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If a Sequoia...

be

1/26/2019

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to that stillness 

that silence that 

looked and tasted sweet

that amplified itself in every 

leaf shaking their past away  

across the lake

back to that pause

back to that sigh 

back to that space

in between tree trunks 

and lake bottoms 

between then and now 

between now and there

I go back 

I can always go back
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weather for the indifferent: episode 3

1/22/2019

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These blog posts are for the weather deniers who never check the weather before walking outside. Luckily, meteorology is one of my muses and my co-workers supported my condensed weather updates for NYC so much, I decided to share them. You're welcome. ​

​I hope everybody stayed warm on Monday because...
that was a mess...
But you knew it was coming so I'm sure you were in better shape than most! 
I know some of y'all are asking...
What happened to the snow?
What happened to the "storm"? 

via GIPHY

WHAT HAPPENED WAS... temperature won this fight. Because of the high temperatures from the south, we received rain, no snow. The winds were still furious and in some parts snow did make an appearance... But all in all, the temperature saved us... until Monday of course. I was so tempted to email you all when the Winter Storm Watch turned into a Winter Storm Advisory. That is when I knew the storm was not going to pack the same punch. For the record, there are 3 levels for winter storms notices issued by the National Weather Service (NWS). Here are my translations:

Winter Storm Advisory: I ADVISE that you look at the weather when you're free, just in case 
Winter Storm Watch: Please check the weather because it might affect you in the next 48 hours 
Winter Storm Warning: The storm is coming!! Get your sh*t together and buckle up kids!!  

The NWS has very specific criteria for when these are issued, which can be problematic when conditions don't exactly add up. But if you saw a Winter Storm Watch be demoted to a Winter Storm Advisory this past weekend, you could guess that Winter Storm Harper wasn't coming for NYC with her A game.
Moral of the Story:
Weather will continue to be a mysterious process
to those who continue to not pay attention. 

via GIPHY

But What About This Week? 

The good news: It will heat up this week! the forecast calls for a high of mid-50's on Thursday! Although, we will get some rain from Winter Storm Indra. 

The bad news: The arctic air will be back and with that comes chances of snow or a disgusting mix of snow and rain, so don't get too comfortable with the higher temperatures because come this weekend...

More good news: The winds are not going to be nearly as brutal as they were Monday... for now.... 

That's all I got! Will update you when I know more! Have a great day! 

via GIPHY


This condensed weather report is informed by my constant research of weather  updates, trends, and news on the Weather Channel. I am only a meteorologist in spirit. Check with the Weather Channel or your local weatherperson (my favorite is Pix11's Byron Miranda) if you want to double check my work.

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WEATHER FOR THE indifferent: episode 2

1/18/2019

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These blog posts are for the weather deniers who never check the weather before walking outside. Luckily, meteorology is one of my muses and my co-workers supported my condensed weather updates for NYC so much, I decided to share them. You're welcome.   

Winter Storm Harper: It's Now a Game of Chance 

via GIPHY

And what I mean by that is now we have to pay close attention to the temperature to help determine how much snow we are going to get. That first storm passed over us with just a few flakes. Winter Storm Harper will be coming in Saturday late afternoon/evening and will be bringing around 6 hours of snow (maybe more). But when will it turn to rain is the main question meteorologists are trying to predict. Let's look at the models (via Pix11 News): 
  1. RPM Model: 3-6 inches snow 
  2. European Model: More rain than snow (2-4 inches snow) 
  3. NAM Model: More raining than snow (1-2 inches snow)
  4. Canadian Model: More Rain than snow (1-2 inches snow) 

This also depends on the winds and which direction they're shifting. If wind comes from the south: high temperatures and more rain. If winds come from the north: lower temperatures and more snow. It's all a gamble right now. The weather is going to do what the weather is going to do. 

via GIPHY

Moral of the story:  This is not the time to look at your weather app real quick for the weekend and pretend you know what's coming because anything can happen. 
Be vigilante and you won't be caught slippin' (pun intended). 


​This condensed weather report is informed by me always researching weather  updates, trends, and news on the Weather Channel. I am only a meteorologist in spirit. Check with the Weather Channel or your local weatherperson (my favorite is Pix11's Byron Miranda) if you want to double check my work.

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Weather for the indifferent: Episode 1

1/16/2019

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These blog posts are for the weather deniers who never check the weather before walking outside. Luckily, meteorology is one of my muses and my co-workers supported my condensed weather updates for NYC so much, I decided to share them. You're welcome.    

Precipitation is Coming! 

via GIPHY

1. Two Storms headed our way

Yes, two. I already know what you're asking: Snow or rain? It is hard to predict. I would prepare for both. The first storm, is going to be relatively quick in its travel, coming in late evening Thursday into Friday. Expect a mix of both snow and rain for your commute Friday morning. 

