I think I am worthy.
I was born from the womb, screaming so.
Feed me!
Bathe me!
Let me sleep!
Take care of me!
Oh, please, please,
love me.
I was born with my body believing, with every ounce, that it deserved love.
It was the world, today’s world, that made me think otherwise.
Or maybe, once I started thinking about love and stopped being it,
is when the disconnect truly began.
Regardless, one day, I’m not sure when,
or how soon,
the world stopped feeding me.
Cleansing me.
Letting me rest.
And in turn, I surrendered my body to it,
because I did not know where else to get my love.
It was not until Later,
when I started feeding myself,
bathing myself,
and giving myself permission
to rest,
that I recovered
my nourishment,
my cleanliness,
and my wholeness.
With this,
I was able to disconnect from the world,
at Long Last,
and see my worth,
Once Again.
I could see how I was love,
just by myself,
just by existing!
That’s what I knew before,
before I stopped demanding it,
that it was a deserved breath.
Love is a birthright.
And with love, respect comes beautifully entwined.
I deserve respect because it is what gives power to the very core of our beings.
Love,
love,
love.
The one thing that powers us all from the moment we are born,
during, after, completely,
and until the end of time.
And is not the very force of our existence deserving of respect?

I’d like for you to put some respect on my name.
I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, but i guess you saw how I wear my pain.
How dare you fix your lips in an attempt to drag me through the dirt?
How do you judge someone for the past or the resilience it took to even share their hurt?
You must be packed in bubble wrap to throw stones in a glass house,
And you must have all the answers if you chose to let someone’s insecurities come oozing out your mouth.
See it’s easy to judge when you’ve never done anything except sweep your emotions under the rug.
I don’t know too many people who aren’t traumatized by drugs,
Bad relationships, assaults, lack of hugs,
Deaths, illness, hell just because.
Life hands out ass whoopin’s daily.
We have no choice but to persevere,
But some of the things we experience almost kept us all from gathering here.
They called us strong when we didn’t feel like it.
We hid our tears and all the times we were too afraid to ask for help.
Hell, there were many days of looking in the mirror without recognizing ourselves,
So give yourself grace.
You survived something the person next to you couldn’t imagine having to go through.
And fuck what the critics say because they don’t slightly even know you.
Respectfully.
No one walking this Earth has the right to judge another on their past or pain,
So next time let them know to put some respect on both our names.

I wonder how old I have to be before
people stop seeing my body
before they see me?

all life long
little black girls are sexualized
before they can even form a concept of the self.

12 year old me
standing in line at Smart & Final with my grandma
wearing my favorite romper
adorned with vibrant yellow sunflowers
and a conservative white shall.

That was the first time I got t h e stare
The licking of lips
and flirtatiously raised eyebrow from
the mid 50-something year old cashier
who kept a straight face until my grandmother looked away.
His glare of desire will always be engraved in psyche.
I didn’t know pedophiles existed
until I looked one in the face.

We can’t help that we bloom early
Blossom early into our womanhood
even when we are still kids.

What has to give before my DDD’s
stop entering the room before I do?
Before the melanin in my skins stops
telling my story before I even have the chance to speak?
Also….
what else has to be said before men
can comprehend that comparing my skin and my body to chocolate
and to meat is NOT a complete.
It’s dehumanizing.
Just. fucking. stop.

Ethnic women do not exist for the male gaze
or to be the starting point for your think pieces on feminism.
We are more than our bodies
and more than our skin tone.
We are the spirit
We are light
We ARE the blueprint
and the curator of most things
that you know and love.
Put some respect on our names
and treat us as such.

here’s to a year
of feeling lighter
of practicing
& only pursuing the things
that set my soul on fire.

here’s to a year of intentionality
of manifesting my truest reality
and not settling for anything in “actuality”
here’s to a year of “no”
of no longer feelings afraid of taking my time
and moving slow.
– slow, intentional movements are the only way we can grow.

but also,
here’s to a year of “yes!”
of falling in loving
of trying to not add to my own distress
by avoiding the things that make me feel best.

here’s to a year of authenticity
of simplicity
of consistency
and only engaging in actions
that will lead to my prosperity
and ending 27 debt free.

here’s to no longer denying my humanity.

here’s to another year of peace
but in this one,
I will fully trust
and leave
indecisiveness
worry
and inaction
in tomorrow’s dust.