In the bloom of youth, we tread a path unsure,
Early twenties, where dreams and doubts endure.
With passion ablaze and aspirations high,
We chase dream that we hope take flight.

Through freedom, we find our stride,
Exploring the world, with nothing to hide.
Yet shadows linger, whispers of the past,
Reminders of moments too fleeting to last.

In this chapter of life, a tale unfolds,
Of lessons learned, and stories yet untold.
We stumble, we rise, in this journey we roam,
In our early twenties, we seek our home.

So embrace the chaos, the laughter, and tears,
For in this moment, we conquer our fears.
In the canvas of youth, let our colors unfurl,
In the canvas of youth, let’s paint our world.

This is the chapter where she sheds the guilt and shame.
Giving unconditional love to the dark, wounded parts, as that is what they craved all along.
Releasing any feelings of unworthiness or self-loathing that reside in the shadows,
Removing what was never hers to hold, and making room for the blessings that await.

This is the chapter where she loves herself deeply and unapologetically.
Embracing the flaws and recognizing the true beauty of the human body.
Sitting in the imperfections and releasing all negative thoughts and beliefs,
Refreshing her view of the miracle she is- a living vessel of life and love.

This is the chapter where she steps into her power.
Letting go of the perfectionism and fawning tendencies that once kept her imprisoned.
Instead, she steps into authenticity and embraces every inch of her mind,
Allowing herself to lean into the childlike joy that arises when she sees signs from her angels.

This is her chapter.
She writes the story and creates the reality she desires.
She prioritizes joy and rest, as she knows she is deserving of happiness.
She counts her blessings, soaks in the love around her, and expels light wherever she goes.

Mornings are that rough snooze I barely miss. It’s the
huge stretch after knees crack to remind me age is but a
loose sound of movement. It’s a dragging feeling, a
reminder to when my laughter teased Father Time.
It is peaceful, knowing my mental foundation wasn’t a pretty
make over but these years of painful lessons I massage into
my seasons, and when I fall, I’m quick to spring back to my
youthful visage. I mean, winter brings pain, the death of
beauty and the crystallization of movement. Yet summer can
always be seen stretching my soul like it’s uplifted. One
moment I hyperventilate the other I’m free falling to the
bottom of freedoms pool of love. A love for the sensation of
old age being the companion I’ve wanted since my youth.
These astral phases become astral projections of the peace that
I recall seeing. This Growth is the key to my happiness, it’s
the years which times before turned the sun dial and I became
the time father dreamed of.

I DON’T HAVE PTSD
[in Southernspeak]

When I wake up in the mornin’
most any day
everything isn’t broken
lying about in ashen heaps, the smell
his buddies dead or dyin’
one smokin’ wheel of the sideways chopper still turnin’.

I can have
an already-always appreciation
of a new day. Most any mornin’
rain, or sun peering at me
there’s blue sky in between the clouds
and the coffee is good.

I don’t have to clean up empties
or wipe up dog poo cause I didn’t let it out
in time
that time of not bein’ to forget, all encompassing.

My good friend has it tho
and it never fully leaves him
the self recrimination either
whar forgiveness ain’t
nor the compassion jus’ be missin’
he fight this time an’ next for the clear blue.

My friend has seen mor’ o’ the dyin’
than I will ever
even after a career of hospital intensive care work
where my role in it were to stop tha’ dying.
His was to cause it, that ther’ black
when we look each other in tha’ eye, we know.

