Politics is where we wake up — it is the hope that the structure that exists around us is not actively trying to destroy us.

It is September 23, 2016, and you’re reading this because our classmates, faculty, campus, community, state, and nation didn’t listen last time

In the summer of 2015, I was working in Spain for a theater project with a Spaniard friend of mine.

I grew up in a schism. My father came of age in a Jewish family from Massapequa, New York, and my mother a Baptist family from Dalton, Massachusetts.

My melanin is not enough to hold my culture.

On a family ranch, you have to earn your belonging.

There’s a certain art of being able to navigate failure in order to reach a point of alignment.

Floating on the bubbly foam of her extra hot latte is a wilting tulip pattern that looks like the wounded black bird she saw lying dead by the fountain yesterday.

I picked the boy out because his picture looked friendly and his profile said that he only had two weeks left in the States.

During my first semester of college, I played what I thought was a "fun icebreaker" — a game I called Guess My Race!

i know i will / before holding your hand / before kissing your cheek / in public / and for all of that i’m so sorry

I remember completing the initial draft of my first play, Nothing But The Truth, during the summer of 2013; I was convinced I’d created a masterpiece.

We need new names. / I am that Odum wood / the carpenter saws / for Darling’s bed.

To fight your family’s genetic tendency to become ghosts, you rub makeup on your face so people can see you.