is why I was so devastated when the news of his death came. I began to ponder and question why God wanted him so soon. I thought maybe He wanted to add some light to brighten the stars and moon. Or maybe He wanted him to attend The Louis Armstrong Jazz Show or listen to Douglass's oration of how far we've come though we have a way to go. So let your minds be filled with sad memories and such, for Dr. John Sekora lives in all the lives he has touched.

eRICA dIXON – 1997 Ex Umbra 2000’

Black and White Blues

Ain't nobody told me

Not a word, whisper, hint, or clue

That life for me would be nothin'

But black and white blues

Moma said: "Girl, you can do anythang if you jus try, Bullshit moma, have you seen me fly?

I cain't blow an angel's horn

Or battle temptation and throw it in the devil's face I cain't dig up the dead and grant them life again In this awful place. Cain't make a star and ride it into the sky

Even though I tried and tried and tried

Ain't nobody told me

No card, letter, or even a call

Damn them, one and all

I cain't do nuthin no body else cain't do

Cept have a fatal case of the re-rant, played out, already done black and white blues.

Do You Really Know How I Feel?

Do you really know how I feel?

Knowing your mother pops pills

So that she can be high

To not know where she is

In the middle of the night

To have strangers coming in and out of your home

To have a man raping you while you scream, "LEAVE ME ALONE"

Do you really know how I feel?

To not have a father

To have a mother who, for drugs

Would sell her own daughter

To become a ward of the state

Where people have permission to rape

To get fondled while you sleep Blood traveling with your pee Do you really know how I feel?

Blackness

You look at my hands

YOU SEE BLACKNESS

You don’t see hands

YOU JUST SEE BLACKNESS

Hands just like yours

Hands on a man

JUST LIKE YOU

But you don't see a man

You just see BLACKNESS

hICKS

Ex Umbra: Ebonic Thoughts

“A Quiet Prayer” Blow me away

To where the souls of my ancestors are.

Toss me needlessly,

To the vultures of mankind's greed. Show me without a reason,

Why I must be tortured in this HELL.

Ex Umbra: Ebonic Thoughts

Old Glory

I speak to you from a Black man's view, with the red-hot blood of my soul's Entity, and, to voluntary immigrants, no infamy. The Flag that's Red, and White and striped with blue, should not belong to just a few. From high Atop The mountains' majestic view, to the calm of Peace symbolized by blue, For the red we've shed, our veins blown through. Contrasted by white - clean, Serene, do you see what I mean, I mean? To raise Old Glory to enmity's highest, Height to show the world your unassailed might, it simply desecrates Old Glory's Plight, and gives the World no beacon of light, and rends our hearts with your Oversight; when in the South, it's just before night; we crane or necks for just One more lustful, tearful sight. The lowering of our flag, it turns us around, when rebel- Flag

I S t h e first t o c o m e down,

How Easily They Forgot

How easily they forget the way you traded my fathers and mothers into slavery for whiskey, And crammed them into a ship and suffocated over

Half of them;

Then you took survivors to a new world and made them indentured servants for life. How quickly it slips your mind when you decided to stand and fight for your freedom, But killed my brothers who tried to do the same; And those who tried to help my mother see my sister were found in the grave next to my brothers. When we did receive independence, you made It so that we had to depend on you again; Those brothers proud enough to refuse your help were found hanging from a tree by the Klu Klux Klan. The jobs and wages you gave my mother were so inferior that once again we had to borrow from you to Survive;

And the education you gave my sister was so bad that she only learned how to read, write and count up to ten, Yet you ask her why doesn't she make something of herself. When the sixties

rolled around John opened the way but your brothers the KKK closed them or blocked them,

Even your white brother Oswald joined the Klan and shot my brother's only white friend

How easily you forgot the way Martin and Robert plied the road to freedom open only to join John, And when we protested it you arrested us and sentenced us to death or life in prison. Now you tell us if it wasn't for my brothers and sisters you would have lost the election. And to repay us you say you will demolish integration, provide more jobs for us; Yet you turn your head when my brothers in my homeland ask for your help for independence, Whereas the Vietnamese didn't ask for you but you helped them any way.

Like your white forefathers did I will repeat to you "How Easily You Will Forget."

rONALD fLETCHER Ex Umbra 1977

out of the ShADowS

ANTHROPONOMIC NIGHTMARE

I saw a space craft of alien orgin approach what appeared to be a large cinder, upon which they landed their craft. After an hour or so delay they erected a sign and as they departed the florescent words that were on the sign burned their image into my mind.

GALAXY: Milky Way

SOLAR SYSTEM: Sol

THIRD PLANET, NAME: Terra LIFE

FORM: Homo sapien

LIFE SPAN: 50,000 B.C.--1972 A.D.

CAUSE OF DESTRUCTION: STUPIDITY, HA, AND NUCLEAR FISSION

Losing a Loved One

Losing a loved one is an experience that can take a toll on a person's life. Such a loss makes it hard to face the reality of life itself. An experience like this can change one's whole perspective on life, and it can male a person realize the true value of life. The loss of my father helped me realize some of the different perspectives of life. My father's guidance, his hard work, and his being a true provider are three guidelines that I have used to make my life better as a productive young man in this difficult world.

