Kiane INKspirations2022-02-23T22:00:56+00:00

Black History Month – Featured Poem  by Dawne Horizons

100 100

There was a time way back when
I cared about what others thought of me.
I wanted to make them happy and realized I was doing it at my own expense of happiness.

You see, when you’re in a relationship it should be a win-win situation.
A win for them and a win for you.

Relationships are 100 100
not 50-50!
It doesn’t matter if it’s business, family, personal, romantic or even your self-love relationship.
You should just be loving the skin you’re in.
You should always fully show up in ANYTHING you do.
Bcuz 50% would mean you’re only giving half of you
So how can you expect 100%
from someone else?

Give out what you want to get back. Put in what you want to get out.
But be Authentically you.
Give 100% of yourself.
In order to be your best self
you must be true to yourself
before you can truly be true
to anyone else.

Loving yourself
even if
you don’t like certain things
about yourself is important.
You must know your value
and your worth.
The things you don’t like
about yourself
you can develop a plan of action
to work on those things
to make them better and more likable or lovable.
So you can like and love you, first.

It doesn’t matter what others think about you
it only matters what YOU think about YOU.
If you love you,
you will look and feel better
you will think better and
You will show up better for your life.

The words of others can only have the weight of value that you attribute to them.
Negative words should get 0% attribution.
Words of adoration, praise and inspiration should get more of a higher percentage for sure.

But your self talk, your mirror talk, what you say in your head to yourself needs to be on 100% so that
when people speak to you or give you praise they’re only Affirming what you already know exists in you.

Where there is Drama there is Damage.
Let me say that again…
Where there is Drama there is Damage.

Work on releasing your past and healing your trauma so you can be good to yourself,
love yourself and know your worth.
So you can show up and show up unapologetically 100% in everything you do.
This is authenticity
and it feels so good to your mind, your body and your soul.
When you are 100% you!

When you are 100% you,
you will draw others to you
that need or desire what you have
and it opens the door for you
to be a blessing to someone else.

Shine bright like the diamond you are! Be true to you, so you can glimmer!

When you know your worth,
when you know what you’re created for and the value that you bring
no negativity, no darkness,
no naysayers, no haters can dimmer your shimmer.

Shine black girl shine.
Shine black man shine.
You light up the room.
You light up the sky.
You illuminate the world.
Shine bright like the diamond you are.
Keep it all 100!

Poem written by Dawn Horizons AKA Essence Speaks

(C) 2020

No part of this poem may be copied, duplicated or manufactured without the written consent of the author.

Black History Month – Featured Poem  by SK


Today is my grandmother’s birthday. If she were alive she would be 112 years old. This day is always special to me because TOO-DAY  is MYYY grandmother’s birthday!!“Granny” as she was affectionately known to EVERYONE was reared in rural Georgia on a plantation.  At the age of 11, she told me how she never knew her father and paused to give me THE LOOK that my young mind understood. Her father was probably the plantation’s owner, friend, etc.

Granny had many memories of her childhood and the struggles. She spoke of the struggles she faced while her and my grandfather raised their children. Ironically throughout all of our conversations her tone was never angry. It was pride of overcoming the challenges. Pride in not allowing her past to negatively impact her future.

Granny was a “household technician…” a maid. But she held her high  every day. She dressed in the finest of clothing and was “smart as a whip!”

When the school system often miseducated us about Black History I would talk to Granny to get first hand accounts.  She was and posthumously still is one of my first Black History teachers.  As I watch civil unrest and racism taking center stage in the news…I shake my head because she lived through many of these same events before I “was ever thought of.” I sadly think of how she told me stories of times that she hoped were far behind us.

Her zeal and passion for life, her ability to overcome struggles are why I fight so hard to achieve whatever success means for me. I’ve been afforded opportunities that she wasn’t. I’m doing it for Granny!

I don’t diminish the value of BHM and believe that everyday is BHM because every day I see African Americans contributions. But February is MY PERSONAL BLACK HISTORY MONTH.

Happy birthday Granny and THANK YOU for igniting a fire and passion in me that says I will NOT back down.

Love you always,

SK (C) 2020

No part of this writing may be copied, duplicated or manufactured without the written consent of the author.

