Hi my name is
Nah that’s way too formal.

Hey wassup it’s ya girl
What am I a radio personality?

Hi. I’m LaShae.

Wait. Yeah that
That feels comfortable.

Hi. I’m LaShae.
La like the note
Shae like the butter.
And I’m
. . .
Blank

God says,
I am that I am
But if I said it
Would it be blasphemous?
Even if I am?
Because I am that I am
And
I am Joy.
I am Smile.
Brittany said it was creepy
That I smiled so much
But Brittany didn’t know
I hurt the same ways she did.
She didn’t know my smile
Was as much a resistance
As it was for her to get out of bed some mornings
She didn’t know
I kept my smile because
Tracy loved my smile.
Tracy loved my smile!
She said it was the most genuine smile she’s ever seen
Which is the best compliment
Because her smile
Was the most genuine I’ve ever seen.

I am peace
Except when I am hungry
And I am always hungry
Beware of Junior’s warning
You better feed that gal;
I am gal.
As sister says,
When hungry,
I am Hulk;
I am pitbull.
Ya girl just likes to eat
But when I am fed,
I promise
I will be peace
Like Mable taught me to be
Peace:
Not the absence of violence,
But the presence of Justice.
So if no Justice
No peace.
I am starving
Pitbull for peace
Ready to Hulk smash oppression
See, Mable
Mable was a child
When Newark went up in flames
See
You don’t watch your home go ablaze
And end up staying the same
No
You arm yourself
Yes, with the whole armor of God
Like your mother taught you
But also
With a thicker skin
That none of this heat can penetrate
And with a weapon
She chose a pen
Much mightier than a sword
Her ink writing for peace
Not the absence of violence
But the presence of Justice
Her ink filled with the blood spilled in her streets
And then she would come to teach
All the little children, and yes, even me
That the power is in connections
That is what Mable taught to me.

Barbara taught me to hold my own.
Pete told me Fret Not
But Pray if you feel alone
Latierra and Ricky
Both taught me to wonder
And Serena taught me
That dancing is greater than pain
Ali taught me God will find you
Even if you’re in the dark.
I never met Maurice,
But his love is always in my heart.
Ulysses taught me always learn first
And Davey taught me to dress my best
Even when they do their worst
Ron & Vette taught me to be loud
Lisa and Al taught me love knows no bounds
Dog taught me to keep my friends close
Mo taught me that royalty
Can come from a crack that bloomed a rose
And Holis, God rest his soul,
May not be blood
But taught me what a man ought to be

I know you asked about me
But I am an unfinished story
The moral of my life
Isn’t complete
But I am that I am
And I am pieces of
Every person I ever lost
A puzzle
Amassing to one lone thought:
Love.

2922 days, 417 weeks, 96 months,
the 8 long years it’s taken for me to know you,
was this born of hate?
is that why i find myself as resentful as i am?
i could never be numb to you,
i could never be apathetic to you,
i could never feel nothing for you,

hate or love,
hate or love,
hate or love,
and i can’t understand what’s in between,

there’s a house stoic hill,
woodland lonesome edelweiss,
just as you’d like
to which i arise,
to which you descend,
i dream about when i’m in the snow,

the house lives and breathes when i could feel the grass on my feet,
i heard you sing through a window ajar,
songs of seraphina,
you are the indescribable view of beauty,

as i open the front door to let myself in i kick the glue from my boots that keep me in place,
i step into rot and decay.
i feel the candles extinguish as i walk past,
i hear the weeping angles,
i smell the cankerous taxidermy,
my hands freeze from the arctic bite of the door handle as i let myself open to discover the indescribable,
asphyxiating from my ring you wear on your neck,
bleeding from my bite on your shoulder,
pale deficient from the dying sun,
the discord that drips from the welt of monstrosity,
why won’t god keep it out my head?
vomit inducing horror i would sooner be blind than see
disgusting shape of unknowable inhumanity,
emotion formed action,
building mountains on your skin,
you moan in pain from knowledge of thyself
but was it me who clipped your wings?

GRIEF
By. Kristina Gregson
Grief is a hard feeling to explain.
One does not truly know what to expect, until they are actually going through the pain.
The pain in the pit of your inner being.
The ache in your heart, feels like it could stop beating.
Your whole body aches with pain, leaving one feeling so drained.
Right down to the blood that flows through your veins.
A hurt, an ache, that can only be described as deep deep sorrow.
One that you know you will still have when you wake tomorrow.
The feeling of loss, the wish I would haves,
The wish I could haves, the wish I should haves,
That feeling of so much wasted time, that could have been spent with better rhythm and rhyme.
More smilies, more hugs, more laughter, more love.
More calls, more talks, maybe even a walk,
More dinners together, more special times.
That is what you wish when your loved one has ran out of time.