My father died September 21, 1991. He had a heart attack while he was at work. The moment I found out, I was in shock, and I really did not know what to do or say. My father was my idol, and I could not believe that he was dead.

Dad was the one who pushed me to do my best and to work hard in school or whatever I intended to do in my life. He had high hopes for my future. His dreams were to send me to college and for me to become a successful individual. All he wanted me to do was to learn and do more than h e h a d ever learned or done.

My dad was truly a hard worker. Sometimes, I thought work was all he knew how to do. He was a craftsman, and he believed in getting the job done. I knew about getting the job done because sometimes I thought he was trying to work both of us to death. After a while I realized that he was teaching me a lesson on how to survive in this world, because he knew that he was not going to always be there to do the things that needed to be done.

Now my mother and I only have each other, and I have to take his place as the man of the house. It is obvious to me that I cannot do all of the things that he did or be a great provider like he was, but I can be a man and do many of the tasks that have to be done. My father's death brought me into manhood at the age of seventeen, which is an early age for someone to have a heavy load dropped on his shoulders. But, I have realized that I must overcome the odds and try to make the best of my life, because now it is evident to me that neither a long or profitable life is promised to anyone.

I have matured a great deal this past year, and I have developed a level of understanding that only adults seem to have. Also, I have developed the attitude that I

must overcome the obstacles in my way, and never give up on my dreams and goals in life.

I Kep the words my dad used to say to me in my mind: "Son, never give up on what you believe in, and always strive for the best, because if you do not do it for yourself, then no one else will do it for you. Life is what you make." I have found a great value in these words, and I am determined to make my life the best it can possibly be. Therefore, I have suffered a major loss in my life, but I have used the memories of what my dad stood for as a stepping stone to a more successful future in life and manhood.

kEVIN d. fLYTHE

Umbra Vol. 36

Anthrax

If the sight of me makes you ill, And my name disgusts all people, Then my symptoms should sicken you, And make you feel all weak and feeble. I am destruction at its peak, And hope at its low. I am the toxicity of the world, And of these poisons I grow. The infectious disease that thrives beneath, The core of what is habitually called society, I grow on the uniform distribution of hate.

I spread like disease and I hinder like fate. The ailment of tranquility or the embracer of calamity, My presence brings tragedy and my appearance brings insanity.

I am the illness that spreads to every pore of your body, And I love what I do cuz infecting's my hobby. I am the concept that fills every fiber of your being, And defiles it without any sense or any meaning.

I live underneath, but I'm subordinate to no one. I'm feared and respected, but hated by everyone. No matter what cure, I'll be here, and that's a fact.

I am the disease of civilization, and my name is Anthrax.

I Died this morning. Strange but my heart kept right on pumping that shit that has changed order to chaos, love to HATE (?), understanding to misconception. As I lay on my ass with my arms folded, my pump still motoring, my psyche told me to scribble some invites to the greatest gig ever. Man, I'm throwing a gig today on the verdant greens of my cemetery. If you are hip, then come on and dig on the mess; if not, then try some other address. The late "Rev." Charlie "Bird" Parker will deliver a very soul-moving Jazzaction sermon. Assisting him will be "Revs." Monk, Lateef, Davis, Coltrane, and Silver. Sister Simone will be the head hostess.

After their soul-moving sermons, Brothers Ted Joans and Allen Ginsberg will recite their eulogies, your eulogy, and the eulogy of this sick world. Have no despair, there is mucho grass and plenty of soul sauce. Incidently, bring your pet Gorillas too. If I can arrange it, my DAD will demonstrate "Sorrow, Grief, and Sadness." My moms,

all pressed in a red mini dress, will do the hoola hoop for you.

After all this fun, we'll march to the North Pole nude and cry out of confusion . . . our real love for mankind (shit), our parents (who gave us too much-), then to the equator in fur coats and pants, leather gloves, fur-lined Boots and long insulated underwear, and laugh and bop and forget about our confu- sion while playing ring around the POT with cannibals. Dig you later, ME

P.S. Bring your Gorillas. I Died this morning butBurn my confusion and sprinkle the ashes in the toilet.

A Try

I am going to try to be Black each day, each hour

With all the soul and Black Power

Which my Black heroes gave me I am going to be Black I am, I will try or die.

I am going to be the Angel that will light life's way For all my brothers and sisters

So they can laugh and pray To the God of all our people The God that loves us today.

I am, I will try or die.

I just gotta feel my soul burn so deep in me Until I will rise and really let myself be, Be black and proud and yet still kicking For our God to look and see A Black nappy headed sista

Saying "Hey God This is Me" Black at Last.