Storm #2 has a name, Harper, and comes to us all the way from the West Coast traveling cross-country with an abundance of snow, ice, and traffic jams! Harper will be with us Saturday afternoon through Sunday with a mixture of snow and rain. But once we hit Sunday night... 

via GIPHY

2. The Polar Vortex Awakens...

For those of you who don't care to know but are going to know anyway... The Polar Vortex is a cone of low pressure over the North Pole that traps the arctic air where it is most appreciated... over the North Pole... Unfortunately for all of us, that vortex broke and that arctic air is leaking out and coming right for us, which is why the Sunday night low will be a whopping 7 degrees. Monday? The high will be 18 degrees. That is without the windchill. With the windchill, we are looking at temperatures possibly in the negatives. But do not fret, the arctic blast will pass and we will be back to normal cold by Tuesday (hopefully). 
Moral of the story: 
Now is the time to dress accordingly. 
These temperatures are nothing to mess with. 
If you got the gear, wear it!. If you don't, get some! 

via GIPHY


This condensed weather report is informed by me always researching weather  updates, trends, and news on the Weather Channel. I am only a meteorologist in spirit. Check with the Weather Channel or your local weatherperson (my favorite is Pix11's Byron Miranda) if you want to double check my work.

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Bird box: Fear will not win in 2019

1/10/2019

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via GIPHY

Some movies reach beyond your need to escape, rest, or just zone out. Some movies tap into something personal, making you pay attention, sit up, and check in with yourself. It’s unexpected and almost intrusive. You’re in a movie theatre or at home and all of a sudden you are hit with a realization regarding yourself or your humanity that you forgot in the hustle and bustle of the days, months, or years. Movies (and art) like this create space for you that you had no idea you needed, and you become shocked by the vulnerability. Movies only sometimes surprise me like this. Moana was the last movie that had me in a theater with tears in my eyes because I too am a raging volcano earth-quaking for a more gentle approach to what it means to be a (Black) woman in this world (I know I wasn’t the only one!).

Netflix’s Bird Box, based off of the book by Josh Malerman, was another surprise. What drew me to watch it was the memes on Instagram I didn’t get and my two favorite things: psychological thrillers and apocalypse movies. That is all I expected to engage with when it started. However, once it was over, I found myself sitting in an inspiring comfort with an affirmation that fear doesn’t have to win this year.

Say what you will about the writing, acting, or the fact that Machine Gun Kelly and his boo are never mentioned again after stealing the car, Bird Box encapsulates FEAR in its most elusive form:​


  1. An entity that you cannot see or verify, but you can feel
  2. Once you engage with it, it seems impossible to imagine anything else but your worst fears coming to life
  3. When you give in to fear, you lose all will to even try to live outside of it
  4. Once you decide that you are NOT going to be afraid, fear is right there in your ear trying to convince you that your courage means nothing and fear is the better and safer option

If that is not a perfect personification of fear at its worst! And I’ve known that formless entity for a while now. It snuck up on me when I changed jobs a few years ago. I locked eyes with Fear and my days hazily passed over me with all the failure that was sure to ensue because I dared to dream of a life in New York City where I was thriving in my mission to create sustainable change in education through art. Some days, in my bed, in the dark, and unemployed, I was convinced that in a matter of minutes I was going to be homeless and on the street. No one-I mean NO ONE could convince me otherwise. I was a zombie like the rest of them. Just like in Bird Box. Hypnotized by the fear. And Sometimes fear wins. The entity completely consumes us or our loved ones and we are out of reach. Bird Box wasted no time reminding me how that felt. However, at the same moment, the movie personified what it looks like when you tell fear to STFU. Malorie (Sandra Bullock) in the forest with the entity closing in and the voices begging her to look, while her children are separated from her. She yells: You will not take my children.

That is the mood I want to bring into 2019. 

Fear is not going to take anything dear and precious from me this year. Fear is not going to convince me that my world is over if I take one more step. Although I may not be able to eradicate fear indefinitely, I can enhance my voice to confirm my truth (some call it faith, love, God, the Divine, etc.), which is not based in fear. I will be able to see what is on the other side of fear this year. It has been my experience that when I make decisions and walk forward in spite of fear, I am met with something that enhances my life and purpose beyond my expectation, which is the exact opposite of what fear convinces us is going to happen.  

Like I said, I was just trying to watch a movie about the end of the world and understand what all the memes were about. I was not trying to be inspired to confront my fears this year and be fearless. But that is what happened. Hence, this year I will keep the blindfold on when fear tries to convince me to not move forward in my career, love, goals, and dreams. I will not keep my mouth shut when claiming what is for me. I will listen to my intuition and the voice I know is connected to my truth. I will nourish that voice so that it is louder than the entity and I will keep goin. I do not expect to always be invincible in the face of fear, but rather empowered to live and thrive despite it.
​
Make no mistake, there is a lot that one could be afraid of going into 2019, especially as a person of color or a member of any other marginalized community forced to convince the world of your humanity. Be warned, the entity can take the form of a country trying to suffocate us; trying to convince us that there is no hope and nothing we can do; trying to distract us with pursuits of the absolute right and righteous way to pursue a just world, instead of forging that world for ourselves. Fear will try to convince us to wait our turn, to believe in fear itself to keep us safe in the interim and pretend we are comfortable the way things are now. I think I speak for all of us when I say: 

Fear, you can STFU.  


