Doubt

Webster's Dictionary defines doubt as, " to be uncertain about; consider questionable or unlikely; hesitate to believe".

As a human being and as an artist, I am constantly plagued by doubt.

It often masks itself as self-criticism but in reality, I doubt myself.
I doubt my creative abilities.
I doubt my course in life.
I doubt my intelligence.
I doubt my significance to the world.
I doubt the importance of my words.

I doubt, doubt, doubt...all the damn time.

But why?
Why do we doubt ourselves?
What causes us to believe that we cannot put faith in ourselves?
What causes us to question or distrust the impact that we have on the world around us?

As artists, we live to create.
We yearn to express.
And yet many of us (including myself) are unable to simply face the fact that we are talented.
We have been given gifts that allow us to touch others with our voices and our words.
We are able to capture the very essence of life in a snapshot or a portait.

And yet many of us continue to believe that we are not good enough.
Our work is not good enough.
And many times, inside I feel as if I am not good enough.

However, I am taking a stand today.
I refuse to doubt any longer.
I refuse to believe that I am not gifted, talented, beautiful, and wonderful in every way.

Take that stand with me...

Has "The Dream" been fulfilled? No!

...and I wish media outlets and the African American community would stop saying that.

[Now before every little teeny bopper that watches CNN and has an Obama t-shirt starts to bite my head off, please READ [not skim!] what I have to say and then comment.]


Ok so as I was saying, "The Dream" of Dr. Martin Luther King has not been fulfilled with the election of President Obama. Now, I'm a major supporter of Barack Obama and I do think that his election is definitely a step in the right direction. But what people need to realize is that "The Dream" and the movement does not end here. It cannot end here. The Black community is still being treated unfairly and unjustly within the United States of America and while this is a start, we have to BUILD on this movement.

We cannot put all of our faith, hopes and dreams into one leader. We ourselves must be leaders as well. If our history has shown us anything, its that the Black community has to take control of their own destiny instead of waiting for a leader to mobilize behind. Because when that leader is gone, what happens to the movement? When Dr. King was killed, the movement stalled. When Malcolm X was killed, the movement stalled. When the Black Panther Movement was crushed by the gov't, the movement stalled. The Black community has a tendency to gather behind leaders but when those leaders are gone, we scatter in different directions once again unable to come together.

To quote President Obama, ""Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek."

Is it May yet?

I feel...claustrophobic.

As if, if I continue to stay here...in this dull Virginia town surrounded by close-minded and ignorant people...I will eventually suffocate.

I just have so many thoughts and ideas locked inside of me.
Waiting to burst out...

I'm tired of being surrounding by people who look like me but will be able to understand me. People who wave and laugh and smile...only to sneer and jeer behind my back. Tired of rubbing shoulders with the so-called "Young Black Elite" (which really means a bunch of kids who are throwing around Mommy and Daddy's money).

I'm yearning for a change.
Desperate for an escape.

Ugh... Save me from my boredom.

The Cost of Innocence

...and I feel as if someone owes me.
Who? I'm not quite sure.
But somewhere along the line
someone broke something inside of me
and they should have to pay for that.
You break it, you buy it right?
So what exactly is
the price of a young girl's innocence
or the cost of a broken heart?
It would be impossible for me to
add up all the tear filled nights
and moments of inadequacy
and I don't think I could face the pain
of trying to calculate the cost of
years of confusion and self-hatred.
Drinking...
Smoking...
Cutting...
Fucking...
All to ease the pain of being a victim
Wishing I could take control of my own life
but I stopped being in control
when he said yes
and I said no.
"Whore..."
"Slut..."
"Too fast..."
"Too grown..."
What is the price of realizing that
your own family hates you but loves you
at the same time?
The price of knowing that they wish
they didn't have to look at you
because then they could forget about your shame.
Yes, YOUR shame
because it's all your fault.
Who are you to talk about the family's business?
Who are you to accuse a family friend of rape?
Who are you to hurt...to feel...to die inside?
I was just a child.
A scared, confused child.
A broken child.
Wishing that someone could explain to me
the things that I was far too young to understand.
Begging someone to explain to me
why my family wouldn't come to my rescue
at a time I needed them the most.
Pleading with someone to make me understand
why I felt so dirty and ashamed and disgraced
when I didn't do anything wrong.
Yes, someone owes me.
But who?
Is it him?
Is it them?
Or could it be that I simply owe myself?

Speak.