Ex Umbra Vol. 6 - 1968

Why Not Suicide

When you love the one you finally found

But she puts on a front and turns you down

So you realize now that you've been taken for a ride

Your heart is punchered and your face you must hide . . . then why not suicide

She says that you're not worth a dime And that you're only wasting her time

So why suffer. . . and then you decide

That in order to re-establish your pride

• y o u must commit SUICIDE

When the world is not right for you and no matter how hard you try, it laughs at you So you feel down and left outside to spoil

But your "temper" rises and begins to boil . . and the thought of "suicide'' is diminishing

I bowed before you as humble as could be allowing for intimate feelings to run free so that in the end you may see . . . me

But you kicked me when I was down turned my whole life completely around I accepted it like a fool for my mind was my weakest tool . . . because I didn't know who I was ...and the thought of SUICIDE has returned I changed my ways, my first mistake a lot of shit I had to take but I rose slowly above it all leaving behind a highly confused mind • . . so that my life would be on the "up and up”

Now, my mind is right; my head is tight and you don't mean a thing to me for all this time, I remained blind living free, but unable to see . . . that you was wrong for me

Girl, what must I give in order to receive All the goals of life that I want to achieve and in the end, make you believe . . . that I have feelings too Therefore, my future is filled with ultimate goals to reach Before I can be labeled a success But if in the future I fall a little short I'll know that I did my best . . . and there's no reason for SUICIDE

Ex Umbra 1980

The Abductors

They came to our home

To pirate all that could be abducted.

They abducted my mother

A need for true feminity

They beat my father

Their spouse's rivaled as more capable.

They labled my father as ignorant.

An act of ignorance

They charged my father with inferiority

An act of fear

They abducted my father's name

An act performed to lessen him

They bestowed upon Father the pseudonym-Toby

Translated " the boy"

They abducted my father's drum

For it resounded an unknown message

They donated my father the Herculean tasks

A sign of weakness

They presented to my mother the kitchen

Waging war on malnutrition

They granted my father studship

Adhering to their spouse's accusations

They took my mother to bed often

His spouse balling my father

Their spouse drilled my father as bulter She fancied his tool.

out of the ShADowS rebirth

Out of the Darkness I Come

Out of the darkness I come with the intensity of a tribal warrior in the heat of battle. I come with the force of a volcano blasting molten lava into the outer regions of the earth's atmosphere. I come with the suspenseful silence of a nation moments before the controversial verdict is read. Out of the darkness I come to resurrect the living dead. I come with the spirit of the brave, with the spirit of those who would rather the Atlantic be their grave than to be someone's slave. I come because I see the shackles around their bones as they lay far beneath the depths of the ocean waves. Out of the darkness I come because late at night I hear the screams that the prison guard cannot as another 18 year old boy yells Somebody save me! because he feels death being thrust at him by way of HIV.

He knows no one in the confines of that living hell can hear him.

They have all become masters of tuning out the sounds of agonizing pain. Out of the darkness I come because early in the morning I can see the devil as he camouflages himself in the form of little white rocks burning with the gasses of death as puffs of living hell are inhaled by women 7 months pregnant

with lies of highs that only bring lows constantly delivering blow after shattering blow, for their premature baby will never have a chance to fully grow. Out of the darkness I come because I can see the beautiful flesh of Mother Africa overexposed to all those eyes. Out of the darkness I come because in reality I have never seen a whore, only a Queen that has been misled somewhere down the line. Out of the darkness I c o m e

Because my soul feels tormented every time another black mother cries out Not my baby! as she battles the nightmare of seeing her child soaking in a pool of blood all because he accidently stepped on the wrong guy's shoes. I come because the water that I drink doesn't seem to have that same pure taste. I come because the air that I breathe is filled with toxic waste. I come because they sell cancer in the form of an addictive stress reliever. I come because racism invented malt liquor. I come because I see the evil plot thicken right before my very eyes. Out of the darkness I come swimming through oceans of tears that all those before me have cried.

Out of the darkness I come through the verdicts of those unfairly tried. Out of the darkness I come battling to find the truth everywhere the media has lied. Out of the darkness I come to unite a people they have attempted to divide. Out of the darkness I come because I am tired of the less fortunate being cast aside. I come to put

an end to suicide. I come to put an end to homicide. I come to put an end to genocide. Out of the darkness I come to touch every soul worldwide with the Lord fighting on my side with enough love to make the devil run and hide. Out of the darkness I come because it is past time for you to decide I come because it is time for you to decide! Out of the darkness I have come to open the door so that you may step inside Out of t h e darkness.

B.A.D.

I'm BAD

B-A-D

Born A Diva

And diva translates to queen

Know what I mean

Not your average diva

With make-up fever

A n d a knack

For hair weave down her back

I'm aware that sounds bold

But I've been told

Nothing matches the wealth

Of a woman who knows herself

CK may cover your ass

But he'll never patch

The hole in your soul

It's old

You're pure gold

Simply unfold

The essence in you

Like real divas d o

Hold your head high

Now you're fly

Like me

B-A-D

Born A Diva

vONDA sTAFFORD

Ex Umbra Vol. 34 - 1997/98

When Will I Be A Man?

"Hold on. It will be all right." They never had to sleep a restless night,

This pain in my heart, You don't understand When will I be a man?

You see, read, or hear about me everyday, Almost never in a positive way.

This pain in my heart, The raging fire you fan When will I be a man?

For generations, I grew up having to be better than you Just so I could be equal too

This pain in my heart Is getting out of hand When will I be a man?

I will not ask anymore

It's my responsibility, furthermore

From this day on, I will stand Take my rightful place And be a Man.

Young, black, and beautiful For we are todays black women.

No more cotton fields to be picked.

No more whippings to be whipped.

No more victims to be raped.

For we are todays black women.

No more standing in the welfare lines. No more minimum wage.

No more "'I can't read cause I's a black".

For we are todays black women.

Medical doctors, scientist, lawyers, all the way down to professors.

We, yes, we are todays black women.

