He Said: One Night Stand.

Screen Shot 2017-05-02 at 9.34.22 AMHe said your skin is so chocolate, like really chocolate, damn girl

He said, “what are you doing afterwards?”

He said, “let go out the back way, it’s faster”

He said, “I hate it when people always trying to appropriate our culture, they wanna take short cuts with out having to deal with all of it ”

He said, “I hate being rude to women”

He said, “what kind of men have you hanging around”

He said, “I like the ways that ass looks”

He said, “your body is just so african, do you work out or something?”

He said, “I’ll put you onto this set, it’s so good you’ve got to hear, I think you’ll like it”

He said, “You’re just so damn chocolate, like an African queen”

He said, “always stay black”

and then I never heard from him again.

-A. A. Eke



Intergenerational. (Mothers)

My great grandmother was a farmer

She was a medicine woman

She was brave.

My grandmother never spoke English

She was not literate

She raised her children through a war.

My mother is a broken women

She holds both magic and rage

She never shows love.

I would like to think that I am good with words

But I keep everything inside

I feel empty sometimes.

-A.A. Eke

In Winter

How many days does it take to heal?

I don’t know.

Maybe 100 days 100 nights? Or

Maybe I need 40 days in the dessert?

I honestly don’t know.

So you don’t know when you’ll be ready?

I don’t know.

I’m in winter now.

Maybe when spring comes.

Maybe seeing the flowers and trees open up

Will give me the courage to bloom.

-A.A. Eke


My daughter,

I hope

I teach you to be brave

I hope you are never ashamed to be broken

To raise your fist in the air and scream your pain

Allow your heartbreak to be heard

Never suffer in silence

Never keep your story silent

I hope you speak,

whenever, however

You were never meant to be alone.

-A.A. Eke

Oceans Series: Submerge (Dreaming)

These dreams felt like a baptism
Conscious stirs pulled me deeper and deeper into submerge
The pressure from being underwater intertwined with being weightless
It was like nothing I could ever imagine or describe
It was alchemy
Breaking into new ground and understanding
Breaking bread and creating common spaces for the self and the soul
Feeling interconnected and yet untouchable, all at the same time
It was a holy contradiction
Tears flow seamlessly into the water;
I didn’t know where one begins and the other ends
Fear flowed into curiosity and then into fantasy
Welcome to the matrix
Welcome to the mystery
The ocean has a way of doing that

-A.A. Eke

Black Nucleus

I’m scared to have daughters

and he’s scared to have sons.

What’s stopping us?

Memories of unwanted taunting;

     “Midnight, asphalt, ugly…”

beatings, strange men in the night…

Simply put,

his flashbacks and my nightmares.

How can we create a family with the burden of so much fear?

How are we to move forward?

Not a Simple Story (Lisa’s Eulogy)

So, a little backstory on this poem. Anyways, lately I have been mulling over the topics of black women, desirability and love. Or even more specifically, the lack of desirability many black women (particularly dark skinned women) experience in their lives (romantic or other). This thought, I’ve had for the longest time, but I do feel was propelled by a scene from “Being Mary Jane”, where Mary Jane speaks during Lisa’s eulogy. I was moved while watching this. There is just something so stark and ground shifting about those who tell the truth and do so unapologetically.

Needless to say, the way she was able to frame why her friend, who was an accomplished student, doctor, etc., was led to kill herself got me thinking about the  ways many Black women experience (or don’t) love and attraction. And more importantly, I’ve been contemplating what does this lack of love do to us internally? More to come on this topic… 

I think she died of heartache.
Unrequited love, longing, loneliness;
the desperation that comes from never being seen.
The apathy that comes from just one too many rejections.
Feeling invisible,
as if her suffering didn’t matter.
I believe it was those things that killed her.
To simply call it suicide, would be too easy.
It would be anything but the truth.