Let’s be honest with ourselves about ourselves, America. For a very long time, many of us United States citizens gallumphed through life with a certain grinning arrogance. Contemporary Don Quixotes, we donned relentless positivity like custom suits of tinfoil armor. As tourists, we were known abroad for our loud cheer: a skin-deep friendliness completely detached […]Read More The Unbearable Whiteness of Being, Part II
We are comfortably rooted in autumn now—only a wind away from winter. On late walks, we smile at those flames that still ripple above our heads, but the leaves beneath our feet undeniably crinkle and crunch. The year has stolen itself away—but its end seems welcome to all, tired as we are. So tired of […]Read More The Unbearable Whiteness of Being, Part I
Celebrity deaths tend to be straightforward news for me, easy enough to accept, even when I’m an admirer of the star in question. What ends befall the famous rarely wound or trouble me much at all. When someone I admire disappears from this life, my internal monologue peacefully rambles: A person succeeded, impacted, inspired, created […]Read More Pain // Power // Protest II
How does it feel / to be on your own / with no direction home / a complete unknown / just like a rolling stone? I am terribly alight with rage, so laden with sorrow—sometimes in passing, other times for days, weeks, longer (I don’t know what proportion of my days are spent this way, […]Read More Pain // Power // Protest I
The skills and traits I’ve cultivated that have strengthened me as a writer have harmed my capacity to hold down a “normal” job. As a writer, I have struggled to unearth my individuality as much as possible. To own and know my own voice, my own truth, and to express that truth without hesitation. To […]Read More The Pen Is Mightier Than the Paycheck
In all truth, it is often the people to whom I feel most closely allied that I fear the most. Some of the harshest judgments, even insults, I’ve absorbed over the past few years have come from progressive women artists of color, some of whom I imagined to be family, people who understood […]Read More Our Own Worst Enemy
I come into this world as I am. In the dream, the love I mine is never enough. A woman I love attaches my name to disaster. To ugly things that crawl and poison her. For years I tell her the spelling of my name, but her language has no space for me. The woman […]Read More Presence.
This is the excerpt for another post.Read More The tree of me.