“When I die, honey chil’, my angels will be tall Black drag queens. I will eat their stockings as they fling them into the blue shadows of dawn. I will suck their purple lips to anoint my mouth for the utterance of prayer.”

though i am a poet, and though i am a performance poet, i almost always read poetry inside my own mind and mouth. it’s ironic, because i am such a firm believer in eroding some of the lines that seem to seperate spoken word from written verse—that delineate one of these forms as more literary (read: more white, more wealthy, more emblematic of a high society) and more prestigious than the other. so, i very rarely read other poets’ words aloud. looking at it now, i realise that this is probably because, where slam and spoken word ought to invoke community, reciting lines to yourself in your living room can feel—for a lack of a better word—lonely.

essex hemphill was a performance artist as well; poet, as a single word—flaming and mythical word that it is—cannot contain all of his genius and artistry. i first encountered his words when i watched tongues untied, a phenomenal and empathetic and devastating and hopeful look at Black queer culture, directed by marlon riggs. hemphill’s poetry is a rod of lightning through the moving images. tongues untied is my favourite film.

so, it felt fitting—and strangely necessary—to not trap the weight of these words inside of myself. i read the foreword to myself (which, in its own right, left me teary-eyed), and, once i reached the first page of hemphill’s poetry, i unlatched my tongue.

there is no isolation to hemphill’s words, though they often come from a seemingly isolated place. his words fill my stomach with bees as i speak them, and i am once again aware of language as a weapon of community and resistance. as i read through love is a dangerous word front to back for the first time, i was struck down by a sense of profound understanding and familiarity. this is not me trying to present myself as genius or startlingly important by association, but a reminder that, in order for traditions to exist, we must make and manipulate and devour and disfigure those traditions. we must continue to make and honour Black queer art. we must continue to make and honour radical Black art. we must continue to make and honour art as protest.

hemphill was my favourite poet going into this selection of his words, and is my favourite poet coming out of it. though some of my most cherished of hemphill’s words are not present in this collection—most notably the full version of his critical text vital signs—love is a dangerous word is an excellent insight into the audacity, bluntness, tenderness and vulgarity that have cemented hemphill as a genius, and a pioneer of Black art, queer art, and art that refuses to conform.

it would be futile for me to list my favourite poems from this collection, as they are all so rich with such a wide range of offerings. in love is a dangerous word you will find sensuality, politic, violence, beginnings and endings in equal measure; you will find sickness and health, you will find nurses and drag queens and divas and destruction. you will find family, and you will find a fight you didn’t quite know existed within you. you will find notes war and freedom and love and life.

there is no adequate way to sum up this giant of poetry. i can only tell you to read it.

Update: taking off another star from my overall bc the cover was made by AI. So disappointing. Pay real artists. So glad I didn’t end up buying this one.

This was a pretty easy read, but I don’t think I’ll remember this one for very long. It’s on the superficial side and pretty uneven in its pacing. As it bumps along, there are just as many boring parts as fun parts. The characters are pretty simple and it reads like a reality TV show in novel form. I don’t mind that as a format, but there’s just something overall lacking here.

The Wuthering Heights retelling starts to disintegrate at about the halfway point so this reads more like an AU fanfic version of WH than an actual reworking that’s true to the themes and tragedy of the original. This is Wuthering Heights cast in SoCal with all the unserious adjustments to the plot you’d expect. It doesn’t really work. Aside from the boost this gets marketing as a retelling when the movie is about to come out, this probably should have just been a novel about ice dancing without the WH link shoehorned in. At the end of the day, Wuthering Heights with a HEA just isn’t Wuthering Heights.

People keep comparing this to I, Tonya and like sure? I guess? But I, Tonya has teeth and extraordinary characterization and this novel just loves its characters too much to let them experience realistic consequences. It’s pretty meh overall, but it’s fun in a forgettable popcorn movie kind of way.

sunburn is exactly what it tells you it is. it is hot to the touch, red raw, past lives peeling away under the big, damning flame. it sits underneath the skin, a warm hum that reminds you that you have been too indulgent, too sinful, and it packs your flesh full with shame.

lucy is a character that i could live in forever. her voice is so ripe with want and wonder—is blooming with passion and possibility—while at the same time rotting with an undying submission to anyone she has ever cared for or wanted to please. she is such a well-crafted exploration of adolescence and coming-of-age, true to both the abandon and insecurity that act as the two poles of growing up.

i have already written a bit about sunburn and its prose; how the language of religion informs chloe michelle howarth’s suffocating and deeply real depiction of internalised homophobia. you can read my writing on this here and here. as somebody who grew up compressed and compounded by the unflinching grip of christianity and its guilt—as someone who has worked through my fair share of pain and trauma as a result of this—i feel remarkably seen by the relentless veracity of howarth’s words and worldbuilding when it comes to the stain that religion leaves on you. her writing is empathetic and generous and gorgeously nuanced. it shows you the bones and the marrow and the meat of a body built on a fear of sin. it shows you how hard it is to unpick the existence; how much courage and cruelty often transpire in reaching this point. it does not let you come up for air. it does not let you look away.