Dear Unsealed Family,

It would be off-putting if I didn’t stress that I’m not a overly intelligent
person when it comes to relationships with a divine creator. It is of the most
importance to me that I find something, something that was written or
spoken to help me define this world. This world that for most of my
existence I’ve experienced envelopes of deeply rooted detachments to my
own soul. I was lost, expecting the world to bend to the truth that a
melanated child like myself had some special qualities or traits which only I
have to make me aware of the sudden effects of this particular butterfly that
I’am. I found myself being classified as aberrant, corpulent and numerous
other adjectives one as Juvenile as myself would find Detrimental. It broke
my will to live being that my father’s side of the family and classmates
made me feel that I was impotent, a mundane atom of wasted potential.
It wasn’t just with words used but non-verbal cues that emptied my belief in
myself and this world. It felt as if I was a Homicide not to gang wars but
between family and Societal estrangement. The only peace I had was the
way silence had my back. It was in those moments of silence that
volunteered violence creeped into my mind. These thoughts started to
become folklore to my young mind and harmony with harm became my
only friend. A forever companion that I couldn’t forget, and I walked the
streets of depression alone. When going to school the subway became my
way to ensure a quite exit from this world. I would every day press my face
near the edge of deaths door and at a split second pull back to feel a bit of
what death was like. At the time I didn’t know what a suicidal thought was
or that I had for most of my childhood been a threat to myself. I was
fighting the thought of my being and the anxiety of the words of external
pressures, their shadows slowly stalking my mind. But it was one thing that
made me realize a rather strange feeling I been longing for like the love of
Eros to the desire desperately to feel noticed. I was in my 7th grade art class
and we was creating pottery and could etch anything into the sides of our
clay pots. I stumbled upon images that reflected my interest in my culture. I
picked up Egyptian hieroglyphs and in the process something drew me
towards those pieces of paper. It was if I’ve resonated with those images
that they were a part of my soul and have been for quite a long time. So I
used them on my mug and ashtray, but it didn’t stop there. When computer
class started I would research these hieroglyphs in an attempt to further my
understanding of why these things had such a profound impact on my
young mind. This is when my eyes began opening, looking like a full moon
juxtaposed to the dark mood-less sky. I saw melanated individuals who took
the wind from me. I always wondered why I never saw anybody that looked
like me on the television and if I did, they were mostly athletes or
musicians. it wasn’t until the day that I saw the Egyptians that I knew that
there was more to my people and my heritage. I had the biggest smile on
my face, my shoulders relaxed and my soul, my soul felt whole. I always
believed that my history began and ended at slavery, that I was and always
will be just a N-Word to my self, my people and to other cultures that knew
their story, but now I knew mines as well. It was when I learned that piece
of time not explained to us in the history books that I made a decision to
father study my own history. So to this day I reach for further guidance
from my ancestors and look at them to show self pride in myself. I know
that when I’m down or have thoughts to do harm or anything else I can
meditate on the matter with them and they will find an answers. I’am not a
N-word or any other label someone could describe me as,I’am called Negus
now which is Ethiopian royal title that was historically used to refer to the
monarch or ruler of Ethiopia. I’am happy, I’am love, I’am whole and I’am
grateful to be a melanated soul on this earth.

Always grateful,
Rashan Speller

Dear, Unsealers:

The following poem is a flashback to November 2015…

In the early morning hours
I stepped off the plane in Madrid
After a long, turbulent flight across the Atlantic

As I see the window ahead of me
I’m on the other side, en el Aeropuerto Barajas
With daylight yet to break

It doesn’t look like I’m in Spain
But indeed I am!

All the waiting and anticipation led here
To these eight days, my first trip away from home
Madrid, Toledo, Granada, Sevila & Cordoba await

To think, this wouldn’t have happened
If I wasn’t told months earlier, “no”.

I didn’t know it then….
I would learn to love traveling solo, joining group trips

This was a celebration of turning thirty!