Birds still chirp their fucking hearts out on crap days,
Like a karaoke star who’s totally lost his way.
And flowers? They’re gatecrashing funerals with sass,
Whispering, “Was it our fucking fragrance, perhaps?”

People scatter when shit really starts to hit the fan,
Quicker than I say “fuck it” to my diet plan.
But the ride-or-dies? They stick like fucking glue,
Like that piece of gum on your shoe, never bidding adieu.

The moon’s up there, changing her damn mind,
Like me in front of the fridge, a late-night find.
So hey, give yourself a break, don’t stress the fucking phase,
We’re all just bumbling through life’s mad, crazy maze.

In the cracks and crevices, we find our fucking groove,
Dodging life’s big-ass feet, we move and we improve.
Escaping the drizzle, dodging the damn pee,
We’re the fucking misfits, making it, wild and free.

So when life feels as tough as a week-old fucking baguette,
Remember, we’re rocking this shit, no need to fret.
In this grand ol’ mess, we might seem fucking small,
But we’re damn well blooming, giving it our fucking all.

It’s like I’ve been trying to get somewhere my whole entire life, but
hitting every red light along the way.
ITS Like my brakes go out
thousands miles too soon.
And like I burn
thru way too much gas after filling,
and I can’t even trryyy to justify
the wear n tear of the motor.
I have Been spinning my wheel
and getting nowhere
for as long as I can remember.
I’m running on fumes.
My tires are bald.
I’m one blow out away from
swerving into oncoming traffic.
My dreams are in the passenger seat
with a broken seat belt, a drunken smile,
and an empty bottle of vodka
that I haven’t gotten the courage
to throw away.
I have a green valley
of possibility in front of me.
And a mountain of regret
in my rear view mirror!
I’m hoping there is just enough
in the tank to make it to the end of this road. CRASH

Dear Grandpa,
It’s been 11 years snice you’ve gone. I can still remember the night being so peaceful, so still, and so cold. I remember the day we laid you to rest. The snowflakes that fell that day were the biggest ones I’ve ever seen. I wanted to be one of the few who go to carry you to your final resting place, but I watched instead as my brother, cousin, brother in law, and a few others carried you instead.

I’ll never forget when my 18th birthday rolled around and I eagerly went to the gas station and bought a can of your grizzly wintergreen chewing tobacco. I took it to you grave and had lunch with you. The sun was shining and I was happy enough even though you weren’t with me anymore.

You were my best friend. The amount of days I skipped school just to hang out with you nearly cost me my graduation. The people at school frowned upon the week I missed when you passed. Said I shouldn’t have been gone that long and that I needed to be there from then on. What was I supposed to say? Grief has no time limit and I wasn’t capable of dragging myself out of bed to go be around people who never understood me. You always did though.

I wonder what you would think of me now. Would you still be proud of me? Would you still be able to sit in silence with me and just watch the tv? Would you still be able to look me in the eyes and tell me everything was going to be ok? You were my safe place in this world and even though it has been 11 years my heart still hurts. I yearn to hear your laugh, see your smile, and feel the warmth of your hugs.

I love and miss you so much, Grandpa.

Dear Tay,

Two disclaimers about this piece before I shoot my shot: actually, three. This is not a letter to Taylor Swift, not a ploy to be your man, and I am not calling you Tay to embarrass you!

So, who am I talking about? Two people, Taylor Rooks and Joy Taylor, both of whom are Black women in sports.

When thinking of these women, I won’t lie, they are very physically attractive and some may claim that this is why they are on TV.

They recently collaborated, co-hosting their podcast called Two Personal. Rooks and Taylor do a great job at their “daily job”(talking about sports) and giving a voice to others to express themselves.

In this joint venture, the duo are unfiltered, authentically highlighting the ups and downs of being a minority, especially in the sports world where being judged for superficial characteristics is the norm.

In the first few episodes, they have discussed topics that are, well… personal.

The episodes have included subjects such as pregnancy.

The theme of each episode is not why I am attracted to it, it’s that my personal takeaway is:

No matter what sport they are covering, the leading story about Tayx2 is not about the work the women do in the sports arena, to me, they portray that being a proud Black woman is what they want people to talk about when the conversation about them starts.

I’ve stated this before: sports was a way for me to hold my emotions in, and yes, you would be pretty hard-pressed to convince me that the final seconds of a game where the 16 seed has a chance to push off the 1 seed from “the dance floor” (March Madness pun) is not more heart-throbbing than when the final rose is given out in the Bachelor series.

