Language is also a place of struggle.
Writing and the hope of writing pulls me back from the edges of despair. I believe insanity and despair are at times one and the same.
The world demands that you work for it, make families, provide, take no time to listen to your own heart beating.
If we give our children sound self-love, they will be able to deal with whatever life puts before them.
Whether we learn how to love ourselves and others will depend on the presence of a loving environment. Self-love cannot flourish in isolation.
Imagine living in a world where there is no domination, where females and males are not alike or even always equal, but where a vision of mutuality is the ethos shaping our interaction.
When we concentrate on photography, we make it possible to see the walls of photographs in black homes as a critical intervention, a disruption of white control over black images.
Only grown-ups think that the things children say come out of nowhere. We know they come from the deepest parts of ourselves.
Remember, care is a dimension of love, but simply giving care does not mean we are loving.
Knowing love or the hope of knowing love is the anchor that keeps us from falling into that sea of despair.
I often find it easier to be teaching or giving to others, and often struggle with the place of my own pleasure and joy.
The wounded heart learns self-love by first overcoming low self-esteem.
Most of us find it difficult to accept a definition of love that says we are never loved in a context where there is abuse.
It is crucial for the future of the Black liberation struggle that we remain ever mindful that ours is a shared struggle, that we are each other’s fate.
Had middle class black women begun a movement in which they had labeled themselves “oppressed,” no one would have taken them seriously.
Representation is a crucial location of struggle for any exploited and oppressed people asserting subjectivity and decolonization of the mind.
Sexism has always been a political stance mediating social domination, enabling white men and black men to share a common sensibility about sex roles and the importance of male domination.
It is poetry that changes everything.
I’m tired of the naked, raped, beaten black woman body. I want to see an image of black femaleness that alters our universe in some way.
Like desire, language disrupts, refuses to be contained within boundaries.