Tell our readers about yourself. Are you originally from Ogden? Any favorite places in town?
Well, I was born in Ogden, but my mom, sister, brother and I moved to California when I was around five years old. I grew up in Cali, but my whole family is from Utah. I’m super in love with 25th street. If I’m not working, I’m pretty much over there. I’m obsessed with A Good Life Cafe and Grounds for Coffee. Grounds is where I finished putting together my book 😉 it’s a good place to write. 25th kind of reminds me of Santa Cruz, Ca which makes it feel like home, but still also completely unique to Ogden.
When did you begin writing poetry and what inspires you to write?
I started writing short stories when I was in sixth grade, but I got super, crazy, into poetry my freshman year of High School. The experiences I go through inspire me to write. The people I meet inspire me to write. I’m so in love with poetry; I’ll never stop.
Tell us about “Z Meditations.” How long have you been working on this book of poetry? Muses? What do you hope readers will feel after reading?
“Z Meditations” was written about a year after I graduated High School. It’s kind of a compilation of poems as well as short stories. It took me almost a year to finish it. I try not to force writing; I just write when I feel the need to. When I force myself to write it becomes more of a hassle and a pain. That’s not what it is, and that’s not what it means to me, so I only write when I want to. My muses come and go. I write about my friends a lot, strangers I see day to day, and I’ll forever look up to and be inspired by David Bowie and Lou Reed. Lou especially. I heard him say once in an interview that he wants his music to make people feel like they are in the room with him. As if he is sitting next to them, just telling a story. That’s what I want. That’s what I try to create as well. A lot of people don’t read poetry because it can be confusing. I barely even read poetry for the same reason. I mean I’m all about metaphors, but I don’t want people to read my poetry and be all confused. I want them to read it and understand as if they were there too. I want them to feel how I felt in those moments. At the same time, it’s not all easy. I edit a thousand times before I get what I want. I usually have my mom, sister, or my friend Melanie (who did the cover art and illustrations for my third book which is soon to be released) read it and tell me if they know what it’s about. That is more helpful than anything.
Where can locals buy your book? Do you recite at any local open mics?
“Z Meditations” is available on Amazon.com!! My first book “Common Threads” is there on Amazon as well as the Book Depository.
I have been going to a few, but I haven’t gotten up yet! Don’t worry I will.
Care to share a piece from your book or your personal collection?
Exit in Ice
It’s morning, and the sky is black, the house is sleeping. I’m
hunched over Sartre, my whole a block of ice on the stiff
leather. I look up from “-retain my freedom” and I peer
around the dark room. The only light offered is as bright as a
ray of sun, sending the rest of the room into pitch black. The
darkness welcomes the ghosts that linger in the streets below.
The beaming bulb is unfriendly and casts an accusing shadow
upon my cheeks. I stare into the darkest corner of the room,
near the glass dining table, and I concentrate on the black
waves of motion. Silence- No echoes from far away nor
squeaks of the floorboards. Coldness sneaks in through the
closed windows and exhales a breath of air that glues to my
entire body. I free my arms of the philosopher and rub my
goosebumps with weak hands. It’s then that I notice, hovering
above the silence, a stale meditation that allows me to see
loneliness. It slips into my pink ears; the shadows creep
closer, the light above blinks twice as strong. I am alone.
There are people in the other room, one by the name of father,
the other called brother. I do not feel them, and I know they do
not feel me. Now, the shadows sit beside me, they grab my
hand and lead me into the streets so that we may know the
Kids in Love with Love
That metal wire stringing me to warm bodies is caught on a
mutilating rollercoaster. Friendly voices don’t echo like the
swift movement of dandelions, but instead, sit silent and still.
We ride this wave together in separate seas.
This is it; the exit sign is flashing. Widowed Grey Sparrow is
holding onto a dogma of existential crises that ought not to be
acknowledged. We are floating past the familiar homes; those
are windows we smiled behind, shook our hair and curved our
hips. What remains now are walks alone, sustained by the
voices of those idols at rest.
We loved hard and sweet, held on for as long as we thought
possible, but it’s true when they say someone always gets
hurt. That special someone is us, though the oak trees are
barren. Our will surrenders on burning blacktop. Promises sit
in air balloons, drifting to the arms of strangers in a
continuous whirlwind of crude heat and intensity. We loved
big; we didn’t love small; we laughed under the moons, lost
ourselves in each other’s arms as we ran through the
I can see you. Smiling with creased eyes, the sun drops, and
you drink, and you drink, and you drink. I’ll kiss your cheek
, and you’ll call me kid, brush your fingers across my
I can see you, leaning against the clouds listening to smooth
jazz with blue eyes kissing your skin. Your lips are glossy,
your sighs are exasperated and your heart skips the chorus.
The beat accelerates like the clicks of heels running through an
alley. We turn and shake the hand of the person beside us, tell
them we love them, more than our own mother’s and father’s
we love them unconditionally, screwdrivers for crooked holes.
Our daydreams include us in the spotlight, forever the same.
Forever forlorn on our own row boats, riding our own black
waters. The wind instruments sing us ballads to scribble on
our chests, and so we never forget.
I also post updates about my writing and photography on Instagram under _ebonysade_
Updates and links to all my books are at :