But the two can co-exist.

So, thank you Joy and Taylor for showing that talking about the final few seconds of the game does not have to be substituted for talking about the first few seconds of my life. They can be on the same team “dancing” together!

Much Love & Respect,

Jake April

Photo credit: Two Personal Instagram Page

Mikaela Lauren Tick,

March 7th is your birthday. I was planning to post this on the 6th, as it would fit the theme… premature, or just because this is so hard to get through that I wanted to do it early.

Then again, it is the 6th in California, where my sister lives – who is due to give birth on the 9th.

So, who knows, she can be getting contractions as I write this! .

Hello future Weber,

For future comparison, please note: the line below details what time this sentence was written:
Sentence was completed at 9:33 pm 3.6.24 (PST)

I will see you soon!

Love,

Uncle Jakey💜

Anyway, back to the premature thing.

MLT YOU💜 ME because I was born prematurely at 1lbs 13 oz, giving me cerebral palsy – It feels really weird to be talking about myself in YOUR bday card, CONVENIENTLY weird!

Your favorite thing to do was to ASK me how I was doing and there to share all the moments with me🥲

Alright, let us get back to MYSELF🤔 I think that would make everyone happy😂

In all seriousness, you ARE at your HAPPIEST when the attention is on others. I’ll take it and run!

Our relationship iS STILL as close as ever!

I may not be able to physically hug you, but I know YOU ARE STILL HERE because I see the signs:

Whether it’s with family or things that I do, I do NOT doubt that you did not have anything to do with Lexi, finding a Jeffrey, Ryan finding a Pamela (I’m a little upset with that one because there is only one Pamela Tick, but that’s ok, Pamela’s maiden name is Katz (like Nanny Sheila’s)!

Me:
The Unsealed with LAUREN, my psychologist —who has a disability, and lost a cousin, my best friend, Mack, who I met at a special Olympics event!

In these ways, YOU ARE IMPACTING EVERYONE, ESPECIALLY ME, SHOWING ME, that love can be experienced by ANYONE, ANYWHERE, disability or not!

I would say, until we see each other next time, but I see you EVERYDAY!

Until I can give you a PHYSICAL HUG, sending all of them up into HEAVEN! That and a Black & White Cookie for Papa Donald!

I hated my dad’s classes. He would take out his “Black Tapes”, his Black Law books, and his printed-out thick packets of information from whatever minister or professor he liked then and turn on his computer. It was only occasionally, but the topics of our history always left me feeling uneasy. As I’ve grown, I realized it wasn’t his fault the topics were oppressive to deal with, but I am fortunate he tried to prepare me for the outside world I was entering.

He is good at that.

I was homeschooled and in one of our many classes, I remember he made my brother and I draw a circle on the page in front of us and write these words.

“The space inside this circle represents my realm of knowledge. All that I think I know about whatever I think know is depicted right here within this circle! I must keep in mind that there is more to know than what is within the circumference of my awareness.”

I admired his way of storing and sharing information. His eyes lit up when he had the chance to but other times, he just kept his head in a book or focused on the new installment of monitors on his desk; only to interact again when his friends were around. The people who seemed to matter most.

What he does to me, I do to him. Even though in the deepest parts of our hearts all we want to do is hug each other. We choose to dance around it. We hurt each other, but we do it with love. I know it makes no sense, yet it’s true. I say nothing to protect us and he tells me nothing to keep my image of him from being damaged forever.

Everything he taught me I absorbed. I stood on a podium and to 300 people. I told them that quote he told me. I made them make a circle with their hands and recite these words, again.

“The space inside this circle represents my realm of knowledge. All that I think I know about whatever I think know is depicted right here within this circle! I must keep in mind that there is more to know than what is within the circumference of my awareness.”

I saw him watch me and I could feel how proud he was without having to look. There are moments when I love him with my whole heart and there are moments when I can’t because it hurts. But I always listen to him, just like I know he listens to me.

I love you in the way rain always escapes the forecast. It surprises me how much I always forget my umbrella. I love you and it’s hard because it’s hard to love myself sometimes.

We talk and clash because we both want to be right and since he can’t respond I will part with a piece of his song:

A baby boy, amazing grace. The 20th of July, a special day. A father’s smile and mother’s tear. Through that special reunion, I appear. So full of life and so many dreams. Raised in the ghetto the eldest of three.

This sounds like me:

A baby girl, amazing grace. The 25th of July, a special day. A father’s smile and mother’s tear. Through that special reunion, I appear. So full of life and so many dreams. Raised in the ghetto the youngest of three.