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#BlackGirlAngry: A Black Woman's Relationship to Anger

12/6/2017

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By Tayllor Johnson
​Photography by Ademola Davis
There is not going to be a 30-day yoga challenge at the end of this. No juice cleanses. No listicle of best places to buy sage or Groupon deals for spa treatments. No meditation social media accounts to follow. The rising heart rate, the shaking hands, the tears just waiting–no begging to be released, the clenched fist, and the gritting teeth are going to sit in these pages, just as they are; because they have been hidden in too many of us for too long. 
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I do not remember when it started; when I realized that I was angry. It was only recently that I have found anger bubble up and make herself known in my everyday life. One night after a long day at work, I came home, kicked off my shoes, and leaned on my bed checking my messages and peeking at my Instagram explore page, like I usually do. And what was once nothing but puppies, nature posts, and some celeb gossip became a flood of a real fights caught on camera or a reality TV smack down carefully captured at the first hit. Since when was my explore page so violent? I asked myself. And without thinking I clicked on the 60 second fight: “Moniece Slaughter vs. Princess” and the spiral into projected anger began. Video after video–there was something about these brawls that I identified with. There was a part of me that wanted to release and snap too, but at who and for what? These Instagram algorithms were telling an alarming story of where my anger was going and how much I had.

​The list of things to be angry about as a Black woman living in America could go on and on and on… This is not new news. Our bodies, identities, wallets, and culture are constantly under attack by legislation, White Supremacists, Homophobes, Transphobes, Colonizers, and sometimes the people closest to us. We spend as much of our time, as Black woman, fighting for space as we do trying to enjoying it. Then we spend energy in that same space looking to heal from a country founded on our blood and bones and hungry for more. Add patriarchy coming for our womynhood or our vaginas and ovaries... we start to search for a space to recharge if nothing else. For some of us, it is not as simple as just being “home” or getting coffee with a friend. If you are like me, 3 jobs and working on a Master’s degree, space and time become a complicated relationship and finding a place to exhale within it all can feel like an impossible task. Yes, the fatigue is 4-dimensional, from all angles and sides. Some of us choose to take that fatigue and fight. Then we are met with erasure within our successes, as if we never started that movement, offered that thought, or contributed to America and its history in any way. Yes, we are angry,
and frustrated and hurt and determined and another word that has yet to be discovered.

What puzzled me most about my anger was that I hadn’t gotten a chance to know it until now, at 24 living in one of the least patient cities in the world. It became important to me that I know what my anger looked like and sounded like­ before it revealed itself outside of my control and I too became a 60-second video. My mentor warned me years before: “If you do not access your anger and release it, you will hurt someone.” And if any city was going to unlock my anger, it was going to be NYC. Anger and frustration are not strangers here. In Los Angeles, my hometown, I can only assume their anger and angst are locked in their cars with them, so I never got the chance to engage with millions of souls in a rush. Living in New York, you either witness rage or you are tempted into it. There was a moment when my partner got into an altercation with a woman on a packed train and something in me snapped, as she continued to yell obscenities at him. I found myself shouting back: “YOU ARE IRRELEVANT! WE ALL WANT TO GO HOME. SHUT THE F*CK UP!” I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of my mouth and the words that kept wanting to spew out. Yes, if there was any time to become friends with my anger and articulate her on my own terms, it is here and now.
​

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My anger is historical, political, personal, and spiritual. My anger is quiet but fierce; she comes from trauma; she is fueled by patriarchy and White supremacy; she is fed by the fear that America will succeed in killing me, my family, and my people. My anger is human. But when you are Black, it is more often than not a caricature to feed an idea. It becomes entertainment for the masses or propaganda to feed the fear that Black is unpredictable, uncivilized, and wild so we should shoot first, make excuses later. A Black person moves and the world flinches like we are walking land mines. Black women have not been given the opportunity to articulate their existence in their own words either. We are told we are “too much”; that we need to calm down and then, right before our eyes, our Womanhood is being commodified and monetized in mass media under drama, violence, ghetto, ratchet, urban, or worst.