It took me a minute
a day to fully know what it is you were showing me
why it is you’ve been coming
where there was healing to be done
how to let it all go

So strange to see you, after all these years, I never expected you
bent over in that way, mooning me with your
huge, white, naked ass
head down, booty up
neck cranked, eyes fixed at me, wide salacious smile, teeth glowing
skin remarkably softer and younger
than possible

And those cheeks you spread, so cheekily
taunting me to look into the portal

I never understood why you hated me, viscerally and unendingly, it was shocking
you were the first
and as far as I know
the only one

So strange
because I’ve prided myself on not being hated
on being liked and loved by all
on conforming and contorting and accommodating
to ensure
that I was who I needed to be

As you well know
As I did for you too

Your hair and makeup, that day
your fury raged at the other infiltrator of your family unit
but I was accustomed to the seething darkness of your victimhood
that left spittle in the corners of your mouth, flushed skin, and beads of sweat
it didn’t frighten me

So I re-curled your hair
and re-did your makeup
so you could show up, with that callous, forced grin, haunting her polaroid memories
the day I won you over, but only for a moment

It never hurt that you hated me, though confusing as it was

I witnessed you suffering in feeding it, enforcing it, compelling it’s existence
you lost more than I, and it was never just me anyway

So when you began hanging around, making yourself known again,
mooning me in my sleep
I gave it to god in Kundalini, ego eradicator evoking quick resolution

Y-O-U
S-H-O-W-E-D
M-E
Y-O-U-R
A-S-S-H-O-L-E

I manically laughed
You’re An Asshole

Nothing more to know, to reflect on, to figure out about your hate towards me
what a relief to finally see you so clearly, showing me your truest truth

You’re an asshole

Because there was, as I already know, no reason for you to hate me
as viciously as you did
as ardently as you tried

I was never mad or hurt, and I know that made it worse for you
your hate was a gift you didn’t and couldn’t have given in any other way

For you gave me your son, all of him
in all his glorious codependency
and insecurity
and anxious attachment style
he chose me over you

Which was a blessing and
a curse
I had to choose him over me
but it wasn’t all that bad
as you well know
trustworthy devotion, and dedication, and steadfast companionship
we made a life of the love we had
as you watched from a distance

We made friends and community
and flipped houses into homes
and traveled the world
and dreamed, and schemed, and played
and laughed, and loved, and lived
as you couldn’t
and wouldn’t
and didn’t

And you
you gave me your husband
who regardless of your atrocious spite, adored and supported me, us,
in secret visits, in business contracts, in hushed phone calls
though I could never trust him, because he always stood by you
choosing you over his own children, his sister, his friends, his colleagues,
all that isolation you demanded

And you gave me your daughter, brilliant, beautiful, best friend
and her gorgeous family, those kids who I miss and love dearly

You gave me the family, that I didn’t have growing up
that had nice things, and big dreams

You gave me a safe place to heal
time to grow, and learn, expand my worldview

And I gave them a type of love you couldn’t
and they were hungry for it, they craved it
it was my pleasure to be so needed, so necessary, it was so natural
for I had trained my whole life to be who you weren’t

And I know you know, though you’ve been gone four years now
you don’t have to worry anymore, I won’t be touching your money
for I already received my inheritance
one that you couldn’t have foreseen giving so generously to me

And I know you know, that there’s one more gift
you cunningly presented last night
there is reflection to be had in that full moon of yours, that portal of a mirror

I
A-M
A-N
A-S-S-H-O-L-E
too

When your husband on that final day
hugged me with tears in his eyes and tenderness in his embrace
that made me feel as if he knew, before he knew,
that I knew,
I wasn’t coming home

When I left
I dropped all those fragile, beautiful, hearts you gifted me
brazenly,
euphorically,
erratically,
unceremoniously
shattering them to smithereens
as I freed my queer soul

It hurt that your son didn’t want to stay friends
but how could we
and I still don’t know how or if repair is possible with your daughter
or necessary
or that I even want it at this point

Because when I finally chose me, when I saw in the mirror of my soul, who I really was
I couldn’t not choose me
I had to go
it was the most known thing about me, I hadn’t known

So I give them all back to you, I offer them up on your ofrenda in gratitude
on this Dias de Los Muertos
I surrender them to you, they’re yours now not mine
as they never were mine to begin with
though I’m honored to have held them for some time

And I’m grateful that you came to me
to remind me
that we’re all H-U-M-A-N

In our own ways we intentionally, and unintentionally
hurt each other
hurt ourselves

