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Sandra Jean-Pierre | Digital Artist & Writer of Words.

Category: Writing

Black Women Tears

There are tears Black Women shed, that speak of every disappointment and hurt that’s brought her to this very moment. They are tears of anguish and sometimes despair that maybe encompass never being regarded as precious, even as a GirlBaby or a WomanChild. They are tears of anger for having to do more, be more, give more and yet never being met where she stands, much less where she cries. They are tears of revolution for her gifts being plundered

Disabled Chronicles, No.2d2

After Spinraza injections, the ‘floaties’ in my eyes appear like straight lengths of ‘string’ with an impressive knot in the middle. Uniform, peculiar as my ‘normal’ floaties go, which are bendy, twisted affairs, beautiful in their organic go at existence. Plentiful when I am sick and sparse when I am properly hydrated. These ‘new’ style of floaties cut across my vision, like slow moving cargo ships, pregnant with genetically modified packages for my body. I notice them most the next

This Work

in the reaching muscles, taut strand over strand to breaking, burning… faith – dust speck wide, without kin or end of tunnel light – sparked anyway, and The Work of un-breaking The Child, of wiping The Grown from Young Mind of blowing heart-wrenched intercession-backed kisses against splintered psyche, thankless work wretched work work of the lost work of the mourning that Work long ignored, long hushed That Work – Yes, let it begin Oh Ancestors! Women, gather your skirts, women

Disabled Chronicles, No. 291

The Void The hem of her robe caught my eye from the periphery through the plate glass. The yellow floral pattern wrestled with the egregious wind, to keep covered the curves the mischievous gusts insisted on uncovering. I’d just got done asking the deli manager to help me get a cup of water, which I was ready to pay for, when she announced that water was free. Placing the chilled, covered and strawed cup on the counter facing the window,

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