Achievers, leaders, and survivors We are today's black women.

Coming to My Senses

I can't keep waiting for you to act your age and not your shoe size. Like a gullible child to a withholding parent, I waited bright-eyed for something you would not offer. Your stubborn ways prevent you from becoming a great man. When I put faith in you, doubt wags its big finger in admonition and it reminds me of the lonely nights I've spent waiting for you and the times I've been stranded when you said you were on your way.

I've realized your promises are not like air impossible to see in action. No longer does my heart break free from my mind, they both steal me in the same direction, one where I can leave the unfulfilled promises behind and focus on contentment with self. Though I've been waiting for you to make those changes, today is the day I close the iron door on stagnation and open the shining window on change.

Walking in the Sunshine

The sun shines so stand in its rays, for the Black man is counting down the days, when he lives like the civilized man he is, to show his intelligence, that he is a whiz, a DOCTOR, LAWYER, DESIGNER, a FATHER and a PROTECTOR. It's time to uncover the cover, to open the third eye, the sun shines so keep your head toward the sky.

iNFINITE

A Black Rainbow

Whether one is "light-skinned," "dark-skinned" or "in-between" seems to still be an issue from what I have seen. I am baffled by the emphasis that we put on complexion, as if there is one shade of blackness that is ultimate perfection.

The terms "high yellow," "red-bone," "oreo" and "jet-black" continue to separate us and hold our people back, particularly when used in a vindictive way conveying an underlying message that we won't come out and say due to stereotypes for this undertone and stereotypes for that which is why some of our mentalities continue to remain where they're at.

On foolishness, insecurities and the list goes on When will we accept that we can't help how one is born?

There are too many problems existing among our own race Than to be focusing on the complexion of the next person's face. Is that supposed to determine one's character, abilities, and soul, or is it supposed to be some mechanism of separation and control?

Too many times we judge someone based on the exterior

before we really get to know the person from the interior. Be proud of your ancestry and qualities you uphold and let's build each other up and let this pettiness fold.

No matter how dark one is or fair a person may be has nothing to do with his or her personality. If we'd stop comparing our skin tones to the Caucasian race we'd realize we're just an array of hues originated from the same base.

The revolution will not be televised; it won't be posted on the Internet, broadcast over the radio, shown in syndication, nor plastered over billboards. Yet the whole world will take up arms against the powers that be.

We have to pick up the fight where Dr. Huey, Dr. King, and Minister X left off. We can't let them hold us down. We have to rise to the top because that is what cream does.

The revolution will not be televised; it won't be posted on the Internet, broadcast over the radio, shown in syndication, nor plastered over billboards. Yet the message will be heard. We are not all gangstas and pimps or bitches and hoes. We don't all wear du-rags for the hell of it. Some of us play Gershwin, while others love Hendricks. You can't sell the hip-hop culture like you sell beef, $1.95 per pound.

The revolution will not be televised; it won't be posted on the Internet, broadcast over the radio, shown in syndication, nor plastered over billboards. However, all will soon know the truth.

current StuDent Section

Hope’s Monologue

Frozen in a time of depravity and imitation

Stuck in the ways of the people that surround me

You eat what you’re fed and you are what you eat

But does that mean I’m stuck in a cycle too hard for me to beat? Escape and opportunity tease and fly around me

The people in this place want me to comply so they confine me

Secluded dreaming of a time when I can say I eluded without being persecuted

Identity and faith glow inside of me like the Northern star that will light my way

Barriers can be broken as well as the lies that were spoken

So here I remain drowning out the spiteful sounds of agony and pain

Love and lessons emanating from my heart

Waiting for my sight to be ignited and my path to be lighted

How Do Birds Survive?

Don’t you know that it is dawn?

It is morning,

And we can just lie as seeds, our science without method. We woke in a stalemate, But the bed that felt like a cemetery will be a brilliant meadow, Our walls will feel like earth again.

I can feel the heatwaves, the yellow pollution, The future that shakes me

With the glaring responsibility to love. When the dice that used to play God are gone, Then, I will no longer hear the antenna:

I will stare at you

And study the sky, the clouds that lunge like lions.

In a dark world where shadows loom

Where hate's harsh phrases discover their room

Where I stand, with a heavy heart, my feet stay planted firmly against mother nature’s delicate skin

There’s still hope’s fire burning in my eyes

They try and dim the light I carry here

To paint my soul in different shades of fear But in the darkness, I’ve always proven the strength lies within my very own

My roots run deep in soil of pain

But from that earthen ash, I stand tall and rise again in melodies of desire I sing a music of energy, a phoenix From every word of spite and scorn

A legacy of affection is born In each step, in each stride

like King, like X, like Hamer, like Lewis, like Rustin I deliver my light to those I walk with The hate they weave is born of fear,

A chance to all that we hold and keep near

But my love, my hope remains unbroken

It is sturdy and proper

I hold an internal light they cannot put out

I see that very light in every kind soul

In every child, I make it my duty to trust them to hold

I encourage them to share it because a world of love is possible

Where peace and joy, is spread in abundance I stroll with my light, my shoulders high like grandma told me, my head unbowed In the face of hate, I stand unclouded for I am more than what they see I am the soul that thrives

I’ve seen the storms, I've seen the craze but my light remains my guiding page and in the dark, where hope appears scarce I recognize that love will undergo the cost For in my blood, in my mother earths blood lies hope that we will remain unbroken In this celestial space where hate might reign, I maintain my stature, unfastened from chains, Ever graceful, ever steadfast, ever proper Forever illuminated for others to find so that we may stay for those that could not

Who are we?

