in the crevices of my mind I wonder if i cling to a shell of myself rather than me Hiding from the world in the cocoon I created for safety Waiting for my wings to grow For me to realize that I’m more than I even know myself to be But I clamp my own wings Still and awaiting for confirmation from a world determine not to give it to me Praying to a God who knows me better than myself Silently waiting for me to choose to be free While I confine myself to my mind My cocoon, my safe haven, my prison, my home A place I’ve convinced myself is best for me But life begins in the open, Outside of thoughts and dreams Curating my reality takes more than I believe myself to have But the day I spread my wings will be the day I know I’ll truly know God and be free

I once expressed to a professor that I thought America’s systems were broken. She responded that a system that continues to negatively impact the most disadvantaged was working as it was created to. The question she responded with was, “ Then who is benefiting from it?” White supremacy is a white body dropping in America, and it is being treated as though it holds more weight than the bodies dropping in Palestine and the Congo. I wish I could say that the current state of the United States surprises me, but it seems like every few years, something drastic happens to remind everyone of the true ideals and values America was founded on. It feels privileged whenever I hear someone react in surprise, especially since I have never seen America as anything other than a facade that dresses up as freedom, masking its true face of oppression, forced labor, and false promises. White supremacy is policing Black people's conversations surrounding Charlie and Erica Kirk while simultaneously leading the narrative discussing black bodies. It is a politician's ability to discuss a Black body politically but a white one emotionally. It's jumping to protect white women's tears, but constantly causing Black women's tears to fall. For years, I struggled to see the parallels between the layered -isms ( racism, sexism, colorism, etc) and -ias (homophobia, pedophilia, etc), but in 2026 the parallels became a lot more clearer. I truly feel like attending a PWI for college allowed me to see a front seat row of the discussions we read in history books, and even though I frequently struggled to put how I felt into words, I have come to the conclusion that the best way to find my words is to write. White supremacy is using Christianity to justify acts of hate while ignoring God’s lessons of love. It is picking and choosing which lines apply, because the God you claim to serve is who you believe yourself to be. Controlling the narrative, fates, and lives of Black and Brown bodies out of fear that it is the only way your place in society will remain secure. White supremacy says that you should shed tears for a modern clan member but not for the innocent Black men facing mass incarceration at the hands of a system that has never seen them as more than a body to produce free labor. It attempts to explain a world without color at the forefront when the social construct of color is woven into every policy, bill, and debate. It is dollar bills being covered in the blood of Black, Brown, and immigrant bodies. It is trying to speak up and being sliced by the knife of your identity being used as a disadvantage rather than as a vehicle for truth. White supremacy tells you that your experience isn’t a true reality unless it supports the narrative they feed to you through media, movies, caricatures, and books. It is targeting HBCUs even when Black communities and HBCU students had nothing to do with Kirk’s death. We never have anything to do with their problems, but we are always reprimanded. Because every story needs a villain, and the real villain will never label themself as such. White supremacy is the rooted fear that DeMartravion “Trey” Reed’s death wasn’t a suicide. It‘s advocating to make sure his family receives true justice and still remaining uneasy, because the story of Emmett Till happened a few years prior. A heart wrenching truth that I learned my junior year of college that many of my white counterparts did not learn, but is one I heard from the moment I was old enough to understand that I was a little Black girl navigating through a white world. White supremacy is the deeply rooted fear that upholds the stereotype that Black people are a danger, even when our hands are still and chained. It ignores accountability for the actions of anyone who lacks melanin, marking their actions as “mistakes” to be forgiven in God’s name. The same God my ancestors cried to while they picked cotton and built a country that still doesn't few their children's children still fight for freedom in. White supremacy is the intoxication of comfort and the fear of losing it all. It convinces people that materialistic possessions are more valuable than freedom. It creates room for capitalism and entertains materialism. To convince you that a job that offers no security is more secure than collective destiny and direct action. It convinces white supremacists that suffocating the rights of others ensures their own for generations. A guidebook that they’ve used and benefited from for generations. White supremacy continues to allow capitalism to create wealth for a few and poverty for the rest, creating a blanket of fear and uncertainty for everyone involved. It preaches individuality while it drains all of their energy, resources, and power collectively. It seems like they understand the impact of the community better than we do. White supremacy is a racist belief that one race is superior to others, which is fueled by the fear that all you’ve done to others for survival will come back to you. It is the constant need to protect yourself from the evils you were able to create while you project the truth of who you are onto everyone else. As a little girl in the Mississippi Delta, I learned that our pain is labeled as deserved. Our tears are marked as dramatic. Our circumstances are perceived as our fault and ours only. Those in oppression only realize a very small portion of how it impacts their being and how each event rewires their nervous system. Growing up, I was taught that the world was something to fear. That the devil in your backyard is easier to stomach than the devil that the world is. But I’m starting to see that devil as the same, even though his masks can look different. Because no matter how different the mask may look, I’m still convinced that the mask will always fall and reveal the true evil to be white supremacy and power.

