before (my youth): pure white eyes hang low, i am thrown and immersed in water pure white eyes have shaped themselves, like yellow almonds demons knock on the door, hesitation, recollection, relocation, and suspense.
. . .
Then until Now (adulthood):
The floor is cold with unfamiliar texture.
I can not see, I scream, I am unaware and unsure.
disparity suppresses my truth, refusing to let him out.
Within the sewn and braided, twisted, flat ironed, curly, tangled, mess
that sits royally upon my head,
my truth lies within each kink and coil.
Sometimes, (most of the time) I hide the truth underneath my scalp.
Truth grows and strengthens like new hair growth, and like new hair growth it becomes darker and more coarse.
Returning to its true self.
How beautiful I have always been.
The dark aroma has left me blinded.
My truth lies at the foot of my bed and between my breast.
I walked along the stream and up several hills,
I carried worry at the tip of my shoulders.
On a cherry tree, I hang with sweet fruit,
Rotten fruit whispers to me as they know my name.
I hang heavy and low on the tree, but I do not fall like the rest.
Brown pigment, warm and thick,
melancholy has become my second layer of skin
I lay in my daily truths,
When the sun meets the horizon,
I become bolder and uncover what I have kept secret.
My truth lies at the foot of my bed and between my breast.
welcome back,
First of all thank you for taking the time to read all this corny metaphorical artsy stuff I have taken the time to write. All of the next 4 poems have to do with adolescence and adulthood. A metaphorical viewpoint of birth, growth, and rebirth, like the cocooning of a butterfly lol. I took some time with this; I do not expect everyone (or maybe even anyone) to understand my message or the words I dramatically put together to try and form something good for myself and the audience who reads it. Although, I do hope in some way my art can heal you in similar ways that it has help heal me. I understand at the end of the day and behind closed doors, alone or with close ones, the pain of life leaks through our eyes and thumps through our chest. Life can become a heavy weight on our shoulders, but it is possible to let the weight of the world go. We are all connected in various ways at the end of the day. We all share waking up in the morning and living day by day, dealing with whatever is given. A difficult time may not be now, but it is creeping its way up somewhere. This series of poems are my own words and art graphic designs, as I grow each day, I remember my lessons, always moving forward and never letting words of doubt get to my head Continuously reminding myself everyday, whatever God has for me will never be too big to the point I can not handle. I remind myself that I'll be fine. I hope you all do the same.
Thank you for your time + support, I love you all.
#wegonbealright
*all digital art was designed by me with photos borrowed and taken by me, some photography done by Antonio Brooks,
. . .
She is her own vessel.
Within herself lies the heart of the world.
What ganders the thoughts that weight heavy on her mind?
But, she smiles.
Her own vessel held up high
Through the creases of dried paint, lays water markings that have left her weary.
Wisdom makes the sun-stained body's eye brighten from within.
Planted in her vessel, she is a bird who desires to fly, but still needs time to grow.
Turmoil is her soil, it is her closest friend.
What creation so divine,
it still has not been destroyed by the roots of the ground?
Grateful is the woman that knows she is in paradise.
The following blog post, is a poem i have written about myself. It reflects on my childhood to my current state. I honestly was planning on writing a poem and posting it, but last night I deleted it all and started over and gave birth to this in a matter of 10 minutes. My creative juices were really flowing. I honestly hope you enjoy it, thanks for the support!
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I admire the flowers that are frail
I am nothing but a bud
I watch the buds begin to blossom
I do not blossom like them
I am too tall, too thick, too coarse
The others all bloom colors of peaches and ivories and white
I bloom black
I do not blow in the wind like the others
Rather, the wind the rocks the soil and water all tatter with me unlike the rest
I am beaten
I have yet to fully bloom
I hate the mere reflections I see from the small puddles that dry up by days end.
When will I not have to fight against the wind or against the other buds that begin to blossom?
Hello all, today's post will include a guest writer, my friend Erick! Recently he has expressed to me basically what it has been like growing up in American and learning English. I feel as though other persons of color do not have such a gigantic spotlight on them currently like the "Black Lives Matter" movement, but we all as minority groups suffer from similar oppression. I feel as though other persons of color are being shadowed. His points as discussed below talks about oppression within his race and even apart from it. This post will elaborate on Hispanic-American culture, what it is like growing up with Spanish as your primary language, as well as the judgement, and distance that comes along with being a Hispanic American. so sit tight and buckle your seat belts. I hope you enjoy what my lovely friend has to say, and most of all I hope you understand.
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*the following set up will be questions following his responses
How do you feel when you hear others in and outside your household speak Spanish? Is there a sort of distance you feel when it is spoken, or do you feel a comfort?