And this part sounds like us:

Plans were made to visit Grandma and them. But underneath pops’ wings is where you’ll find me. Right before bed was the best of times. I swear moms can read a book and make it come to life. But maybe life pressure got to Mom and Dad. Made them change directions from the ones they had. Buckets of tears running down my face as I watch in pain my hero’s separating.

But with me and you, there are no separations.

I am a work in progress

Orphan baby that time stole

As I figure out my role

Though sometime just a hot mess

I try to find my true self

Racing time against its toll

Challenging my self control

While maintaining mental health

The haters and the lovers

Inspire my will to thrive

And my desire to stay alive

Lest I dive under the covers

So, in stepping out of bed

I take steps toward my goal

Like a newborn baby foal

To live life outside my head

Have I really been working on myself or did I just change from my work clothes to something more comfortable
Is this depression or is it just the pigment of my skin
Can I defeat you, detach from you or are you so fingerprinted to my thoughts that I’m simply running away from me
Sometimes I wish I could just escape me, myself wears a mask, and I am tired of getting dressed up just to still feel down
I’m black said my mind, I live in the shadows of sadness watching the sunlight from a distance
If only the heat from the suns smile would kiss me, maybe it would melt away my sadness
I’m black said my words, followed by you’re different, they won’t accept you, you don’t fit in
I’m black says the mirror looking at a reflection of depression
I get so lost in my waning emotions my waxing moon can barely breathe
It’s so cold that even the rays of light feel sad
I’m black, I’m depressed, I’m black, I’m oppressed, I’m black I’m obsessed with the idea of my feelings living on equal ground
I’m black, I’m depressed the two interchange while beginning to sound the same so much so I took depressions last name
When I look at me I see one broken piece
I can’t find the rest of the lyrics to my song, maybe it’s because the writer will never finish it
Maybe it’s because I didn’t cry enough to water my heart
I’m black, I’m dirt, but my soil is killing the last remaining rose
I am a rose with bloody red regrets for petals, I put my failures on a pedestal
So, every time I tried to look up it got me nowhere
I’m lost and I keep letting the grey line give me directions, because there’s a thin line between joy and happiness, and in the middle is pity where you can find me
I’m black so they think I stole these 5 minutes of happiness, and so what if I did everyone deserves 15 minutes of fame and mine is coming soon
But right now, I just want to smile and actually feel the laughter hold me instead of the facade that hugs me like a long embrace
This morning I stopped running and looked depression in the face
My mind is not yours it is the Lord’s
p.s. let the battle begin

As a writer, I often find myself discovering scraps of writing I have jotted down somewhere, or suddenly, a line will appear in my head that doesn’t fit anywhere or doesn’t feel good enough. Sometimes, I foolishly let it fly away because it wasn’t what I was looking for at that moment. I have pondered how we do this with so many things. We set expectations and order and refuse anything that breaks the pattern, even if the thing we are shooing away isn’t harmful but is healing. We become so strict within ourselves that we become the cause of our discomfort. We search for relief in one way and refuse to accept that anything other than that specific thing will help. There is a calming effect that comes with the familiar, but only because one thing helps us, it doesn’t mean something else won’t. Here is a little silly analogy. Only because you love fries doesn’t mean you can’t like mash. It doesn’t mean mash isn’t satisfying, even if fries are your favorite. The same goes for everything in life. Are you feeling sad? Then you probably know something that can help, but if you are being entirely honest, can you say you are open-minded and open-hearted to other options? We tend to dismiss things before attempting them and convince ourselves that something else won’t work until it stands no chance. I was against exercising for so long. Told myself that I hated it and did so with such intensity I couldn’t let myself feel how I genuinely felt. There was no benefit because I refused there to be one. I was determined for it to fail, so it failed; however, when I let go, gave it a chance, and approached it with openness, I learned it does a lot for my mental health. This is one example of many. It is strange how this links with my writing and how I have started writing down the notes I would abandon before, and the results have been incredible. Instead of telling myself they are awful and brushing them out the door, I let them stay a while. I give them room in my notepad and let them ruminate.
In summary, I am saying we are terrible at giving things chances, and we should open ourselves to everything. It is okay if you give something a genuine attempt and it doesn’t work out for you, but please try it. Download the running app, try those HIIT workouts, make that recipe you’ve been unsure about, and write the poetry you are sure will suck. In celebration of this, here is an ending of a poem my brain created that doesn’t have a body yet. Hopefully, one day, it will.
“Please call back later
I’m trying to sleep off the silence
And if you don’t understand
what I’m saying
Congratulations
You’re cured.”
(If you like this letter, I write these weekly on my website. I will post more here also, so make sure we’re friends.)