Who are we?

We are the fruits of lynching trees

We are the hope of the past We are the products of war Who are we?

We are the light of our ancestors

We are the descendants of kings, queens, and pharaohs

We are the fruits of royalty We are the fruits of God Who are we?

We shall, have, and will always overcome Who are we?

We are Black

We are Beautiful

We are intelligent

We are all that

We are The Dream.

I Release All Negative Energy

I release all negative energy

Severe tethers with my anxiety

Abandon my emotional baggage

Unwind the sheets of notes I never sent

Breakthrough the narratives I sold myself

Upend the demons dependent on me

Exit the haunting rooms of toxic moments

And thaw from the frigidness of heartbreak

Beckoning the best I have to bestow

Sharpening from perception to well-honed

Shifting from shining to holding my glow

I open my eyes to a world unknown

sEAN kORNEGAY

"Boldness of Black Leaders: Endeavor for Freedom"

by Imani M. Rhodes

out of the ShADowS

Shining light on the mic:

Do you remember the RAIN?

I tossed and turned as my body temperature began to run cold. I reached for comfort, but all I feel is a huge cloud hovering over me. I tried to get under the shadow, but I could not. It was like it had a hold on me: a stronghold. This shadow smelt familiar. We were surrounded by darkness in the sky, not even a star present. I began to feel something coming in the distance but I could not figure it out.

“Hello,” I say as I observe my surroundings.

“Shhhh,” this huge cloud began to emerge in the darkness.

“What are you doing in here” I exclaimed

“Not again” I cried

A piece of fog covers my mouth, and I cannot speak. The smell is familiar, but I can't put a finger on it.

“Listen to me, if not your earth will begin to crumble,” said the huge cloud.

Silence filled the room, and pieces of myself left me. All I am left with is a breeze.

“I am cold,” I said

“Hush now,” the huge cloud immediately replied.

Next thing you know I am separated in two and a big thunderbolt hits me. It strikes me hard and fast.

“Oh, it hurts” I screamed.

I tried to squirm and find water droplets and ice to make me clothed but I couldn’t. The more I squirmed the harder the lightning got.

“ You just don't get it,” the huge cloud said

“Be calm and the storm will be over,” the huge cloud said

I stopped squirming and tried to become warm and clothed. I felt like I was floating in the air. Begging to be brought down to earth. This type of pain is normal and enjoyable to adult humans. This is torture to me.

“Oi, Oi, Oi,” my cries began to get softer.

The thunder disappeared and suddenly droplets and ice began to gravitate toward me again. But this time I was left with scars and burns.

“Why me, Why me?” I began to cry, and rain filled the sky. It rained for 5 minutes, not longer, or shorter. Just five minutes straight. All I needed was HOPE. I poured, and after I was left soaked, and small. I was just small. Smaller than I already was. I felt disgusting and bare. Throughout this all though I began to realize that the huge cloud was still near me. As the faint sun began to rise I could see it still in my peripheral vision. I began to move closer to it. I faintly smelled the smell from earlier. It was familiar once more. Although I could hear the huge cloud during the storm, and because of the darkness I could not see it. I do a complete 360 and see nobody but the huge cloud. But it is not facing me. I began to come to my senses and came to realize that the huge cloud was in control of it all. It controlled the motions of the thunderbolts. “Why me,” I said to the huge cloud

“You were familiar,” It said “What about the sea,” I said “It will be fine,” it said.

“We will have to return one day and what will I tell the sea, you took the whip hand of its little raindrop?” I said.

“Until that time comes you stay quiet or the earth will quack louder than ever,” the huge cloud said. It was a blitz. 4673 stars was all I needed to see to help my pain go away. The RAINN helped me, it didn't hurt me. It allowed me to experience my feelings and be vulnerable: it saved me. One day I will have the courage of Virtus but until then I am a Proserpina, in a world full of Plutos.

kENADY hOLLOWAY

The essay Do You Remember the Rain is telling the story of a little girl getting raped. This is a harsh subject to talk about clearly and vaguely in detail, so I talk about it using the weather: clouds, stars, rain. Using the weather to describe this touchy subject can make it tricky to understand what is happening because instead of using human and body parts, it is using talking clouds. Euphemizing the story can make it easier to tell but harder to understand, and that is what I did in this essay; in addition, this essay is similar to the Hemingway style of writing. Some euphemistic terms make it easier to paint out what it truly is; for example, in the essay, the little cloud says, “A piece of fog covers my mouth, and I cannot speak”(Holloway 1). In this quote, the piece of fog is a hand. Since fog is like a small piece of a separated cloud I thought it would be good to make it like a hand. You can also see that it is a hand because once it covers the mouth the little girl cannot speak. This is the part of the sexual assault, where she is trying to confront the man for being in her room, but he stops her before she can do so, and since this story is about telling the story of a little girl getting raped by her mom's boyfriend I felt that the dominance shown by the man was important to show throughout the story. A harder euphemism to understand is how, and who the mom is in the story. She is in the story but not as a cloud as people may assume. After the do, sex, is done and the little girl realizes who the man is, her moms boyfriend, she gets worried because she doesn't want her mom to find out. The little girl exclaims “We will have to return one day and what will I tell the sea, you took the whip hand of its little raindrop?”(Holloway 2). In this quote, she says that one day they will have to return to the sea. In this quote, the mother is the sea. I choose the sea to represent the mother because in the main water cycle, it all starts with evaporation from the sea, and then it eventually becomes a cloud. So the mother in a cloud in the cycle, from where it starts, is the sea. Further why I choose this is it represents a motor and cold relationship, that is what I want to be portrayed during the story. In The second part of that quote the girl is just frightened because she is fearful of her mom knowing. With the euphemistic language you can see how it is used to soften and explain touchy subjects but it can also be used to reinforce the deeper meaning in the text.