I'm headed for greatest.
I feel it in my soul.
And I love it.

I love knowing that
one day a young woman will read my memoir
and cry.
Not tears of sadness
but tears of relief
because finally she knows that
she's not alone in her struggle.
There is someone out there
that also hurts as much as she does...
Someone else who fought her own demons and won.
My heart is warmed by the notion that
my writing may serve as inspiration, motivation...
or that one day it may serve as a source of controversy.

Add me to the long legacy of great writers
that have laid down a path of literary gems before me.
Allow me to contribute to a tradition
that heard the song of Maya's caged bird
and the weary blues of Langston.

Allow me to express my voice...
Allow me to speak.

My Nappy Roots

Sooo yeah... I did it.
I did the thing that Black women aren't supposed to do...
The thing that both men and women find somewhat unattractive...

I cut my hair.

Sure, it doesn't seem like a big thing but to a woman who's been permed and pressed all of her life... its HUGE.

And I love it.
I never expected to.
I just did.

I love being apart from the crowd.
Love knowing that my hair is on its way to being healthy again.
Love knowing that I can truly say that I'm a natural beauty.

I'm just surprised by all the shady looks and whispers especially since I go to an HBCU.
I was quite taken back by the stares and the confused looks.

But hey, I guess thats just how it is.

First Day of Class Blues... :-(

Ugh, its the first day of class.
This sucks so bad...

After a month of nothing but lounging around in PJs and snuggling with my sweetheart, I'm back in Hampton. Lord, help me!

But its also the beginning of the end... the last semester of my college career and I couldn't be happier. I'm ready to get OUT! Ready for graduation!

Can't wait... Just can't wait.

And My Award for Best New Artist is...

DUKE!



I love this guy and I have no problem saying that my opinion of him is totally biased because he's one of my close friends. It really doesn't matter that I already think highly of him, his talent speaks for itself.

Voice? Heavenly...
Style? Psst, you must not know...

He is a mix of Kanye and Justin...
The next creative sensation in music.

So proud to call him a friend.
Even prouder to call him a fellow artist.

Conversations about her...

How often do you hear someone talk your mother in the past tense?
Share their memories with you in hopes to ease the pain inside of you...
Try to appease you with pleasent memories to block out the negative ones.

I can be nonchalant about alot of things but I can't be nonchalant about this.
It made me smile to see how memories of my mother have such a powerful impact on others.
It makes me happy to know that her memory lives on.

But still, it makes me feel even more distant from my family.
Knowing that only this one bond connects us and that we are only joined in our sorrow.

My family doesn't understand me and honestly, I don't think that they want to.

But in their own way, they do understand my sorrow.

Can someone buy me...

this great freakin journal...



and this coffee table book...



and this novel...

Do you realize...

...that we are a part of the new Black Renaissance.

We are a part of the new generation.
The fulfillment of a dream
that was whispered on the lips of slaves.

Our people are masters of every industry
and everyday we are branching out even further
and leaving our marks on new frontiers...
and planting our roots in deeper soil.

The New Nikki...
The New Amiri...
The New Sonia...
The New Zora...
The New Langston...

We are a piece of a broken legacy
and though some dreams have been shattered
we are slowly but surely re-forging our bond
and strengthing our base
and just when you don't expect it..
a change is gonna come.

I mean a Black man is President...
Do you hear me?
I said my President is the same color as me.
Now tell me I'm not bad...

All I want for Christmas is...

These bad muthafuckas right here....



Annnnnnnnnnnd.....

This bad ass bitch...Owww!...

मोथेर

I miss my mother.
Miss her in an insane way.
I miss the scent of her skin...
The warmth of her breath...
I just miss her so much.

I often worry that one day I may forget her.
The small details of her are starting to fade
and I can't help but wonder
if one day I'll totally forget.

I don't want to.
I don't want to forget my Mama.
I treasure our memories.
But they are starting to fade faster than Autumn fades into the cold of Winter.
What am I do when all of my memories are gone?
Or should I simply pull one out and lock it away for safe keeping...

So I'll never, ever forget...

What about your friends....?

I miss my friends.

Not the ones that I have now but the ones I've lost over the years.
Its just hard to understand how people that I once cared so much for simply drifted out of my life.
and I'm always left thinking the same thing...
Is it me?
Did I do something wrong?

I'm not just talking about associates or people I just used to see out and about...
No, I mean I've lost friends...
People I talked to every day for years.
People who helped to shape who I am as a person.
I've lost friendships that I treasured more than anything.

