About GirlrillaVintage the Blog

vintage graced my bones before i ever knew what grace was. humility. mama shopped free. had us convinced that we made the clothes worth something; during a time when rocking rabbit fur and knitted hats in 4th grade could get you stomped out (schoolyard pizza lol). when all the kids had the latest (bk's, guess, reeboks, gold chains), mama glorified the ‪#‎handmedown‬, dark spots on bananas. took bleach and water to mothball and avon stink, her and the scrub-board worked it out. that's why i'm so girlrillavintage-girl real with her vintage. vintage was my first home on earth and it cost me nothing. gave me courage. taught me bout grace before i even knew who she was.

Love don’t always taste familiar by Theeamazinggrace

FCEE22B4-1E6C-4CFF-82D6-CA0A72DE751F.jpeg

Bare. Vulnerable. I think of the many hands these thighs have touched. How my heart wrapped around a lover and then again. How my body and spirit poured into theirs. Reflecting on many of my past loves. How many seemed to carry that ole “familiar” love language. How our vibrations crashed into each other. Enamored. Wowed. That love could taste so sweet. Comforted knowing we’d been here, together before. How they took bits and pieces of my soul instead of my whole self. How depleted I felt at times. Like the euphoric feeling you get when you know someone you just met. Past lives ain’t always been kind. How that familiar feeling held me hostage, long after each relationship ended. The scars I’m still healing from just staying in it.

I’m learning that familiarity don’t always taste good. It doesn’t always mean lasting love. Healthy love. I realize that what is often familiar in a relationship stems from deep past experiences from our first human examples of what love looked like. Asking, what were some of the first examples of love we witnessed back then. In the grand plan, it might very well be the thing that kept us connected, comfortable, stuck, on edge, bitter, scared, terribly insecure, questioning our gut feelings, staying even when the relationship was killing us. How we didn’t choose to save ourselves the first time we became unrecognizable to ourselves, after the damage had been done.

Given some of my past romantic relationships, I correlated when new lovers reminded me of people, places and things from my past to “red flags” that were bright and bleeding, early on, but how I stayed anyway. I thought I could change them, or wait for them to change themselves. And I do recognize that familiarity or the “soul mate connection” isn’t always a negative thing. However, I think its worth exploring why we feel so strongly toward a person in the first place. Also, how important it is to sort out where that all comes from before diving head first into loves ocean floor. Familiarity don’t always equal happiness or longevity and could very well be a warning sign, pathway to a toxic experience or ending, a breading ground for excuse making, settling, domestic violence, or staying longer than we should, just to say we have someone that we believe we know better than themselves.

However, coming across this new interest is dope because they don’t remind me of anyone else. The irony is wild to me that I don’t recognize anything in them from any of my past loves. And while exciting is damn scary. And maybe that’s the jewel? Maybe that’s something I needed to experience this side of things? I tended to gravitate to familiar traits in people that were clearly toxic because parts of me were toxic too. Maybe it’s what I knew best of all. At any rate returning to the place where I hurt in them delayed my healing. I needed to transform my ability to make better choices for the healing I deserved.

I’m not going to lie, this new energy makes me uneasy, questioning, reserved. I can’t for-see where we’ll go. Could that be the difference? Makes me want to run. Got me searching for ways to count them out like their hands not being the shape I like lol! Yet, my heart knows better. I’ve learned to love with a filter over my heart now. I take my time. I don’t put all of my energy into “good feelings” alone. I feel my way through cautiously. I allow them to show me their power and grace. I allow them to pour into me all the love I give away. Loving this way is a new beginning in my life. A new opportunity to create a healthier frame of reference for my future. A new place to call home.

I’m Sunflowers Sista By TheeAmazingGrace

IMG_9524

Imagine pullin’ into an empty parking space 

and totalin’ your car

Well das Me… 

Wrecked. Totaled. 

This elephant, remembers everything in its room. 

Feels more like I been beaten. Mercilessly., 

Wit’ wooden bats. By vengeful 

spirits from my ancestors past lives. 

I’m aging. 

So my bones done become more rigid. 

I fracture more easily. 

Bruise more easily. 

Tears well up. 

I cry out more easily. 

Smells. Sounds. Buck toothed smiles. Flamboyant death drops. 

