Had one of those good nights,
no more sad sack, heavy
Met a lanky stranger who called himself a poet. Like a boy calling himself a man, the audacity.
Unless he was one.
But laughter swept away the smell of vomit on the train,
and I remembered that gold and shiny,
that everyone keeps telling me about.
“Many white women have said to me, ‘We wanted black women and non-white women to join the movement,’ totally unaware of their perception that they somehow ‘own’ the movement, that they are the ‘hosts’ inviting us as ‘guests.’”— bell hooks, “Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center”