Tar ’ s Fans - Nevelious Jordan

Why do you pick apart my mind? As if I am the well-spoken token dictionary to urban culture

So yes I’ll teach you how to twerk, how to dougie, and to drop it like it’s hot You can call me “boo” I can cornrow your hair I can pop lock and drop it Stop it flip it and reverse it Wait…let’s reverse that!

My culture is not something you can rehearse you cannot act “black”

My body is not a costume My culture is not something you can consume You cannot emulate my experiences and sell them for the world to see No that’s not an accurate representation of me on BET I’m not a video girl

Gyrating across your screen I’m not a stupid hoe bands won’t make me dance I’m not your mamie I won’t cook and clean for you I’m not your jezebel

I’m not your chocolate delight I’m not the girl who only exists for you at night

I’m trying desperately to mute the stereotype of what it means to be a black woman. In a country that sees me in pieces but not as a whole.

His sugar plum lips

by Gabbie Robinson

His lip s are still stained with Sugar-Plum Fairy, It matches the chipped polish on his fingernails.

That’s the only thing she can recognize. His face is smeared with blood and blush, his head misshapen.

What’s left of his clothing, a royal purple tube top he borrowed from her closet,

is blackened with blood that shines brown in the light.

She can only see his top half, the rest covered by the black bag.

She scratches deep into her arms, turning it red like his swollen limbs.

There’s hollowness to her chest, like his caved in left side.

His light brown skin, like her own, is mottled sick green and acid yellow

The squeak of the officer’s boots amplified by stainless steel coffins.

She hates this cop with his peculiar look, as if judging her for not collapsing

in grief. She holds herself still under the mortician’s steady gaze.

“That’s my brother,” the tone alive, self-conscious of the space it rings

through. The officer’s hand is light on her shoulder as he steers her

from the room, the sharp teeth of the zipper hiss behind them.