All ignite my senses. 

And my soul becomes clean when I cry. 

‘Cause crying is one of my healing rituals. 

Yet, ain’t no healing this shit. 

I’m exactly where my brother left me. 

On that uncommonly, cold, November 26th, dark street. 

Had just spent all day working,  

only to get home to cook food for a tortured friend. 

Dished out larger slices of homemade sweet potato pie. 

How bitter the taste.

I remember, as we sipped apple cider along side it. 

How? 

How bout the scene was loose with change. 

And

Fresh newspapers strewn about the floor. 

I can still smell the dead trees, 

the moment they told me my baby brother had died. 

3B480B18-B919-420F-ADDB-1853D02B9EFF

Ran ALL out of myself. 

Slid cross the floor on coupon adds. 

Jumpin’ out of my skin wasn’t far enough 

to get away from this. 

The silence was so DAMN loud. 

Louder than my screams and desperate PLEASE. 

PLEASE! DON’T SAY THIS IS TRUE.

And the silence played tricks. 

The silence was so heartless. 

The silence acted like a fuck boy. 

And wailing. 

Wailing that hard only made my nose bleed. 

Snot, mixed with blood m, and tears, froze to my face. 

The mood was below 20 degrees. 

No comfort. No crab legs. No fried wings. 

No whisky. No heating pads. No yams. No deep dick. 

No coochie grinds. No meditation. No cunnilingus. 

No flailing arm dances. No deep talks. No nothing. 

Not even self-soothing. No selfies. No usies.  

No god. No nothing could prepare me for losing my brother. 

9CC14283-5557-4B4C-95A5-DF8FE29A3E34

My baby brother.

Second born. 

My sunflower. 

Smile as big as a sunflower. 

And he loved to eat the seeds. 

And I love him beyond forever. 

Sunflowers senseless loss of life. 

Bullet to head while he sat in the

comfort of his own bed. 

And I remember the blood on his pillow. 

And how I clinched it. 

And tho’ he’s right here. 

And won’t leave from right here. 

I still feel pain right here. 

Hard to breathe sometimes. 

Replaying his last words 

as he looked to the edge of his bed, “Mama.” “Mama?“

Thank you mama, for waiting. 

And tastin’ his ashes pushed me to the edge of space. 

Made us feel close again. 

And I don’t wish for time y’all. 

I wish for the world to love as hard as we loved 

with no healthy examples of how to love.  

How our love language STRETCHED. 

IS etched into my skin, over deep contusions LEFT BEHIND.

Embedded beneath my bare breast bone, on the left side. 

How I cant tell our scars apart or our sleepless melodies. 

However, the wind grows me just a little, each day. 

My big sunshine face, travels in the wind. 

My Phoenix arose from the dust. 

My baby brother flows in my DNA. 

He is in the water too. 

Mama Oshun. Bless baby brother with your rivers honey. 

Mama Yemayah. Please nestle us both, in the safety of your oceans back bone. 

Thank you for your sanctity. 

For being a home. 

Always.

—TheeAmazingGrace

I’m Sunflowers Sista shareable audio with music by The Nest Collective’s Walk to Tawaret. Thank you for listening.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1v1Jho0Vm5x3B6sWqUgdJsMUMdEYHs4KL/view?usp=sharing

21125567_10159342245675284_1119792525957514212_o

 

 

 

Triggering by TheeAmazingGrace

To trust u with my heart is impossible.

It’s triggering to be writing these words.

It’s triggering not to hear back from u.

It’s triggering to have patience when u disappeared so long.

It’s triggering to have prepared for a date only to learn it skipped your mind.

Its triggering to think of the peace I lost after giving so much love to u.

It was strange hearing “will u marry me” when I have never experienced the full joy of your ❤.

Why I love Pictures by Theeamazinggrace

Why I love 📸? Many aren’t aware that I grew up in abject poverty, was a ward of the court, am the eldest of 9 on my mother’s side, motherless and fatherless, survived childhood trauma, homelessness, and late enrollment in school. So, in most cases it’s not difficult to understand why I cherish images so much.

