Despite what’s ailing, if we aren’t intentional about finding what illustrates happiness, we are in danger of believing that only hardship exists. Me and my dear friend @tyshanalakre ouchea thriving up against this brick wall. Keep thriving in a world of brick walls my people. It’s your birth right.
Did you know the Ikom monoliths @ Cross River State Nigeria contain symbols that existed 4,000 yrs BC? Symbols now recognized as “universal” since they form the root of most cultures religions and sciences in the world?
Symbols include the circle, CONCENTRIC CIRCLE, cross, spiral, and TRIANGLE not to mention every other known geometric shape. Get into it knowing we come from someplace.
And that while “staying in the struggle” we must be intentional about finding what illustrates happiness or we are in danger of believing only hardship exists. Play. And do photo 3 often lol! 🥰
The Colour of Low Self Esteem Poem by Nayyirah Waheed
To a dear friend hurting today. Surely you’re worthy. Surely our value is yours to own. Surely we share a loving space. Your colour is purple and pleading. Mirror, mirror, she is listening.
We all might’ve tried. But we can’t impress them into seeing us. We can’t convince them of our sacred breath. Desire is an illusion. It does not reciprocate. It does not feel. It does not fulfill. Only you can do that. I love you.
This ain’t for poems sake. Although I wrote a poem when it happened. Working on sharing my experience. To enLIGHTEN the load. My right to a scattered brain rant. An expression of the pain he left. Vimeo. Link in bio. Had to talk about it. It’s so many of us black folks out here that’ve been prodded and trolled by white folk just because they want to get next to who we are. They want to own some part of our experience. Our essence. A painful tune.
I got out of the car and walked across the field. The best way I can describe the feeling is for you to imagine all of the blackness between every star wrapping itself around our bodies like a heavy, warm blanket. Melanin matter aligned ALL of my chakras the instant. I wept. I kneeled. I was humbled to my knees. I took deep ujjayi breaths. Channeling the ocean like sounds for love, for forgiveness. Endless landscape stretched like a deep abyss on that back Alabama dirt road. Spirits. My ancestors. Their ancestors hovered over my body. Sankfoa. I could hear and see all types of painful things. Pain. I could see and feel freedom-deep within their eyes, although shackled in body, never in mind. I could feel the triumph. I could feel my sneakers sinking deep into the moist red clay beneath. Took 25 minutes to pick 12 seeds. Fingers split open-bleeding. I felt the calm-weight lift from my back bone the day my ancestors invited me to pick black cotton.
@ladyspeech reminds us that “ALL of us are problematic as phuck.”
This resonates with me. About how hurt people experiences can be so unsafe at times. Been seeing a ton of black “public figures” or folks that pride themselves as “community leaders” using their platforms to promote division, toxic masculinity, fat shaming, homophobic speech, and so on. I too had to learn to stop the sanctimony to get to the heart of what matters.
Imagine how many MORE of our people we can reach and build with if we adopted inclusivity? IF WE KNEW THAT ALL OUR DNA IS SACRED AND THAT ALL OUR BLACK LIVES MATTER? Not that ole, “If you raising him right he wouldn’t be gay and twerking on social media” or “If you waited for marriage he wouldn’t have cheated on you.” And so on… It’s sickening because we think we’re actually helping by taking a stance in opposition to-things that we have no power to control. And folks are agreeing with us, rallying together like a lynch mob.
It’s important to ask ourselves if sharing our 60 sec rant or LIVE VIDEO will help or harm? Could we be sharing ingrained colonizers views? Just sayin….
my vagina is unavailable. it’s not complicated. my half shell is closed. and no, she’s not suffocating. shes tucked cozy in the warmth of her own skin. breathing. thee amazing grace. self-swooning panties and boxer briefs. sits pretty like silver braided wisdom. she thinks. a mind of her own. better with age. never lonely. my walls occupy each other with birth chatter and black afrikan griot stories and orange blood moons. a new day. continuation of me. healing. eternal. love! love! love! love! love! chant that.
Got Pink Music 2015, is one of my original works that will be included in the “For the Culture” exhibit, a month + long exhibit that centers on the works and creative depictions of black women at city hall gallery. Theme is Afrofuturism. Opening Fri Feb 1st 5-8.