Poet Morgan Parker explains why love poems are dead

Maybe this love, this Shakespearean, Kate Hudson love, was not for me. Was not for black girls. Maybe love was another Nancy Meyers ideal, another privilege. Something for people who didn’t have other things to worry about. Bigger things like: why, daily, someone walks right into me on the street. Why my right to be beautiful is publicly debated, questioned, scandalized. Why the hot water’s off. Why even lovers are afraid of me, or even worse, trying to get revenge on their white mothers— even the bed is politics, is battle and conquest. Maybe you have to feel safe to fall in love. Maybe you have to be able to have the privilege to ignore everything else…

This is not a world for love poems. I wish it were. I wish my heart could feed a love poem, but this heart needs convincing to walk outside. I’d like to write a love poem some day, but I need to be taught how. I need to know I’m allowed, and I deserve it. [link]

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