FEBRUARY CHILDREN

preface

MY POETRY SMELLS LIKE MINT AND LEMON AND TELLS ALL THE WHITE BOYS TO FUCK OFF

prose and poetry on love and identity and social justice

TURN YOUR TEARS
INTO WORDS AND YOUR
WORDS INTO KNIVES

there are still scars on her skin where her broken english never healed

the boys on her bus keep picking at the scabs

she runs home and her mama cradles her small body in her lap

"baby girl, have you heard of the february children?"