Author: Hayden Winston

Hayden Winston (né Hayden Winston Smith Jr.) is a Black, bisexual, novelist, poet, and activist. He holds a BSc in Criminal Justice and a Master of Legal Studies. His works draw on his experiences growing up in Los Angeles as a QPOC and the child of West Indian immigrants. He writes in English, French, and occasionally Kwéyòl. He resides in Northern California with his husband and their two cattle dog mixes.
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tenderness

soft slow kisses
our hands interwined, holding onto the moment our cells meet
skin caressing skin

when those compassionate eyes lock in with mine the tides rise, the sun sets, the city stands still

adventure with you takes form in multitudes
a trek through the wilderness, a trip across the country, an afternoon letting honest lips betray secrets

no mystery in our love, it overflows like the big brass horns on an Ella Fitzgerald tune

arrives warm and sweet like bubble baths and dinner paired with merlot over candlelight at home

in the end it all comes down to this, you’ve enraptured me in with your boundless tenderness

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reset

scraped knuckles, teeth clenched,
notes crinkled, piled up in the waste bin.
half-finished thoughts and ill-conceived poetry
lines circled then crossed out in runny ink,
a once gifted orator with mouth now devoid of the right words.
so easy to emanate kindness, yet so hard to reserve a little for yourself.
every day a battle, finding healthy outlets for anger and pain, healthy ways to feel good,
even if it’s only fleeting.
After all, if there’s one thing you’ll learn (again and again), it’s that nothing is permanent
except chasing light through the endless darkness,
shouting out after love and happiness.

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Guest Spot on Wed & Woke!

I recently had the pleasure of discussing poetry, activism, and life as a black bisexual millennial with Ryan Hollingsworth on their podcast, Wed & Woke. Listen and download the episode here.

Follow the show on Instagram @wedandwoke. You can also subscribe on Apple, Stitcher, or Libsyn.

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Love Letter

no longer waiting patiently for access,
all dressed up and gunning for it.
no longer craving attention,
all grown up and swimming in it.

years of bruised elbows and broken hearts to transcend to these heights,
bask in the glory of all this self-confidence.

dark skin and deep brown eyes, born in the fire,
quick wit, cold style, let it envelop the world.

kiss him in the streets of San Francisco, in alleways in New Orleans, on the beaches of Florida,
and hold back nothing.

two lessons, trite but true – not a thing can hurt you without your permission, and this life is what you make of it.

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10/19

October is the salt on your lips, still stinging from our last kiss

Brighter than the final flash of light before sunset.

Open arms – in retrospect
say little, demand respect.

Cast as Caesar, then as Antony
righteous/wicked, passionate/weary.

Adventure and enduring love
all rolled into one.

October is the honey on your fingertips – lingering for a moment before you lick them clean.

It’s the death of innocence, of coveting the pristine.