I finally saw myself this week. Behind the stains of experiences that I allowed to define who I was, I saw myself this week. I saw my big brown eyes in the mirror and didn’t think once that it was filled with only trauma and lies. I saw my smile and didn’t think of who it came from. When I finally saw myself, it was at nearly 2AM on a Friday morning. I sat on my battered sectional, legs crossed, and my Roku screen flashing in front of me. Fresh from a long nap I took after work. And it happened. I clicked on my horoscope, and it read, “You are not alone.” A few tears slowly rolled down as I read the rest. Look around. Notice the subtle ways others have woven you into their lives. That text message. The saved seat. The inside joke. These aren't accidents. They're evidence you matter in ways you've been too busy feeling alone to see. I finally saw myself yesterday, and I decided that I like who this girl Bre’Anna truly is.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t reciprocate The love you wanted until it was too late It was never my intention to make you wait Your gaze made me think of the little brown babies we could create But I always had to stop myself From dreaming of a life beyond myself My heart came wrapped in plastic But my parents turned that plastic to stone It hardened over all the nights that I had to spend alone So I’m sorry that my guard refused to come down But I made a door, just for your entrance to my heart I love like how I cook food It either too much or not enough So I either hunger for your loving Or I binge on lust Because that’s how I was taught to love a man Or anyone But now that little girl isn’t so little anymore The one who spent many nights thinking she was the problem Not smart enough, not beautiful enough, nothing was ever enough For them So I assume it wouldn’t be for you So when that passion drained from your face I said, “It was about that time” And despite my cold front, I wished I could run and hide That little girl never grew up She has been trapped in time And the pain is the fuel That keeps her alive But I’m glad she’s still there She didn’t allow the pain to age her The moon makes her feel something And hatefulness lights her anger Sunsets make her feel love Your hugs make life better I never thought I could be loved But when look at you I wish we could be forever That passion drained from your face And fell to your lips It runs through my veins Every time that we kiss It wraps my heart And it’s breaking the stone The plastic is still there And I no longer feel alone It’s never been used And I think it was saved for you Teach me how to love Because that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do

Blank stares as I shuffle through each thought It's not too often when I find myself distraught But that doesn’t make my residence any less of a surprise Big brown eyes are seen as a hide I grow silent when applications asked where do I reside Because my mind is my must current address See I inhabit it daily allowing everything, every flaw and every lie to live rent free Some have told me to learn to let things be but What if it's the only place that’s comfortable to me I realized a long time ago where I am truly a resident When other speak I grow hesitant Trying to ignore details and body language that I read and make relevant Even when it isn’t In my head Sometimes I dread The things I come up with in there As I stare into the distance trying to make things make sense And I second guess my decisions that even prove themselves worthy And I might not care too much of what people think of me But I want to be loved like anyone else I want to be bold and not stress about the things I let Inhibit my mental palace And though I might not think of people with malice That doesn’t mean when they think of me they think the same And sometimes I blame me for things I couldn’t see When people aren’t who they said they’d be But the scars will heal The days will seal The happiness right along with the pain I just hope when my people come along, I can love them the same Even after all of the hurt i hope the pain never transforms who I am