Black History Month – Featured Poem  by DeAndrea Johnson 

You are the Wind   

20 million grains of sand gather together to make granules of waves to mimic the ocean that will carry them away.
grains covered in diamond encrusted gold
shining like beads of hard work on skin in 95 degrees
while the sun peaks over a Senegalese horizon
usually, indicative
of a new beginning but this here is dressed in a sackcloth hoodie died in red like it’s the end to dream of tasting a rainbow so strong it can smash concrete to make it a pillow
for heads to lie down in new battles to be won in tomorrow’s yesterday
yet the salty lips taste bitter fumes rushing through the door of no return
this ocean cares not eyes burn
A imprint of the beauty of our mother in their eyelids
Images of when
she gathered dust
Around a rib
and made us
The ghosts of geographic thieves stressed to impress the idea that we must
Indefinitely Leave her behind

The same resources lying under those rocking heels
Are used to chain us to each other, pressed in like olives
Sweating anointing oil
dripping down the sides of turmoil
With our faces facing the ocean Goree Island absorbed the energy of all we’ve ever known
This island’s palms hold the wails and tears of unfathomable disbelief
The irony of royalty cramped encamped under a castle

While colonizers
drank and celebrated these spirits they’ve captured
But We made it through middle passage
cut through seas of raging disaster
we wrapped rebellion around our wrist
And dove in to this transient liquid
grabbing choices in moments that seemed desolate
We bleed the blood of warriors chanting to drums till they make 16 bars
Verses unraveling time to unveil an overcomers chorus
And we sang so loudly
We shook leaves off trees even
When we were the fruit that swung like pendulum
They see the power
Understand the fear
We auction block stood among an audience of and didn’t sell
our dignity but just the fleshy shell
The world was and is compelled
to look us in the eyes and lie
about our divinity
we plowing fields and foreign babies drank from mammary glands
and their babies cleaved and they lusted for the endurance and curved hips of that majestic magic
no matter how much ash that’s compiled in this inferno of a fire
we set the sky aflame we be phoenix
They see the power
Never got the mule to work the imagined 40 acres
We only ate the crumbs off the table of compassion
As we marched, the dogs and the hoses wanted to steal our composure
But we got stronger, got wiser, and still thrived
Maya said best, we still rise
And after all that surviving and fighting and pushing and speaking and preaching and seeking
The chokehold of apathy tries to suffocate
The elders can feel us breathing
We are the same 20 million pounding on the doorways of opportunity
Carving I’m possible out of the “IM”
Do you see them?
Systems created to dismantle progress
Jim crow and closed doors and just the like Israelites in Genesis
We kept on growing
But we’ve got to celebrate each who stand on the shoulders of the other
Hear the ancestors screams in our genes
Pressing to live thru horrors
For the next generation to go farther
We’re the village
We’re the tribe
We’re the answers to prayers
Of those who felt the whips on backs for running away
We are the hope of the slave
We have to stay focused
Stay strategic
They want to make America great again
We already did.
Every time we pick bales of cotton
we invested in the economics,
but today
we say write the check because we are coming to liquidate our assets
They see the power
Listen to the profession of your lips
Everything you speak, the universe obeys it
What will you say?
What message will you perpetuate?
Will you rehearse the narrative of your oppression?
Will you unlynch your children through transcribed prayers
instead of papers for these legacy-bred lessons?
Will you celebrate every shade, every hair grade,
every hood, every level of intelligence, every step of advancement?
Let the fire stir up in you
And destroy stagnation on the path of your life like hurricane Matthew
They see power
do you?

Poem Written by DeAndrea Johnson AKA Dee Scribes,

(C) 2020

No part of this poem may be copied, duplicated or manufactured without the written consent of the author.

Black History Month – Featured Poem  by Angela Riddick

I am tired

I am tired of racism
I am tired of the stories, the past and present
and the ones lurking at my back door
vying for a spot in my future

I am tired of racism
It’s bitterness, it’s harshness, it’s cruel ness
It’s filthy ness

I am so fricken’ tired of racism
the way it colors its self in its own lines
to protect its self from everyone else

I am tired of racism
all of it
with its fist balled up
and it’s chest stuck out
and it’s feet cemented in stupidity
with its self righteous self

I am so tired of racism
the deaths it has taken
the lives it has stolen
the hearts it has destroyed
the homes it has turned upside down

I am really very tired of racism

In fact, I am tired of all the “isms”
and I am also tired of
our attachment to
things and power
that we have become paralyzed to
to the point
that we act as though we can not do anything
but talk
and shop on black Friday
because risking
in the name of something
or someone
is too much to fathom

I am tired
how about you?

