"This is where Black joy lives by Ocean Eversley©2025
I step onto this sand like I’m stepping into a dream,
and it’s all ours — the sun, the salt, the sky wide open.
Here on Inkwell Beach, brown bodies catch the light
like we were born from the stars themselves.
You can hear it in the music floating over the dunes and jetties,
see it in the way we stroll, slow and easy,
like we got all the time in the world — and we do.
Oak Bluffs hums like a sweet old song,
porch swings creaking under laughter,
kids chasing ice cream drips down the street.
History rides the breeze, but so does freedom,
so does the scent of barbecue, fresh braids, suntan lotion,
so does the way we look at each other and nod —
I see you. We made it.
Out here, the only signs are joy,
not the old ones that told us “no.”
The ocean doesn’t whisper warnings anymore —
it sings us welcome, sings us home.
Some of us came from cities stacked tight, but we are making it better,
some from suburbs that now embrace our names, our legacy —
and here, we remember.
The water kisses every shade of brown,
every curl, every scar, every stretch mark, every story.
We are more than beautiful;
we are effortless, laughing at the waves,
letting the sun paint us even darker, richer,
claiming every last ounce of this good life.
This is not survival — this is celebration.
Look around: grandmothers in linen hats,
fathers teaching toddlers how to ride the tide,
aunties playing spades like it’s a blood sport,
lovers walking hand in hand, sand sticking to their calves,
cousins jumping into rented Jeeps, windows down,
the world spinning sugar-slow, made just for us.
No need to explain ourselves here.
No second glances, no sideways stares —
just Black joy wide and unbothered,
spilling into the cafes, the bike shops,
the bookstores, the backyard fish fries,
the night sky itself leaning low to listen
to our laughter threading the dark.
So here We stand: Black, beautiful, breathing.
The Inkwell wraps me in its dark silk blessing.
I press my ear to the waves and listen —
and somewhere beyond time,
I swear I hear Baldwin whisper:
"Live it, child. Sing it.
The world ain't done with your fire yet."
You can find these hoodies in the wearable art section of my website. Collect them today!