Turns out my familiarity with your seething darkness, was a resonance with my own

Fragile beings, broken hearts, tender souls
contradictory love that requires fissures for expansion
and endless forgiveness for our messy human-ness
a tacky glue of feeble attempts at repairs
malleable enough to engorge again
demanding honeyed self acceptance that entices another go
until it breaks some more

So you’re right, thanks for helping me lighten the load
to remember that
to speak my truth
and embody my truest self
not everyone is going to like me
it’s time to drop the people pleasing

Thank you
for all your gifts
you have given me
for I know you loved me more than you wanted to admit
and
I
L-O-V-E
Y-O-U

Cause we’re all just a bunch of assholes

I meet Poe in Baltimore, conjure his ghost to walk with me through emergence on these the sacred cremation grounds of conjunction. Dear master of the great mystery, detective of misery, for I am at a loss, tell me friend, what is it I am hesitating to see?

Descending down the musky dim stairwell, hunched over, under the lowly late winter clouds, a ceiling over a magic carpet that smells of a century of toxic Sundays past, we trace the spongy fibers for a pattern.

I point where what once constituted a solid foundation set by calcination crumbled in remediation. He notes the breaking of the mold, a microbial invasion of total separation of past, and present, and future. I add the discernment of yours, and mine, and ours.

He gazes in amazement, slowly the probing shifts to the slate blue medallions of my soul. So thorough is my dissolution that he too cannot see anything, excepting the brilliant field of incarnation.

In confirmation, with mischievous smirk he lingers to lurk, the case is closed, but insists with raised brow offering an opening, how is it that I did it, wove such clarity and purity of heart and mind? I shift and make room, pull up the fringed edges, and off we go, I will show him the world.

It began in a land, of a caveman dug up and quelled by the flic of a bic amidst the rapturous demands for change that flew them east to the land of entrapment with the promise of a equine companion.

It began in a desert, wind blown sand and sun burnt land where total annihilation by trusted conquistadors sent me dehydrated and crawling to the river of lost souls to drink, and take my place up on the plateau.

It began in a forest, of pine and mortgage with a hidden heart I did my part and pushed the cart for seven long years along the Front Range plains, a loathsom, painful sojourn.

It began in a terrace, of hillside views that smelled of sewage as rotting entrails simmered and rapturous sores festered and swelled.

It began in a subtropical paradise, where land mines set off by tomb raiders initiated the liberation.

It began in a pandemic with masks synched tight, I dropped forty pounds of unclaimed baggage.

It began in a circle with a turbaned stock broker and initiation by a Jersey high priestess.

It began in a Creekside with a Gable House and strolls around the pond that told me I’ve already been here, I’ve already done this.

It began along the Underground Railroad when I followed the North Star to Maine.

It began in a gallied kitchen, in a cedar shala, on oxblood couches, in attic bedroom, on road trip sing-along, in hot spring waters.

It began on a Mountaintop Ashram with Santa Claus and a gift of 101 spotted dalmations for Valentine’s.

Until finally I learned to listen and landed here along the bay in the land of strong deeds, gentle words. Guided by book peddlers in Kansas City foretelling of business down east, further than my Portland plans, where the lobster turn to crab. I was directed to find a soulful white stead a local will hold the key.

I listened and spent Sunday with the Divine in spacious white light of muddy cacao, guided by Komainu friends and a message from goddess, for a victorious celebration of chiefs over miners.

I listened and took a gamble on the energy of money, initiating a new way of being. Witnessing the absurdity at what I choose to build, at what grandeur I demand, at the surprising contrasting nature that abounds.

I listened to Hello Kitty who tells me anything is possible when you have the audacity to ask for it and gives me a sleeve of colorful confirmation for haiku contemplation before I take leave.

I listened and went around the writers block to find nothing much to write home about, and rounded the corner to the pony express and successfully negotiated transportation of the guru to Chicago.