Exemplified throughout the story, the euphemistic setting and language of the story reinforce the conversation's main topic. When describing the setting, the story says, “The thunder disappeared and suddenly droplets and ice began to gravitate toward me again”(Holloway 1). In this description of the setting, it is talking about thunder and raindrops. With it talking about skylike everyday terms, you would not

understand the deeper meaning of the sentence. This sentence is about how the rape begins to end, and the little girl begins to reclothe herself. Using elements of a cloud like raindrops, and ice, which make and “clothe” a cloud you can see how it is related and spun throughout the entirety of the passage. The hidden dialogue and euphemistic language in the story add to the deepest true meaning of the story. Still, it is also key in Hemingway's stories, so I was sure to include them in my own. There are many hidden features that you wouldn't understand unless you truly dissect the story or do a little bit of research or inferencing. In the conclusion paragraph and in the title I mention rain, but in the two times it is mentioned it is displayed differently each time with two different meanings. In the first meaning of rain, “It rained for 5 minutes, not longer, or shorter,” this rain refers to tears. She was crying after the rape and since the little girl is seen as a cloud I had to euphemize and play into the whole nature theme by making rain into tears. The second mention of rain is in all capital letters with an extra “N”, “The RAINN helped me, it didn't hurt me”(Holloway 1). This mention of rain references the national sexual assault hotline and online resources. This ties into the whole story's theme about sexual assault and rape. This is important because it ties into the euphemistic language of rain mentioned throughout the story and its relevance. You wouldn't get it because of its subliminal message unless you infer or do a little research. In conclusion, both the euphemistic location and language contribute to and reinforcement of the theme of rape, the subliminal messages are important and relevant to the theme and refer back to Hemingway's style of writing.

Soleil

de la

Mort

des

Rêves - (Death of Dreams of the Sun)

Yet for nothing I yearn more

Than the rising sun that quenches sadness

A faith so sweet that it frays and kisses at heartstrings

A love so pure and perfect that it seems faux

That sings to my eye and gives my comfort

Kills my sadness and nourishes my thoughts

Yet for nothing I'd plead more

Than to be embraced

Given And held in such bliss

Yet I see only the abyss of reality

The stinging demon that engulfs this loving feeling

Its abhorrent mind strangling the silken, naïve power

Giving dissonance to the perfection of what life could, no, should be.

Mais c'est faux. Et c'est la vie.

Awaken to the relationship life gives

A reality so murderous, it stabs and scratches the vessels

Bleeding with it the hope and faith inside my heart

I long for it I see it, I can touch it But it's just out of reach.

Life is death

And death is a part of reality

The death, truth sways, and yet I yearn for nothing less Than her; the blissful sunrise and the dreadful sunset to my face.

The face that kills me, yet supplies me with joy.

mYLES hAGGINS

"Social Distancing"

Too many people are six feet apart and I’m not talking about social distancing

I’m talking about a social distancing

From the value of life

So many kill and don’t think twice

Triggering an unending cycle of two wrongs not making a right

Their thirst for blood thinking it will make it right

Quench the slight

So caught up in who gets rights

Too focused on the constitutional, we’ve forgotten the fundamental ones

And it’s been really weighing on my mental some

If not already it’s going to get detrimental son

They make me feel like my only safe haven is to keep a metal tucked

Clutching a tool

The government used

To make us look like fools

Making death our only birthright

Excuses: A Tool for Growth or a Roadblock to Success?

Have you ever wondered why some of the smartest people still end up struggling? It’s not because they lacked intelligence or potential it’s because they let their excuses define them. But what if excuses weren’t just obstacles? What if they were lessons, shaping the path to success? I believe excuses can be pivotal tools for growth, but only if you recognize them, take accountability, and refuse to let them hold you back.

I came to this belief through my own experience with math. I love math, but there was a time when I wasn’t understanding the concepts correctly. I told myself, “Maybe I’m just not good at this,” and used that as an excuse for my struggles. But then I stopped making excuses, put in the effort, and improved. Once I changed my mindset, I saw results I went from struggling to earning A’s. That experience taught me that excuses only have power if you let them. If you use them as a reason to quit, they become limitations. But if you recognize them, push past them, and work harder, they become stepping stones to success.