Poem Written by Angela Riddick AKA Poetic Mustard Seeds (C) 2014

No part of this poem may be copied, duplicated or manufactured without the written consent of the author.

Black History Month – Featured Poem  by Asha J Watson

Amerikkkan Love Story

I should have known you’d never truly love me

By the way you’ve always treated me differently publicly then in private

Secretly fascinated by my curves, the instinctual sway of my hips

kinky hair, the soothing soul in my voice and the fullness of my lips

For a very long time you’ve considered me more property than family

And no matter how much I’ve

Cooked for you

Cleaned up after you

Nursed your children

Built your businesses

Inspired your art

Given you rhythm and poured out my blues

Lately, I find it challenging to pledge my allegiance to you. To call you great.

Or beautiful

Or feel like you are a safe place for me to be loved

Or to even call you my home….

I’ve tried to love you…

But you never loved me back.

You see my differences as weakness, but what you haven’t realized is that I’m learning that I cannot love you because you were never meant for me to love.

You’ve only comfortable around me when I’m entertaining you

It’s cool when I sing and dance for you because

You’re more of a pimp than a companion

Soaking every good thing you can from me until I start to believe you when you say I’m ugly.

Even though you’ve trained your daughters to emulate everything about me, and claim it for their own.

I should have known it wasn’t love when you brought me to you

Stole my crown

Gave me your name

Forced me to surrender everything I knew of myself as if I THIS were a marriage,

A partnership and not enslavement.

As if the marks that you left on my body weren’t enough

Or if the strange fruit you picked regularly wasn’t a warning

Or Foreshadowing for where our relationship stands now.

It’s like the holes you left in our history keep me lost

You want me to forget who I am

What I’m capable of

That I was greatness before you entered into my life

I shoulda known…

This can’t be love because you’ve left my sons lying bloody in the streets

You’ve funneled drugs and disease through my loved ones then violently ripped them away from me

Incarcerating their loved

Leaving me to single-handedly build communities

You make it clear that I’m too melanated to be your sweetheart

That my curls and kinks makes you too uncomfortable around me.. unless it’s creamy cracked and tamed like you want me to behave you can’t admire my beauty.

I should have known this wasn’t love when you called me ugly names and treated me violently in public

You almost made me forget that I am beautiful

That I am magic

That I should be proud because I am black, not in spite of it

Next time I have to remind you that ‘I matter’ I will remind myself that you never cared

I will accept your silence for what it is

Not allow how you feel about me make me bitter

Use my anger for change, and reclaim what is mine

One day you WILL give me what I’m due

Amerikkka, you never loved me because I was never yours to love

You will never understand me

Accept me or respect me, unless you change me

And you can’t

You were never great to me

Let’s just admit that the was never a love story

Poem Written by Asha J. Watson AKA Purple Reign, (C) 2020

No part of this poem may be copied, duplicated or manufactured without the written consent of the author.

Black History Month – Featured Poem by Angela Riddick


It’s filled with transcendent formations – colorful shades of life

It’s poised, its bold, it’s dynamic in mystery

It’s calming, it’s effervescent and magnificent to marvel

Kaleidoscope … it reminds me of my ancestors!

Poem Written by Angela Riddick, (C) 2008

No part of this poem may be copied, duplicated or manufactured without the written permission of the author.  

Black History Month – Featured Poem by Dawne Horizons 

I’m Sorry

To all the families that have loved and lost a black man to police violence I’m sorry.

To all the families that have loved and lost a black woman to police violence. I’m sorry.

I feel you and I see you. I pray for you.

I’m sorry that this country was founded and raised on the black skin with its melanin as being inferior to the white skin. And that this unwarranted racism still runs vibrantly through this country and every system of this country especially the so called justice system.

Black Lives Matter
and every time one is tattered
with blue bullets
it stings and it hurts
Not only the moms and the family as they go 6ft under the earth.
But all of us with melinated skin bcuz we family we all a kin.