I listened four hours of four running to the promise land where blue skies of heaven sit gloriously on red rocks of earth. And grandmother reminds us children that it is our laughter that initiates our full incarnation in this tribal nation of conscious fleshy bodies, announcing our arrival from the otherworld- ha!

I listen in the round where I craft my next move, our laughter is muffled by the weight of priests and suppressed pride. And I can no longer stand the irritation of my womb wound, it must be known and said so loud and with conviction that the witch doctor is called to anoint and realign.

I listen to delays that abound as I’m weathered to the ground when the electric bird I am meant to board redirects me through motor city and so I arrive at a different port town in the dark bitter cold to continue the trek north. Where Rudolph and I lock eyes for a brief moment before going our separate ways.

I listen to the bang of the northern lights – a release of the final hold, a welcomed clearing revealing bright stars, glimmers of a vibrant future. I’m like a shooting star, I’ve come so far, I can’t go back to where I used to be.

I listen to my weary soul when Santa surprises me as I rise from the rocks at Bass Harbor. He points to tell me destiny lays just eight hours away across international waters. And Mrs. Clause joins us and conjures the fractals of the Atlantic and washes my worries away as the christmas bell tolls.

I listen to the whispers in the valley where hungry ghosts roam the corner lot and suddenly I am possessed by her distraught energy that he carries haphazardly no apology in sight. So I put on the chains and play the game and tell him hello. And receive in epileptic episodes a pregnancy announcement before a military occupation is attempted.

I listen to the townspeople deeming an exorcism necessary and I head eight miles in the snow both ways to Crommett’s where I get high on thick air and drop the despair in playful cartwheels on the edge of the Appalachian trail before heading back into town to roll with the fatties on the final walk through, a parting of ways with these nosey neighbors.

I listen in the silence of the lobster trap, retreating, and sit on the eastern prom looking north again for that fated star. Deja Vu of a dream time past, with people once known, who no longer feel like home. I know where I’m going but I must head west to head east to head west to head east. A most auspicious combination lock to my heart and destiny well kept.

I listen in consultation with American Big Foot, Canadian Grandfather Time, Italian St. Peter and his sidekick New Mexico Brie who all assure me this is the path, the indirect way, to make one’s own, and make it known, you too exist, you too have something to say, you’re well on your way, keep going.

I listen to changing heartbeat thumping notes and hesitantly drop into pequeña república dominicana and circle twice the radio tower before I meet the anarchist who tells me the future is in the morals of the children, and we easily agree on personal sovereignty. And Hope lingers faintly in the background, a most appropriate veiled appearance for a true cosmic mystic.

I listen that night as my face is drawn by a friend and delivered the next morning, and as if for the first time the beauty is revealed and I revel at the possibility, has it always been this way? And the raven haired witch confirms as we sip and nibble on afternoon tea before I head off to e in court with Queen Anne to charm and do what I do best and move on.

I listen to the rain wash my lungs of smoke-filled nights and remove my shoes and socks in delight as I traverse the tiles, the cobble, the dirt, and puddles alike to pray under the protection of Ganeshe’s umbrella so he may clear the path of new beginnings. And with the Aussies make offerings of sweet mothers milk to heal the bag lady and makeway for Japan where we will track the beats and join Beyoncé on the foray into country.

I listen at dawn and blow a kiss to Washington at the little red lighthouse and trade Blue Pearl for Black Pearl as I string my way south 200 miles on the Appalachian trail to Georgia where I’m caught off guard by Virginia waiting at the plot. And drop the smoking hitchhiker, with the pension for men late at night, down the manhole. And Carya calls from Texas and tells me to remove my shoes and asks me to sit while she tells me more about how the ancestors regard me.

Which sends me on my back, struck by grief and relief, and waves of possibility in reverence for this temporary life. From which I gingerly rise like the hills and roll back 40 miles to that hundred year row home of suffocated dreams, 1924 North Milton St, to pick you up.