Of course, not everyone agrees with me. I’ve heard classmates say that math was just “too hard” or that they had “too much going on” to do better. While I understand that life can be challenging, I also believe that growth comes from perseverance. Even some of the most successful people in the world could have given up because of setbacks. Michael Jordan, for example, was cut from his high school basketball team. He

could have made an excuse and walked away from the sport, but instead, he used that failure as motivation to train harder. His story proves that excuses can either break you or build you it all depends on how you respond.

That said, I might change my mind if excuses became a way to justify giving up completely. If someone continuously made excuses with no effort to improve, then excuses wouldn’t be a tool for growth they would just be roadblocks. But as long as you acknowledge them, learn from them, and push forward, excuses can be the very thing that drives you to success.

Maybe My Last

On that fateful day, I drove my mum, Marissa, to the International Conference Center, the venue for the award ceremony. Marissa, a 68-year-old woman known for her expertise in writing, climbed up the stage to receive the award for "Best Literature for Middle School."

Three years ago,my mother started this writing project on handwashing, and she was in her last chapter when her memory started failing her, making it her last piece of writing to date. The crowd’s cheers made her feel a bit uneasy, though she tried to smile and hold onto the moment.

On our way to the venue, she kept sighing, and I asked her what was wrong. She said, "You know,I have a faint memory of writing that book. I had to read it again yesterday and couldn’t help but ask myself if I had written it for the children or for me, as I find it more difficult to keep up with my hygienic practice. But on second thought, I do not mind that I may not remember the words I wrote. They had served their purpose, I believe. Maybe, just maybe, they would live on in the hearts of the children who read them, in the hands they washed, in the lives that changed."

It was time for her speech. The room grew quiet in anticipation, and the audience was eager to hear the final words from the woman who had just received one of the highest honors in literature.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I do not know how much longer my memories will last or if I will ever write another story, but I am happy that the love, the hope, and the life I had poured into every word will carry on, long after my own mind has forgotten."

As she stepped off the stage, one of the young students who had read her book came up to her, a wide smile on their face. "Thank you for teaching us about handwashing," the child said. "You’ve helped so many of us stay healthy." Marissa winked at the child, and I couldn't help but shed a tear.I love my mum and cherish the memories we shared together. I hope that one day diseases like Alzheimer’s will no longer strip us of our memories.

THE DICHOTOMY OF LIFE AS A BLACK WOMAN.

You must be better. Be more qualified, be twice as educated, be three times as hardworking as they are.

To be simply seen, let alone acknowledged. You must be more poised, put together, and graceful. Unless you want to be labeled as the angry black lady.

There is no room for just enough, you must always be better. Don’t be fooled, they might admire your curls and coils while their men gush at your curves and figure.

But in the wise words of James Baldwin, they will always carry that carefully suppressed terror.

We are taught these lessons before we can even comprehend them, but their harsh truth always becomes reality.

We bare the traumas of the matriarchs before us, as a smile painfully plasters our faces.

Eternally healing wounds to no remedy, that simply continue to trickle through our bloodlines.

Incessantly bearing the weight of our brothers, fathers, sons & lovers. As the world’s weight slowly becomes us.

You, black woman carry the heaviest of burdens with the purest of hearts. Forever pouring into the world as it claws at your everlasting love. We hold families together as they rip one another apart, we share our knowledge & wisdom but are met with their privilege and prejudice. We create balance in a society that NEVER puts us first. Fighting, yearning, grasping for even an ounce of the effort we put out.

Yet somehow at the start of everyday, we put on a brave face, keep our heads held high and face it again and again. Persistently preserving the role of the woman holding civilization together.

Perspective

Doubts hold you back from reaching your best self. Fear leads you on a path of procrastination

Putting limits on your mind stop you from thinking of possibilities outside of the reality you were born into. Different situations put you on different paths. Break the chains of generational trauma Our kids face the battles we choose not to fight. The demons we run from.

The Angles we turn away from.

It’s easy to wake up and be someone else.

It’s hard to be yourself in spaces where being someone else is normal. You’re trapped, get out before it’s too late.

Wait, don't panic.

Isn’t it too late? Of course it is, if you keep asking questions like that.

You choose who you want to be when you wake up.

Choose kindness

Choose peace

Choose joy

You trick your mind to believe things everyday.

Make sure those are one of them.

The battle with self is the hardest battle you’ll face in life.

You might not win You might lose Then what?

Give up?

No, try again

Keep pushing

Even when nobody’s around. You have no choice.

Nobody is going to save you, so be your own life raft. -You have to sometimes.

You’re alive, don't give up.

aDRAIN bROWN

Good

Being a Black Boy is tougher than you think

Born to become a contradiction long before understanding what that word even means, so it seems

Like fiends, chasing a high, we are hiding our vulnerability because we can never be weak

Still a bleak existence when doing good can lead to seven shots in the back

Either we dwell in a catch 22 or end up catching .22

How do we escape the conundrum of this trauma filled life without tools?

We change the way we move

We mask up our identity just trying to make it, yet stuck in emotional volatility

We, spiraling out of ascendancy, lose our crowns before hitting the ground

We shut down and shut up any opportunity expressing sentimental nobility

For we’ve been shown how easy it is compressing temperamental fragility

But we hold this facade because we are good, not good, but you know, We Good Just like a game of charades, our semblance becomes emotions acted out while the voice box shatters, but We Good

Although knowing this false sense of manhood has us somewhere lost by the mirage of thai society Which would rather us laying on our backs or strapped because we weren’t taught how to display emotions.

