I’m tired of writing memorials to black men
whom I was on the brink of knowing
weary like fig trees
weighted like a crepe myrtle
with all the black substance poured into earth
before earth is ready to bear.
I am tired of holy deaths
of the ulcerous illuminations the cerebral accidents
the psychology of the oppressed
where mental health is the ability
to repress
knowledge of the world’s cruelty.

Audre Lorde, “Eulogy for Alvin Frost” The Black Unicorn (via eljotitodeperris)

(via guerrillamamamedicine)