I listen as I walk the Chesapeake to commune with the Visionaries and see the future from Telluride, an intergalactic assurance of prosperity, there is no turning back now.

I listen to ensure I’m cleared for takeoff into the vast expanse of sovereignty in solidarity but I drop into St. Lukes for a quick confession with the young priest, where he invites me for sacred ceremony to evoke the goddess in the circle of light to evoke the darkness.

I listen to crystalline bowls as I throttle into the great whiteness with pins in my ears and waves in my belly and rice on my eyes and beans to rest my head as rain and whales and birds and fairies carry me in delusional delight reigniting laughter.

I listen as Virginia writes, I’ve asked her for her blessing, to which she obliges, and slides me a note from Milarepa who assures me murderers get into heaven too. And for the second time I see that brilliant beauty again.

So tell me friend, now that I’ve taken you wonder by wonder, over, sideways and under, what is it you and your raven eye see?

I must conclude – Poe says as he eyes the legs of his aged drink and sinks into his well worn seat at his favorite bar – that’s quite a majestic horse you came in on. You no doubt my dear will go very far, for there is no limitation in the equation when you’ve packed your imagination. Protect that sacred intuition and trust only those most worthy, but have no fear my dear for you know as I know all that lives in the dark, boldly explore the unseen and allow that truthful light, the shadows are no shadows at all when you reclaim your birthright.

My childhood had exceptional ups and crummy downs. I also wasn’t the most well-mannered daughter. My mom always did the best that she could with what she had. Those are some of my best memories. Working 3 jobs and I was helping her with one. I could’ve done better, but I learned my lesson. I understand now that is how life is. One thing I also know now that I didn’t know then was that parents understand you. They know what they are talking about when they are having an important conversation with you, so make sure you listen. It’s for a reason and it doesn’t make sense at the moment. It makes little sense until later, when you least expect it.Ever since I can remember, we mainly lived in apartments and my mom was usually the on-site manager. It was always small communities, but it was home. I always enjoyed helping my mom and I would see my mom and how she was with the residents. At 16, she started having me help with a few tasks like answering calls, setting up showings, collecting rent and writing out the receipt. I hoped to be outside playing with my friends. Whenever my mom would ask me to help her, I would make faces. I was thinking my mom wouldn’t see. I just found out a few weeks ago that she knew all along. We can laugh about it now   It is something that I feel she was pushing on to me and was looking for other options to do after I finished school. I did one fast food job, which wasn’t for me. I had one retail job which also wasn’t for me. Since I had helped by mom, I had some experience in office work, so I got one job in property management. I was the leasing agent and who would’ve known that I would be so good at it? I stayed there for almost a little over 2 years.I moved and did retail pharmacy for 6 years; I did because I had to, not because I wanted to. The only bright side is I would see my coworkers. Property management was still a topic I would like to discuss. I’d offer advice to the customers when they’d mention something about the apartment they were living in. I quit my retail pharmacy job and didn’t know where I was going to next. It seems like no matter what I did, my heart was always with property management. I prayed and believed that if property management was truly my calling, an opportunity would present itself, considering my 10 years of experience.  I got hired by a temp agency telling them I wanted to try this again. Since it was a while, I preferred to go the temp route. I went to one position and I remember how excited I was to be there. That specific situation did not feel right, so I called the agency and they switched me right away. Speaking up instead of remaining silent was a moral decision, and I’m glad I made it. Because I respectfully advocated for myself, I accepted a temporary position with another company. I love to help and learn as much as I can, so I was excited to be a temp with this company. I have a tendency to ask what feels like a thousand questions. The people I would talk to were so helpful, understanding that I had limitations in my ability to help. I had to keep learning and continue to wait for an opportunity to show mainly myself that I can do it. The opportunity to prove myself showed up, and I showed out. It felt amazing to know I was on the right track. I got hired by the company. I worked for the company and gave it my all so much that my 1 year review was proof that I sure can do this and I succeeded. There was another opportunity that appeared and it was a company that I had worked for about 10 years ago. I love how life comes full circle. I didn’t have the experience back then that I did now.I ended up getting a job as an on-site manager. Once I was moving in, I called my mom. I told her thank you for showing me at the age that she did and for believing in me. I apologized for my behavior from when I was younger. It seems like my mom knew what she was talking about. She had seen something in me I didn’t and it took me time to believe that I can do it. I am so proud of myself for not giving up and believing in myself and being able to be a part of a community, just as I always have been. Home is where the heart is and for me, that’s being a part of a community. I am proud of myself for not giving up. It took sometime to believe in myself like my mom believed in me. I’d always remind myself that nothing worth having comes easy. If it was easy, then everyone would do it. That’s why it feels so great when you achieve it. Only you know how much you worked for that. No one sees your struggles behind closed doors and those are the toughest battles, but it’s ok you can do this because you deserve it.