I have always lived in fear Of what is coming next Scared that I won’t be prepared My breath would catch in the air And now that I am older I am realizing that it’s still there That breath I took as a little girl is still being held in Because that is what my fear does to me I take five steps forward and it paces three steps behind Close enough for me to feel its presence but never close enough to fully capture my mind Just enough to leave me shaking and wondering When it’ll finally have it’s time with me I keep telling myself that I am supposed to face my fear But the more the days go by, the more I am learned that maybe it is time for me to simply acknowledge its hold on me They say the first step to healing is admitting there is an issue My therapist said me “you always refer to your problems with ‘my’ as its identifier My fear, my anxiety, my imposter syndrome The first step is to stop referring to this things as your own That anxious feeling isn’t mine I refuse to claim my heart as its home Because it’s all just passing I often wonder when will I live instead of worry about what comes next If comparison is the thief of joy then fear is the enemy that binds my chest Filling my body with heavy weights So when the problems arise I feel like I’m drowning And even when I ask God to set me free He sits idle waiting for me to see that I can overcome this one my own

I use to hate looking in the mirror Because all I saw was Her The pie faced girl with owl eyes Searching the reflection in those old Black shades trying to find you In hopes that it’ll help you see me If eyes are windows to the soul by age eight, my eyes were eighteen Now when I look in the mirror All I see is the tired reflection Slightly older but still uneasy Your shattered sight isn’t the only reason You can’t see me My younger years were filled with fears Over time the fear spoiled into anger, boiling and festering My Dark brown vortexes kept questions pestering Everyone could see but you It seems like the ones closest are the last ones to tell That reflection of mine I don’t think it is truly me

My Carmel colored contacts conceal the pain in my eyes They block your clear view of my barb wired truth And allow you to see the superficial version of who I am They were my protective shields So when I look at my reflection through honey glazed doors I don’t see me I see who I could’ve been And you see who you want me to be And without them, all there is left Is the girl I sought to cover up The nights when those dark brown pupils were all I had To accompany the gut wrenching feeling of repeatedly hearing alcohol bottles be cracked open My reflection is the only enemy I’ve ever known The one who dims my light the quickest Because when I look and see her All I see are those dark brown gateways Searching myself in the mirror Trying to figure out what I did wrong

Sometimes I wonder who I would be Without your expectations of me Your reality forces itself into my own and erases any sense of self I believed I had So who would I be without your presence? Since my existence is just an extension of your phone line Looping me into your endeavors, efforts, ideals, and identity. Searching for self, unaware of where she is Maybe I am not a phone line, I am not an extension of who you are or who you wish me to be. But I’m tired of your words flowing through my lips, constructing how I view myself within this world. I’m tired of your voice being what I hear when I look at myself in the mirror. They tell you to heal, but they don’t tell you of the emptiness that lingers when you realize all you’ve ever known was the broken, distorted version of you. Sometimes I fear that I will never know who I am without you there, without your shadow lurking I often think of how I would laugh or talk without you nearby How my lips would form the words I speak when you’re not seen by my eyes Maybe one day, I will be able to figure out how to be myself without you here Or maybe that’s the day I find out who I really am

I always feel uncomfortable, like my skin doesn’t stretch across my bones and organs properly. As if my voice and body don’t connect. And it makes me …. Anxious. Or at least, that’s how my anxiety feels. Like there is a secret in the pit of my stomach, and if I speak up too loudly, Everyone will hear it quietly whisper behind the words I say.

They see my big earring hoops as a problem to solve Just as they see my hips as a mission to conquer My lips as a door to keep closed Unless they benefit from the fruit of my conversation And my experience is a fiction story to be told only when it helps their motive I am choked by the reality of who I am Versus who their statistics say I am suppose to be suffocated by the fact that i made it and other didn't and strangled by their questions Probing, Reaching, Grasping For the only things that were ever mine and mine only Even my fondest memories have stains of oppression and trauma that feels beyond repair So when I sit in spaces and am expected to protect white babies from others' truth I’m stuck with the dilemma of whether or not I should care Especially when Black and Brown babies have never been treated fair So I sit in rooms wishing my hoop earrings could block out the noise My hoop earrings are more than an accessory or object or stereotype My hoop earrings are my courage to fight a battle that’s been going on long before me My hoops earrings are the only things that make me feel true to who I am While I’m still figuring out who I’m meant to be