Erick: I don't feel uncomfortable when it is spoken inside my household because, I learned it in my house hold. If I hear it outside my household, I feel sort of shocked, but when I speak it outside my household, I feel as though I need to be quiet so others won't hear me speaking Spanish language. What has been your biggest challenge growing up and adapting to "American lifestyle"? What differs from America vs. Mexico? Erick:The hardest part would growing up here is my own kind oppressing me, oppressing me in the sense that Mexicans/Latinos/Hispanics, pressured me to learn English so I could assimilate. Also I am a lighter skin toned Mexican, this created more conflict with the people in my race. I think they were envious that I would never experience racism because of the color of my skin, not knowing they were providing the same kind of racism I would later receive from society (lowkey white people). I think Mexican lifestyle differs in the sense that Mexico has a greater acceptance in different cultures. When I was growing up, we didn't shun different cultures, we wanted to learn about them. For example, if we saw an Asian student (which was rare) we were intrigued and asked questions and welcomed them. Whereas in America, everybody has to be one thing, and if you aren't then you aren't good enough and aren't respected as a human being. In Mexico, unlike America, we do not use systematic oppression. Although Mexican people (as a general) can also be racists and ignorant, the belief of racial superiority is not nearly as present in social and political environments as it is in America Do you feel like trying to adapt to American lifestyle has changed the way you view your own heritage? Erick:It did for a while, because as a child, I was indirectly taught by teachers, students, and other people that anything besides American culture is wrong, and Mexican culture was the only thing I knew. But now, its brought me closer to my culture and my heritage, because I feel proud whenever I say where I'm from. I feel proud whenever I say my favorite food is chuletas, I feel proud of my spicy ass food, because that's who I am. No one will ever tell me that my culture is wrong, no one will ever demonize my culture again, especially not someone who thinks salt as seasoning is spicy. I will go on through the rest of my life hugging my Mexican childhood, casually spitting Spanish words at those who have told me to act like a civilized person and silent my accent. What do you want others to see about you, culturally, that they do not understand? Erick:I want them to understand that the color of my skin does not represent who I am. being treated like shit by white people is basically the same thing as being treated like shit by my own people due to the lighter pigment of my skin. Shunning someone from your own culture/ethnicity just because they look like the enemy does not mean they're the enemy, it only means that you're no better than them. I am forced to wear the skin and appearance of the type of people I hate, and it's something I think about on a daily basis. I am scared to retweet a post about "Black Lives Matter", or Trump's policies because I'm afraid someone will tell me that I do not know true oppression since I look white, and that's true, white people will not know I'm one of them unless I start speaking. and that shit hurts. I've received comments like that from darker Mexicans quite often; they do not seem to understand that although my skin is lighter, we still are in the same boat, I am one of them. I still suffer from systematic oppression. Fuck, I might not even be able to pay for college simply because of where I'm from. My message to my people, minorities, is we all stand together against a common enemy, racism. If we point fingers at each other and fight over who has it the worst, we're never gonna make this racist shit of a country better. Be proud of who you are and don't let nobody strip it from you
. . .
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******HOW TACKY, WE TOOK THESE PICTURES AT PLAZA MEXICO
. . .
To tie things together here is a clip from a GREAT poem i deeply enjoy by Robert Guero, I hope yall enjoy!
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To conclude, similar sayings like,"you are pretty for a black girl" is the same back handed compliment as telling an Hispanic who is fluent in English who was not born here saying, "I forget you are from Mexico, your English is so good." As though, I, (metaphorically) am incapable of learning such a language because I am an immigrant?
Today's post struck me as I was sitting and combing my hair, well "my" hair. While getting ready for the day I found myself pondering on a conversation I had with a friend about a week or so ago. As a black girl I have blown through many hair styles, trying to feel comfortable with myself. As I face the truth I realize that I am uncomfortable in my natural hair. My uncomfort keeps me chasing beauty images, I, as an African American female can not achieve.
I am constantly thinking about my hair, thinking about it in the sense of how will it maintain its look throughout the day. My hair has seemed to always be apart of my subconscious thought even from an early age. I looked at the girls with the straighter and more silky hair and envy them. How can I get my hair to be more like theirs? In media and life's typical idea of what beauty is. it seems to always be fair skin and silky straight hair. The lighter your completion, and the loose the kink in your curl, the more acceptable you become. As a child, and even now, I do not see the girl who looks like me, I see girls who are the complete opposite of me and I am constantly told that that is what beauty is, which leaves me to feel like I am less than. It is a pain that is indescribable as well as frustrating. Why is darker skin and kinkier hair seen to be so repulsive. I am constantly trying to see my hair and skin and break "beauty stereotypes"
. . .
