On Blackness

What is, a weapon?

A sharp thing, a loaded thing, a fiery thing, a hard thing, a hidden thing, a deadly thing.

What is a weapon?

Usually, it’s some object, some rage, but not a human being, being.

But in America. The “U.S.” The US.

The wrong skin color – black skin color – is a threat beyond belief.

They say things are not black and white, but it’s clear that white perceives black as too much to handle.

Black coffee eyes, black nose, black lips, kinky curly fibers reaching for the sun, black velvet drip makes my melanated tint a force to be reckoned with.

The craze in your eyes, the fire that burns as I have the nerve to question how you show up in this world. How your twisted lip, empty words and tap, tap, tap on the cell phone screen scream to me.

Your anger masks itself as fear while you seek power over my black self, my black body, my black voice holding up a mirror to yourself.

You lie, you scream, you see how far you can go to treat me how you want to treat me…disrespect my divinity…

Even when the black berry is sweet, even when it’s being the way it was born to be. Even when I am being what this place has made me.

When I walk down the street…what do you see?

Glory, beauty, elegance, glamour?

If you leave it only to what you see on screens, nothing is good, or lovely, or pure or virtuous about me.

Turn my blackness into a weapon so you can sit in your privilege and point your finger at the expense of my life, my being, my existence.

Who do you think you are? To decide that your prerogative is more worthy, more glorious, more valuable than mine?

How dare you believe that you alone are worthy of being?

Is it that much of a dream to be peacefully, in this black body, this Earth-blessed skin, this voice that souls hear, this magic that only the Creator could give?

My blackness, her blackness, his blackness, their blackness…is not your property, your perverse tool, your thing, your option to use as you choose.

This blackness, her blackness, his blackness, their blackness is what the universe is made of. Listen, and you will hear it. Watch, and you will see it. Behold, and you will sense it.

Respect it. Love it. Experience it. Or not. Either way, it will always b(lack) e(xcellence).

The Mountains That Made Me | My First Short Doc

The Mountains That Made Me | My First Short Doc

So…Iโ€™ve been SO nervous to share this, but a friend at #mastHERclass, an event this past weekend, encouraged me to do it. So here it is!

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On Grief

On Grief

You’re probably wondering where I’ve been. Sorry for being MIA. I just needed to be more present in my life from day to day.

I needed time to heal. To hurt safely. To grow. To find myself again. To cultivate my confidence. To get to know my fears. To choose faith over everything.As you know, these things take time. And time is exactly what I’ve been needing to become more healthy, whole and in alignment with who and what I was created and born to be.

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