Instead we laugh our way out the end of the barrel

Secretly hoping to cultivate the flash into a bright painless future for we are hurting, but We Good

Too good to ask for help, so we shelter the boy in us just trying to protect him Masquerade becomes reality; paraded for our capacity

Falling for traps but remember our identity is greater than our ability

Consumed by the pursuit of our dreams we get entangled within a paradox

The oddity of working hard to take care of everyone but ourselves because We

Good

Until being Good ain’t good enough, for such negligence comes with a price

Like relationships, lost when light conversing shifted into deeper feelings but my optics refused to acknowledge the topics

So we tried to harden our existence but the boy in us cried loud and demanded our attention Now hear the young boy speaking from within

In him, life pours out his pores as he reminds us we were created for more

There’s a glow shining from his countenance

He speaks, ‘Black Boy, you grew up in a combat zone deep inside your anatomy without the luxury of verbalizing feelings

Oh how you found it easier to disappear in the presence of others than to face your own reality or the lack thereof

Yet come to the grips you haven’t always known thyself, but know this

Although I suffered the burden of our existence when your exterior persona prevented feelings from being experienced and on the inside you cried,

I kept the crumbling walls up so you wouldn’t die

Take a look inward and see I am the inner piece you have been seeking

You and I are one even when your identity mirrored self-destruction

Lift your head King for you are worthy of positive outward expressions

Remember our worth is found deep within this melanated body and stitched tightly in our bones

Our value is what we decide it to be and not sculptured by the hands of others

It’s time to get help for that anxiety and depression

It’s time to laugh uncontrollably and smile for no reason

It’s time to cry openly without fear of judgment

It’s time to let go and stop chasing the ghosts of expectation and just face the man in the mirror It’s time for you to tell yourself, Black Boy, I Love You.’

mALIK “Lil sPEAKZ” wILLIAMS

out of the ShADowS

loVe

“Pluto and the Sun” Acrylic painting by aNDREYA dAUGHERTY

Memories of the Future

I see us in a room we haven’t built yet, surrounded by walls that know our story. Your laugh fills the air like it always has, only now it carries the weight of time.

I imagine the way your hand will fit in mine, how it will feel to trace the lines of your face as if they are a map to every dream we dared to chase together. There is a version of us sitting by a window, watching the seasons fold into each other. Your eyes hold the same light they do now, but softer, more certain, more ours.

The future plays like a memory I have yet to live but already cherish. I see the quiet moments, the mornings steeped in sunlight, the nights where love feels endless.

I don’t know the path we’ll take, the twists, the turns, the distances we’ll cross, but I know we’ll walk it together, writing a story that only we can tell.

One day, this life will be behind us, and even then, I’ll still remember the way it felt to dream of you long before the dream came true.

eLTON hOLLEY jR.

First Love

You would imagine your first love to be the perfect romance story like the crisp smell of a new book when you open its pages, the words overflowing within them. A beautiful beginning with no ending in sight. The perfect meet-cute, the dates, the love expanding with each page you turn.

It’s sweet, like the moments when the main characters gazed at each other, filling the room with emotion. The first kiss, a promise that romance was there to stay. The acts of service, the thoughtfulness they showed each other. The giggles as you read the words, the excitement when everything unfolded just as you had hoped.

Until life happens. Miscommunications arise. Past events resurface.

Not so much a perfect, crisp new romance novel now, is it?

As a reader, you hold on, hoping they will stay strong, unwilling to let your heart be disturbed by the truth. But in the end, the pair did not make it to the final chapter of her story.

Or did they?

Will they find each other again?

Finding Hope Again in Genuine Love

I was hoping that you were mature enough to grasp the hold of having a conversation. You told me let's be friends with benefits, but my family told me to focus on my education. Coming around when you wanted it but nothing but excuses when I ask you to take me out on dates. You kept putting it off with nothing but lies and having me wait. Lesson learned: this is life and I’m not good enough to be your wife.

Love will find me soon and this time I’ll make room. When it arrives it’ll make me feel more alive.

It’ll be heaven-sent like a blessing and won’t have me guessing.

One time led to too many chances and I held you accountable for your actions. You're not a man lifting me to my greatest potential, you're more of a distraction. No compromising getting what you wanted was your definition of a bargain. Giving myself hope again even though I’m a little brokenhearted.

I kept asking the same question, it seemed like it went through one ear and out the other. Keeping feelings out of the situation and limited communication left me alone to suffer.

Love will find me soon and this time I’ll make room. When it arrives it’ll make me feel more alive.

It’ll be heaven-sent like a blessing and won’t have me guessing.

I have to keep it moving and cut off the benefits. The only thing that I am losing is someone who only wants a temporary fix.

I wonder if I’m the only one or if there are more chicks. I got caught up in lust and now it’s hard to trust and be vulnerable. The intimacy drew me closer but still, I was uncomfortable. In the back of my head, I kept reminding myself it won’t last long. Taking advantage of me was pure wrong. Now I’m back at it again writing poetry and songs.

Love will find me soon and this time I’ll make room. When it arrives it’ll make me feel more alive. It’ll be heaven-sent like a blessing and won’t have me guessing.

aNDRE gRIER

Never Forget…