I would #saytheirnames but there’s so many we could literally be here all day and night
so instead I’ll just a few, highlight…

Atatiana Jefferson, Tanisha Anderson, Breonna Taylor, Philando Castile, André Hill, Tamir Rice, Mike Brown, Rodney King; Can’t we all just get along?”

Eric Garner, Amadou Diallo, Xzavier Hill, Frederick Cox, George Floyd, “I can’t breathe.”

Joshua Feast, Casey Goodson, Hannah Williams, India Kager, Algeria Woods, Geraldine Townsend,
and all the many men and women shot in the back,
in their home or sprayed
and just because they were black!

Remember Sandra Bland, the woman who never made it to her job interview bcuz of a busted taillight complied, was arrested, went to jail and still lost her life. Never made it to an arraignment, never stood before a judge but she was judged simply because her skin was smudged.

Sandra Bland especially touched me as I’m a strong black woman driving in the neighborhood I ain’t up to no good but neither was Bland and she didn’t even have a knife or gun in her hand.
This story hit home for me
and caused me to fear
when I was out driving alone traveling here or there.
It happened to her,
it could happen to me
just driving and living life with a busted tail light.
They beat her and killed her and let her die
then blamed her, lied and said it was suicide.

Amerikkka the land of the brave
the home of the free.
My country Tis of thee
sweet land of liberty… But

We’re not free!
It’s just a different type of slavery they let us have our own house now and work on our own field now
they let us drive ourselves around in our own car now.
They allow us to think and feel like we made it,
we can move voluntarily into their neighborhood.
But we will never fit in,
never be assimilated,
never be one of them,
never be just like them,
Never be equal to them,
never be Free,
because of their Insecurities and slave Mentality.

Being black is like being the target for their practice
Black men & women killed for simply being black
Walking while black, bicycling while black, reading while black, sleeping while black, driving while black, parked while Black, breaking up a fight while black, helping people in the mall while black, shopping while black, standing outside while black, standing in your own home while black, standing in a Walmart while black…

I’m sorry.
It’s not what you DO actually
it’s simply your blackness
that offends them
it’s your beautiful blackness that worries them
it’s your strength, it’s your courage, it’s your physique, it’s your smile,
it’s your black being that offends them because deep down they’re feeling less than because everything they’ve ever achieved it’s been on the backs of a black man and black woman from every invention and witty idea to having children and raising them.
“It’s the black skin for them”
Any shade of blackness to them is intimidating and a reason to have them contemplating your demise because whether from slave ships to auction blocks and from the field to the masters house contemplating your demise.

I’m sorry, continue to be strong. Continue to shine bright regardless.

Poem Written by Dawne Horizons AKA Essence Speaks, (C) 2021

No part of this poem may be copied, duplicated or manufactured without the written consent of the author.

Black History Month – Featured Poem Angela Riddick

50+ years later

50+ years ago

a bright-eyed wishful young woman

who was denied

who was emotionally scarred

traveled and she stood

not in spirit

but in Grace

and in person

50+ years ago

a hopeful young man

kneeled towards strength

as he watched Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. deliver

what he hoped

were more than just a

soliloquy of grandiose words

50+ years ago

amongst thousands


your children

my children

“our” children

beaming at the possibility

of being included

in the success of America’s tomorrow

50+ years ago

a man was obedient

to God using him as a vessel

to wake America up

from its slumber of

mistreated humans

misguided principles


towards a hopeful greatness

50+ years ago

on a sweltering day

in Washington

heat did not matter

distance did not matter

but dedication did matter

and their dedication

are the backs on which you and I stand

so …

50+ years later

my question to you

my question to me

is what are we dedicated to?

does anything in our lives


turn the arc

toward justice

and peace

and fairness

and economic wholeness

for every American


do we rob mankind

do we shackle all of us

and our environment

of what it has the potential to be … by

refusing obedience

refusing to travel beyond ourselves

refusing to give beyond good measure

refusing to go the distance

and refusing to stand for what matters most

in person

and not just in spirit

50+ years later

i ask

you, me, we

what are we dedicated to

because our legacy hangs in the balance!

Poem Written by Angela Riddick, (C) 2008

Inspired after attending the 50th Anniversary of the March on Washington on August 24, 2013, and standing on the very ground of ancestors before. 

No part of this poem may be copied, duplicated or manufactured without the written permission of the author.  

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