A3CE2F55-A758-4FFC-8603-E2CFB2C9B5A5

I once had a person violate my trust by deleting images from my cellphone without my knowledge. It hurt because it was not only my personal property, they betrayed my trust with impunity and told me they were doing it for me. I no longer have contact with that very toxic person, yet the symbolism wasn’t isolated. Made me recognize how important it is to protect my heart and sanctity at all costs, and to cherish memories I create.

CEF27E1F-97FF-4D05-A799-EF1FB8C40119

They never cared enough to ask me why images were so important to me, so it likely wouldn’t have made a difference.

4E0BB29D-EF44-437E-98C1-2D8FE912519E

Yet, they’ll never know how I didn’t take school pictures because we were too poor, or how evil my grandmother was about it, ripping the packages up in front of me. How I took my first school picture at 15 and got a camera that same year. How we would visit mama in prison during the holidays and took pictures that mean even more now that her and two of my brothers are gone. And other unspoken truths.

E267576C-2538-4785-857F-BADCE5844FA8

I take so many photos to preserve my visual legacy. Because while the memories are sacred, the images are living proof that I was there. An irreplaceable, visual poem that chronicles one of the many love languages of my life.

#cherisheverymoment #collegedays #girlrillavintage #imageslive #livingproof #lincolnuniversitypa #mccally #memoriesdontlivelikepeopledo #tbt #takeapictureitlastslonger

Culturally Rich Things To Do In Lancaster PA This Summer That I’m Involved!

F6CBC45B-A4B1-43D5-A95F-AEBF4E2FA0D1

The Cite Aka Mic Bleed

For the community and spectators who seek an enriching experience “lyrics appreciation” #micbleed aims to provide a safe space for thorough entertainment complete with cultural purpose and vibrant energy.

For the artist/ performers cultivating their crafts the cite’ #micbleed aims to provide a safe space for thorough performance where artists are encouraged and inspired to present their finest visuals, truest audios and most pure spirituals. #ayeg #lyricsappreciation #micbleed #openmic #pavaartists #pavaagallery

Follow @pavaagallery @travelingfam on Instagram                                                    Visit their website for more: pavaagallery.com

D36D035B-E586-469C-B50E-ADE98F93C88B

Imani Edu-Tainers African Dance Company

Imani and featured invited guests present an evening reflecting traditional West African culture. Two exciting 45-minutes segments rely on traditional drum, dance, and song to represent significant contributions of West African culture to American society

Visit their website for more: http://www.imaniafricandance.org

D3839C92-6B82-4BD7-93DC-856C8FD23EB7

Music Friday

Pavaa Gallery will be one of the “Music Friday” locations for summer 2018. Starting each 3rd Friday in June, DJ Gerri will be spinning the best in afro/world beat/drum/dance from 7 to 10 PM. No cover! 21+ BYOB. #artgallery #culture #dance #gerrimccritty #music #musicfriday #musicforeveryone #pavaartists #pavaagallery #shoplocal #thingstodoinlancaster #632nchristianstlancasterpa

Follow @pavaagallery on Instagram                          Visit their website for more: pavaagallery.com

Follow my personal pages @girlrillavintage and @girlrillavintagewears on Instagram

Condiment Aisles Aren’t Even Safe for Black Folk

This black woman has had enough of hateful ass white people. Standing in the condiment aisle at GIANT Grocery Store on Columbia. You know how we sort of get stuck in one place (descisons, decisions)? Several folks mirrored the same. His very old, ignorant ass shuffled back and forth several times. I noticed him for that reason. He stopped next to me and said, “OK, what gives? What are you doing here? You don’t have a basket or anything.” I’m like huh? He repeated. I said, “Too bad it’s not obvious.” He went on, “You should at least have a basket.” I asked, “Does it look like I’m in fucking captivity?!” He walked off mumbling “testy” “get a basket then”. He complained to whoever would listen.

Instantly, “I’m the angry black woman” when he racially accosted me in the condiment aisle. A young, white guy told him that he was out of line because he didn’t say that to anyone else. I thought, of course he didn’t say that to anyone else because no one else was black. No one else, he could use his false sense of entitlement on. Young guys sentiment wasn’t enough. I wish white folks would call other white folks exactly what they’re when that happens, blatantly racist. #racismwillnotwin #thisisamerica

-Gracie