In BOOK ONE, I addressed the raw-nerve pain. But I also told you I was leaving that space. Even though it was far more defeated crawl than bold march forward, it was/is movement. And I’ll take it.
I’ve been working on a series of essays about the mothers, sisters, and other loved ones of Black boys like Michael Brown, John Crawford, Travyon Martin, Darius Simmons, and girls like Renisha McBride.
While I heal from the inside, I feel rage for their Mamas. Women whose journeys toward healing broken may be miles in the making.
Let me start with me, and then work my way toward doing what I can for them. And for us.
:: BOOK TWO ::
HOW I’M CRAWLING OUT OF MY FUNK
A Yasiin Bey interview that showed me a being who decided early to be successful.
And did it without compromising his voice.
Plenty of Music Therapy via:
And Natalie Stewart
And Bob Marley
And Mark “Buju” Myrie
And Frank Ocean
And Drake, at times
Louise “Miss Lou” Bennett Coverly
A painting I watched Kingman complete.
Because it meant he wasn’t quite as detached from his dreams as I was fast-becoming.
Watching Jon “Bones” Jones in mastery of his craft via his highlight reel.
Kettle Brand’s Sea Salt & Vinegar chips.
Emails and text messages to schedule check-in chats,
and written commitments to being here for me. From you.
And I am remembering to write.
But not just to write.
To write myself out of the raw nerve spaces,
so that I do not drown.
And the more I crawl toward writing,
the more the dark spots begin to spread.
The more my melanin works its magic,
and heals me through words and wailing.
I am beginning to remember that the fog is the funnel.
The funnel that helps me remember that I am not only loved,
I am love.
And love is my only real super-power.
Not strength, not courage, not even curiosity;
Love. And I know how to be and receive that.