Growing up in elementary school I remember standing in line behind Hispanic girls with ponytails as their hair swung from left to right so effortlessly. I found myself as a young child wondering why my hair wasn't like the other girls. It made me feel sad, envious, and ugly. This uncomfortable feeling only continued as I grew older. My hair is very thick and hard to manage, so when I was about 7 my mother started putting a relaxer in my hair to make it straighter and thinner, for a child my age that sort of chemical exposure is pretty bad, but I did what it took to make myself feel more comfortable and conform to a look that I wanted so badly. After the relaxers continued my hair slowly began to lose some length due to not maintaining the chemical. I didn't know what to do which lead me into wearing extensions and fake hair.
When I look at my hair in its natural state (even now on occasion) I begin to cry. My tears form from frustration and pain knowing I'll never get my hair to swing back and forth so effortlessly like I would see in my younger years unless the hair wasn't mine. This thick mangle of hair I have is so hard to keep up, its like running after a train that I'll never be able to catch up to. All in all, I think of the girls who don't have to think about their hair nearly as much as i do and how lucky they must be. My hair honestly consumes my life.
. . .
The last time I remember wearing my hair out naturally was about a year or so ago, and I cant seem to keep it out for too long until putting some sort of extension or weave back in. For basically my entire life I have put some sort of product, chemical, extension, weave, and or heat in my hair in order to keep it manageable and "acceptable". My hair keeps me worried, and I think that's
how it probably always will be. The pain and frustration stems from the thought of never having the hair I want unless it isn't mine
Me, in my complete natural self is seen as unprofessional, animal-like, and undesirable, and I am constantly trying to overcome these stereotypes and prove I am not what I am represented to be . Media has depicted what they want, and what they want is not me. No one can understand the struggle of this cycle especially when they are in what is acceptable in the media's eyes.
In the end my hair is my hair, stop giving me suggestions on what you think I should do with it, or what you may think is best for me (if I decide not to comb it, that's on me). Black hair is so versatile with so many different textures and styles, what works for me may not work for another girl. Be more understanding and less curious (((((aka stop tryna touch my hair, and feel whats up under there, thanks)))))))))))
Hello! today's post is inspired by the journey I have taken the past week
. . .
Like spoken about in a previous blog post, I have officially unofficially started college classes. Although it isn't truly the real deal yet, I realized I had nothing to be afraid of.
Initially, the night before the first day I honestly had no idea what to expect, I wasn't nervous or anxious about starting, in fact I was rather excited. I had some sort of fear I couldn't quite put my finger on, I think it had more to do with being in a room of brand new faces. In grade school we are used to being around the same damn faces and people daily, not really being challenged to step out on our own and come across new people and new surroundings. I was worried i'd mess up before being even able to start. Worried about what was unknown was keeping me from myself,and greater opportunities.
On the first day, I had no idea where my class was, where to park, where to pay for parking and was worried about being late. Luckily, I didn't have to do this all on my own, I had my buddy Erick with me who came along for the ride and kept me cool headed , i also found some friendly workers on the campus to help me figure out the parking and class situation location. I got to check those two things that kept me worried off my list of things I was worried about,
my teacher is the cutest little Asian man who does a good job of helpings us out, making us laugh, and letting us leave early. On top of this whole new experience, he helped make easing into it a lot more simple. I am grateful for my experience and happy I wasn't totally alone. I am looking forward to what more is to come.
what i have gained from just this one week is,
helps from others is totally and complete vital and important, you need more than nust yourself
don't stop yourself from being a better you (how cliche)
worrying makes your skin wrinkle and lose its glow
. . .
this post is for those who are entering something totally brand new for the first time. It is okay to be afraid and nervous of where you may go next, but don't let it hold you back for whats in store. Take a breath and relax, every one else is just as lost and confused as you. . . .
. . .
All there is left is my orientation date, then I'm off to the big leagues.
keep me (and my financial aid issues) all in your best wishes
The following blog post, is a poem i have written about myself. It reflects on my childhood to my current state. I honestly was planning o...
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AN OPEN SPACE, FOR MY ENDLESS OPEN THOUGHTS. I WANT TO SPROUT BUDS OF HAPPINESS, STRENGTH, LOVE, AND ACHIEVEMENT. COME AND GROW WITH ME. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT.
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EMANI, EMMA, EMAN, EM, AMANNI, IMANI OR EMMANUELLA, WHATEVER YOU MAY KNOW ME AS...
