Always managed to write my life, but never imagined I could illustrate it too lol! If 2020 taught us anything, it is resilience in it’s most unbridled form. Romanticized the idea of writing several styles of books for the last 20-yrs, but never did. Collaborating as illustrator on Zetta’s newest novella, showed me that I can do it too. I’m no longer willing to put my dreams on hold just because I don’t know how or where to start. This project taught me to start somewhere. Thank you so much for this opportunity @zettaelliott! Trusting it will reach all those that need it’s fruit.
Can’t wait to see, Concrete Cowboy, a Netflix movie that highlights the Fletcher Street Stables in North Philly. Such an important story to be told for the Black urban horse community in Philly.
My cousins Ron R.I.P (Right) & Leon (Middle) were part of that scene in West Philly back in the 90’s. I remember them riding ponys in the middle of the hood on Markoe Street where my aunt lived. It was unbelievable to a kid my age who had never seen a horse in person. It was definitely one way to keep young Black boys off the street and nurturing something else.
Healing ourself is the greatest come up. @lii.zka captured me back in March, the month of my birth and the same month the world paused. Giving thanks for countless opportunities to gain and grieve. Becoming someone longer lasting is requiring me to return to my source, to heal and rebirth my self over and over. To lean on the patience of ancestors even when it feels like I’m making no strides at all.
This day 7 years ago I got to connect with a thriving young gifted and black photographer @ozmynoree as his first Black nude model! At the time, having lost a child 2 years before and 3 years into my 30’s was a beautiful confidence booster and milestone to reach. This is the first I’m sharing these publicly, so enjoy. I want to encourage more Black people to honor their bodies this way at least once in their life. Be your own bucket list experience and you’ll have a photo to remember it. ❤️
Between it being less sunlight, the cold air, and memories of my loved ones who transitioned into the ethers around now, I know at least for me, this time of year is a lil harder than usual.
And with that I want to share that my brother David visited me in a dream this morning. It was a fun dream, almost like I was back in college at a lecture and I was walking towards him to introduce him to a friend, but the strangest feeling came over me like I was introducing my friend to myself, literally lol! I could see me doing the introduction, but I also felt me standing where my brother was. Needless to say he grabbed me by both arms and hugged me deeply. He knew that I was surprised to see him, so he started rolling his eyes in the back of his head then laughed that irking laugh showing all teeth before playing the song, “This Woman’s Work” the Maxwell version. He had on the DOPEST RBG, mostly black sweatsuit and his face looked brighter, fuller than I ever remember before. MARVELOUS when ancestors visit like that.
I woke up crying because I miss him. But I think it was his way of reminding me that we are more deeply connected than my earthly mind can imagine. He let me know that we still have access to each other. Although sometimes we forget our ancestors grace when we are sad.
Remember the goodness, remember your loved ones, remember the moments you ever felt grateful for anything, remember that you’re here now and have a life’s work to do no matter how long or short you’re here. Remember your sunshine. Those things count. They count so much more than you’ll ever know.
I wrote this after George Floyd was taken from here. All his motherly ancestors channeled me to write. All the mothers conjured up through. Cause even in death he called on his mother. The power in wailing her name was battle cry that had to be answered by every motherly energy that ever was. Thank God for his breath, his last words stained into the fabric of the universe. He didn’t give those cowards the power they were seeking. And that’s why I always say we don’t have to acquiesce, even in death. Watermelon is a poem to my people for my people. Break dem gotdamn curses. And stay in the struggle.
I love truth seekers and beautiful souls. My beautiful soulfriend @tinyandbrave your tshirt arriving today means so much to me 🙏🏾♥️.
This day marks the ninth year since my son Three pronounced Tree became an ancestor. And although he didn’t live in this world, he lived inside me. I remember when me and your father heard your djembe heartbeat-LOUD AND STRONG. How your father held me up. The laboring pain I experienced both emotionally and physically from your departure is mine.
Read my lips, I’m Three’s mother and I birth nations. Rest well my sweet boy. Gonna write about you tonight. In the meantime this photo shoot love is for you!
NEW POEM ALERT🍉
Watermelon poem coming soon. Super excited to be writing this! And most to share it with you.
#afrikanface #blackwriters #blackwords #girlrillavintage #poems #theeamazinggrace #watermelon #watermelongrace #watermelonpoem #writingformylife #writingistherapy
Been having heavy conversations with friends lately about what justifiable reparations looks like for us surviving descendants of enslaved Afrikan Americans.
To me it looks like black people being tax exempt for at least 400 years. Also, the government fully funding the purchase of a home or land to build whatever we want on it. That way we have an opportunity to build our own economic wealth in this country. That resonates for me.
What does #reparations look like to you? ✊🏾✊🏿✊🏾