Writing Café Journal
Shawna Ayoub
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Shawna Ayoub

Shawna Ayoub is a brown, queer, Durham-based writer and instructor whose work prioritizes the engagement of difficult topics. After recognizing the personal benefits of writing for release and recovery, she has made her practice public for the last 15 years, offering courses independently as well as through the Center for Creative Writing. Her work has appeared in Verywell Mind, Survivor Lit, Exit 7, [wherever], The Archipelago, and The Manifest-Station.

1 Poem
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Published Poems

1 poem

Anthropology

One morning I stood with a mirror and saw the color squeezed from my skin. I am an olive without my oil, bitter and hard. You picked me too soon because you never knew a damn thing about olives. We grow in soil and open air, not cans. We do not only come in Black. We taste of earth and herbs and bright sun skies, not salt. I am more than a body with a hole and a pop top container. You want to tell me--You want to say you see who I am and lean your chair back and voice consolingly, "This is how it is, sweetheart!" I am sad that this is true. You never meant to whitewash me. I bet your parents ignored race, never addressed that it was more than color, but also cultural experience. You never meant to black out the thoughts you did not understand as mine. You never meant to muddy the waters. You have never seen me in red Mississippi clay collecting arrowheads or mourning felled trees on mountaintops. You have never seen me with the leaves in my hair after I tumbled down a hillside shrieking in joy. You have never seen me stand up to an overbearing ass of a man and shout, "How dare you?" followed by a string of colorful curses that would make the hardest blush. You have never seen me shrieking in joy-true joy.
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May 9, 2026 · 14 lines 👁 481

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