To kids that’s struggles in school,

I was always that kid that stood out, the one that was just different from the other kids. I was either too energetic or too down. My hair was usually not brushed or taken care of, and my clothes were usually too small. Watching as all my classmates would get good grades and understand the lessons being taught, it began to affect me emotionally. I sat there feeling defeated every test, every report card, every honor roll ceremony. I gave my all to my work and just could not get it. I felt dumb and hopeless, and I gave up by about 7th grade.

As I walked through adulthood, I realized I was good at working. I have great leadership skills, and I can pick up pretty much anything that I learn quickly. A completely different me, I thrived (survived one might say) in adulthood. For about 10 years, I was a single parent to children who began to walk through the same educational difficulties as me.

I was sitting in a room with my oldest daughter, 7 at the time, doing homework when she screamed, “I’m so stupid!” her face resembled a tomato on a rainy day. This was just the beginning of my journey to advocating for my kids. Shortly there after, my daughter received an IEP, Independent Educational Plan. Within one quarter, she did a 360 with her grades. She was comprehending everything!

My oldest daughter is now in 9th grade, an honor roll student since 3rd grade, in an engineering program that will allow her to get an Associates in Engineering and her high school diploma simultaneously. She is projected to be the first college graduate on both my side and her dad’s side.

Along this journey of advocacy and educational equality, I’ve had to be my own teacher. I had to learn to be the student in order to understand the journey my children were on. My family and I faced so many barriers on this journey, each one becoming a necessary lesson to learn with very valuable knowledge. Today, I am on my 2nd IEP journey with my youngest daughter, and it is extremely empowering.

I’m able to offer so much to my children that I didn’t have access to. I’m grateful I get to show them my successes while watching them grow into these beautiful and brave human beings. Have faith and give yourself grace, but most of all, don’t give up! You can change where you’re at as long as you believe in you!

Yours truly,
Fellow Generational Curses Breaker

Dear Youth Me,

When people are asked to describe you, your no-quit attitude is the lead of your story. You almost quit writing this. Why?

You did not know what to write about and you have felt for the longest time that anything you do academically has to make up for the things you can’t do physically.

You have not quit countless of other times — and as much as you do NOT want to say this… this most DEFINITELY WILL NOT be the LAST.

So, before I move any further, CONGRATULATIONS to YOU for taking the time to look back and see what you have accomplished; writing this piece is TRULY a PRIME example of YOU NOT quitting!

Another example can be seen where you are right now, what ground are your feet hitting?

The ground of YOUR home; the place where YOU are staying by YOURSELF!

I do NOT really comprehend when someone says you have a NO-QUIT attitude because EVERY goal you set for yourself has one ending, SUCCESS (or at least a lot of them).

After graduating with your masters degree in Sports Journalism, it took you nine months to find a job and as much as you wanted one, you are lucky enough that you did NOT NEED one.

But you made a DEAL with your parents that a job equaled moving out.

As much as your PARENTS MOTIVATED YOU and still do, you found that job YOURSELF… congrats!

Keep on being you!

Your Youth Self.

Love,

Jake