"What I am telling you is that you do not need to know to love, and it is right that you feel it all in any moment. And it is right that you see it through—that you are amazed, then curious, then belligerent, then heartbroken, then numb. You have the right to all of it. You must want to own all of it. We will try to ward you away. We will try to explain to you that we have already walked that path. We will try to tell you that we have made your mistakes. We will claim that we are trying to spare you. But you will see our greed and self-service hiding behind our words. You will see us ward you away with one hand, while the other still shakes at the memories. Here is the thing—you have the right to every end of your exploration and no motherfucker anywhere can tell you otherwise.”
I used to think
I can’t be a poet
because a poem is being everything you can be
in one moment,
speaking with lightning protest
unveiling a fiery intellect
or letting the words drift feather-soft
into the ears of strangers
who will suddenly understand
my beautiful and tortured soul.
But, I’ve spent my life as a Black girl
a nappy-headed, no-haired,
big-bottomed Black girl
and the poem will surely come out wrong
And, I don’t want everyone looking at me.
If I could be a cream-colored lovely
with gypsy curls,
someone’s pecan dream and sweet sensation,
poetry in motion
without saying a word
and wouldn’t have to make sense if I did.
If I were beautiful, I could be angry and cute
instead of an evil, pouting mammy bitch
a nigger woman, passed over
conquested and passed over,
a nigger woman
to do it to in the bushes.
My mother tells me
I used to run home crying
that I wanted to be light like my sisters.
She shook her head and told me
there was nothing wrong with my color.
She didn’t tell me I was pretty
(so my head wouldn’t swell up).
Black girls cannot afford to
have illusions of grandeur,
not ass-kicking, too-loud-laughing,
mean and loose Black girls.
And even though in Afrika
I was mistaken for someone’s fine sister or cousin
or neighbor down the way,
even though I swore
never again to walk with my head down,
never to care
that those people who celebrate
the popular brand of beauty
don’t see me,
it still matters.
Looking for a job, it matters.
Standing next to my lover
when someone light gets that
“she ain’t nothin come home with me” expression
But it’s not so bad now.
I can laugh about it,
trade stories and write poems
about all those put-downs,
my rage and hiding.
I’m through waiting for minds to change,
the 60’s didn’t put me on a throne
and as many years as I’ve been
Black like ebony
Black like the night
I have seen in the mirror
and the eyes of my sisters
that pretty is the woman in darkness
who flowers with loving.
"God is good! What’s up y’all. I had an awesome game this past Sunday and I’ve been getting a lot of calls, interviews, shout outs, on tv, everything. However, the coolest thing is this: I didn’t need to perform for God to cherish me. He cared about me way before I made those good plays. While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. So if I have a bad game and people don’t like me anymore, God doesn’t love me any less. And my response to what God has done for me is to worship Him with my life by becoming more like Him, and telling everyone one about Him through words and actions.”
Vinny Rey via fb
"don’t let life drive you crazy. you drive that motherfucker; it’s yours." -Jennifer Lewis
it’s crazy that I watched this video less than two weeks ago and already forgot her important words about hard work, perseverance, self-love and self-preservation. obvs I don’t need a wallpaper with Bey asking “Can I live?” I need some interactive shit where I can embed this video and have Jennifer Lewis reminding me every morning to keep my head up, love myself and get wtf is mine.
Stephen Mallon, “Virginia Placement” (2008)/Courtesy Front Room Gallery and Works Artists.
“This is from the series ‘Next Stop Atlantic,’ ” Mallon told me. “I followed the Metropolitan Transit Authority’s recycling program when they retired over twenty-five hundred subways cars to the ocean to help rebuild underwater reefs along the eastern seabed.
No. There are too many iPhones. It’s enough. Why doesn’t Apple stop for a year and make medical devices? When people talk about technology, that’s where I start to get a little hot under the collar because I know that it’s the key to solving some of the world’s biggest problems. Having a faster, thinner telephone is not one of the world’s biggest problems. And these assholes have to stop selling the idea that it is.