remindin myself of some words that i wrote and people that i know...

Turned 22 on 2/2/11...thas some serious number poetics right there.

Listenin to some "Samo" by Gavin (check if you haven't), and reading some amazing blogs and lookin at some of my poetry from the past few years.  

One of my poems is right below, inspired by my bff Al, who's now in Burkina Faso with the peace corps. In the monthslong process of crafting this poem, I am more and more inspired by the WOMYN around me.  For real tho, my circle of homegirlsnbois is powerful. At the end of this post, a GREAT improv video from 1yr ago featuring my girls luna and chante.  

Sparkle

She sparkly

her glittery presence is
shor to make your
head spin and
eyes water
just to take a glimpse at her shine.
Her glow ain’t from no
glitter-glitzy factory shit
No.
her sparkle is pure
natural like rain
reverent and full.
her glow she got from her
sun-mama
who imparted strong
rays of sustenance upon her
warmth and shine for this adopted daughter
light to fight the world that fought her
and brought her and kept her fly and flying close by
cuz the sky her home, see
and she breaks its limits
to be free
she will be is can be is always is
free
now and tomorroh.
don’t pay no mind,
she say
our shine move beyond
the wear of being the one to be being
our sparkle is more than
the need to always know our own existence
our glow push past
another mother with remembrances of trouble
ours is illumination

to spear through darkened whitenesses.
this the mad wisdom her spirit spit.
like even though
money had closed its eyes
to her light
she make large and risky investments in love
only missing the presence of green
when shit was mean
and yet
her light is still seen
further higher brighter
those monetarily material limits
are the ones the earth forced around her

like a lion in the circus
like a star professional baller
dunkin onward to upward mobility

She go through hoops to arrive.
she escapes the gravity of capital
by sayin
‘fuck it
i make my own damn hoops’
with a
rim of pure silver presence
and a
basket of tangible love
and a steady drive to be and be and go on being.
And she know
the sky ain’t no limit.
it’s her home and mother
her barrio and family
her hood and her sisters.
she fly freely through
coming down only if her
dread of wisdom leading
only to bless those who got
weights weighing less pounds than hers
and she lift them
and she hold them
until they
glimmer twinkle shine glow
exist and be
exist and be
exist and be
free
~

Love my queered out large ass family.  

I want to live in a world where there isn’t a hierarchy of relationships, where romantic love isn’t assumed to be more important than other kinds, where folks can center any relationships they want whether it be their relationship to their spiritual practice, kids, lovers, friends, etc. and not have some notion that it’s more or less important because of who or what’s in focus. I want to feel like I can develop intimacy with people whether we are sleeping together or not that I will be cared for whether I am romantically involved with someone or not. I want a community that takes interdependency seriously that doesn’t assume that it’s only a familial or romantic relationship responsibility to be there for each other.

Here for the full article, thanks to the Crunk Feminist Collective. But DAMN, right? That's beautiful. And exactly what I've been thinking about.

I'll leave you with this utter GEM of a video.  This was part of my project last year to reclaim spaces on campus with performance narrative.  Recognizing that the college I went to was structured on the values and needs of upper-class white culture, like many colleges in the U.S. with some exceptions, I feel incredibly grateful to have found such an amazing student and academic community ready to fuck shit up. Day to day acts of resistance to broaden and free our existence. We continue to be the builders of our community, actively choosing each other, and choosing what we foster. 

So this is a video out of a series of 10 interviews capturing the process of narrative sharing.  Reclaiming public spaces.  This particular space is a queer-friendly coffeeshop, it was my second and first home at times in college. Part of me felt completely at home. Part of me just felt brown. Happens a lot, that sort of self split. Pieces of me happy and available, lightened by good words and open spirits. And SIMULTANEOUSLY I shut down, rejected from the space around me. These are real parts of me, at once physical and emotional-- too large, too loud, too dark, too many piercings. I feel my features as extremities, hot lava or icy cold wind. Sweating or shivering. Brown awkwardness in small spaces, loud, my voice booms and carries. Growing up, that's how your voice gets heard. Big hair to match the volume of my voice, undomesticated and unresponsive to the slick saliva efforts to tone that shit down. Too smart (or too dumb) to assimilate to my surroundings, tone down my voice, tie up my hair. 

And it's taken HELLA work to love alla that. Like serious active addictive self-love, aided by some good theory and good practice. And good people.

Praxis. I asked women of color in our college community these questions:

When did I realize that I am a woman of color? 

How do I live as a woman of color? 

What does being a woman of color mean to me? 
This is a clip of some of my favorites, determining our own representation and identities.  Check it out, these ladies are mad intelligent.

Look out for my next entry, this past week has been a trip and i'm still sorting out the words to articulate it.


LOVE