But how?
What exactly happened?
How do friendships just fade away and die?
Why do people just leave without bothering to say goodbye?

I know I'm guilty of doing that but only when I felt it was extremely necessary.
Only when I didn't have a choice.
I can't stand feeling suffocated.
and when I feel like I can't breath
I just need to break away.
With Tyra and Kid, I just needed to break away.
I needed to just get away from people who weren't beneficial to my life at all.

But those weren't even friends.
Those were girlfriends.
The only friends that I've been guilty of leaving are Moe and Gina, which are ironically two of my oldest friends.
Its hard to explain but I knew I just needed to step away from them for a min.
With Moe, she was caught up in a life that I didn't want anymore.
I didn't want any of that drama and I thought she would understand but she didn't.
And she still doesn't.
I always wonder what would happen if we ever happened to see each other.
Would we speak?
Would we just walk away as if we were total strangers and then later regret not pausing to acknowledge that at one point we were friends?
Or maybe we would lash out at each other because neither of us can accept that both of us are to blame for the demise of our friendship.
Who knows...

And Gina was and still is my best friend, my rock.
She's been there for me through so much.
But we just kinda grew apart.
We're on two different paths and I hate feeling ashamed of how smart I am when I'm around her. I feel bad that I'm in school and that she's kinda stuck in a tough spot.
Most of all, I get upset because I'm tired of feeling different.
Tired of people telling me that I talk, act and dress different.
Tired of hearing how much I've changed.

And really...is there anything wrong with change?
Why should I be forced to stay the same?
If I don't change, how can I ever grow?


And in other news....

All is well with Jae and I.
Gosh, I dig her...
I mean I really dig her...

I enjoy just sitting with her
Listening to her thoughts flow
Resting my head on her shoulder
while she shares her opinions about this and that.
Today we both shared how we both could never imagine getting into an argument.
Thats how strong our bond is.
I could never imagine yelling at her or fighting with her.
I could imagine deliberately saying hurtful things to wound her spirit.
I just couldn't...

I'm super excited about Thanksgiving and of course, her birthday is coming up too.
*sigh* My beautiful Saggitarius...
I can't believe that this is really happening.
I'm finally in the relationship that I've waited my entire life for.
I have a woman who adores me.
Treasures me....
The thought of her fills my heart with so much joy.

Gosh, I love this feeling...
Its awesome.

Introducting...Me :-)

I've had a million blogs.
and I've never been able to keep up with them.
My thoughts always come out
in erratic bursts of creativity
and just like the typical Gemini
I'm always changing my direction...
but one thing remains constant:
My love of words.

I love words.
I love language.
At the center of my being,
I am a writer.
When I talk, I talk as if I am writing.
When I read, I read from the perspective of a writer.
I am a writer...
in every sense of the word.

I recently had an epiphany
(...and by recently I mean today, lol)
that I will never be able to produce
the beautiful fictional story that lies within me
until I am able to first write my story.
Meaning that until I find a way to
take my personal history and put it down on paper
I will never be able to fully tell the story of any character.
I will never be able to write from the perspective of another
until I am able to document my own journey...in words.

I realized today that at the heart of being
is one question that I have yet to find a sufficient answer for.
As the great Dr. Valerie Prince expressed in a lecture today...

"All writing begins with inquiry... you don't have the answers, you just have the questions and through the process of writing you are vigorously searching for an answer".

So, I took a step back and asked myself: What question drives my writing? When I write, what is it that I want to know? What am I truly trying to express through my words?

And amazingly, the answer is simple.
When I write, I'm asking one question.
Who am I?

Who am I as a person?
Who am I as a daughter?
Who am I as a sister?
Who am I as a woman...as a Black woman...as a Black lesbian?
Who am I?!

It is this question that tears at my heart's strings.
It is this question that keeps me up at night.
It is this question that literally makes me write because not only am I trying to show others who I am, but I am actually trying to discover the
very
same
thing.

It is the question of identity. Where do I come from? Who do I come from? How did I get to this point in my life? And now that I'm here, who I am?

Thus, after figuring out the question, I realized that I needed to seek an answer using the appropriate literary mode: a memoir.
Yes, I'm only 21 but I need to write a memoir.
I need to tell my story.
I need to get this story...my story... out of my head.
I need to recount the memories which have plagued me. I have to write down the story of my broken childhood in order to continuing growing.
The memory of my past is holding me hostage and in order to free myself, I must write this story.