There is an inflation of content in mass media focused on WOC on WOC violence. America, we know, is fascinated with violence like a child exploring a new toy. Except in America’s case, this toy is centuries old. However, when it comes to women, violence becomes an assumed default, which makes it easy to turn it into comedy and entertainment without engaging with the repercussions of violence itself. We call it Reality TV, we call it a high school fight, middle school fight, and occasionally we call it an untimely death. It was once my passion to vilify reality shows as the problem, but nothing is ever that simple. Reality TV meets a need and supplies a demand. If that demand is exploitation of women of color, it is a choice companies, artists, and CEO’s alike are making to meet it. The question of who’s to blame is not as urgent to me as the question of why the reality TV phenomenon exists in the first place. In exploring my anger, I had to separate what was being dictated and projected onto me as “angry Black woman” from what my anger meant.

It was epiphany upon epiphany and I couldn’t stop talking about it. I didn’t realize how few Black women speak their anger out loud. The confusion on my friend’s faces when I brought it up: “So what do y’all feel about anger as Black woman?” Slowly ideas where being thrown over wine glasses; experiences and questions about how to live with our anger, express it, and explore its roots. If only our #BlackGirlJoy could have as much healing space as our #BlackGirlAnger. Maybe then our language around anger can be truly ours. We will no longer be playing tug of war with our existence in isolation. We will begin to write and speak our own narratives. We will get to claim our anger and our joy for ourselves and maybe it won’t seem so scary anymore.

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It is tiring to continue to counter the blows (metaphorical and physical) of the same stereotypes. We are multifaceted and complex beings. Sometimes we aren’t happy. Sometimes we don’t want to smile. Sometimes we don’t get along with each other. Sometimes we too need support and need to be held accountable by our peers and community. I found that in articulating my experience as a Black woman by using the language of the oppressor, I am unconsciously entertaining him in trying to prove him wrong. Not anymore. My existence doesn’t fit in a “they said so I’m responding” model. It is now an “I said” model. Period. End of discussion. With Trump ripping the façade from the “American Dream” and the global consequences of that realization some of us are waking up and reclaiming our time. We are reclaiming our time and our representation of our experiences on TV, movies, sports, politics, and in forms of resistance. The inspiration is contagious. In the same breath, I wonder what it would look like to have these conversations go viral, without the input of the oppressor.

​My anger, as she exists today, is still a mystery in many ways. As I said in the beginning, I do not have any answers on how to engage and express uncomfortable feelings while our humanity is at stake. All I have is a willingness to start a conversation. Community is my alternative to engaging with oppressive alternative facts regarding my existence. As I get to know myself and let my identity stretch, it will continue to change and require my attention and care. However, that is no longer an experience between just me, my phone, and the oppressive systems that feed those outlets. Now it can be me and the other Black women who choose to speak their truth, however she reveals herself, unapologetically.
​

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An Angry Conversation in Pictures
Photography by Ademola Davis


In the spirit of starting a conversation, I invited a few friends over to hang out with me in Brooklyn to chat about anger and everything around it. There was tea, hot chocolate, and Little Debbies! I asked Ademola Davis, photographer, poet, performer, singer/songwriter, and creator in every sense of the word to add a visual component to this piece. We both agreed that the best way to capture these moments was naturally, as the stories were being told on our faces. So out into the snow we went! There were smiles, surprise, laughter, sadness, and anger (old and new), but at the end of the day there was us.

HUGE THANK YOU to the following people for taking the time and energy to be on this journey with me:
​

Ademola Davis See Bio

Jaba Dey a Bengali women living and working in NYC, and is taking the experience of being a brown immigrant in America one day at time
​
Q Hailey a creative spirit dedicated to justice and freedom that is both physical and 
spiritual
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Ademola Davis (Ade) is a poet, writer, performer, singer/songwriter, photographer, videographer, and artistic force creating and educating in NYC. Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, Ade's passion for the artistic form and investing in its boundaries and possibilities goes above and beyond the traditional and expected. Instagram: @theprincepoet FB: @PrincePoet 
​

"As a poet, my poetry is in my writing, singing, acting, whatever I can put myself into, my poetry is in. As a Creator, I'm still a poet"


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When Poetry Meets Performance: Ownership & Agency for Young People

6/26/2017

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Ebetts Field Middle School Poetry Academy performing at the eighth-grade graduation ceremony
I knew that working with students on Saturdays on the cusp of summer was not going to be an easy job. Trying to teach the arts in an education system that doesn’t get the opportunity or funding to prioritize arts nor explore its benefits is always going to be a difficult job. Yet, as a poet, activist, and believer in the benefits of speaking your world into triumph, here I was on a sunny Brooklyn Saturday, waiting for the students to arrive, waiting to prove what I have already experienced as an artist myself: poetry performance = freedom in motion. Each student, each community, each opportunity I have to teach poetry or facilitate a workshop is different and each time I learn something different about myself as an artist and a human. Teaching is as much a mental experience as a spiritual one. I have found that on the days I want to give up the most, I am given the energy to continue through my students. If they can show up for me, I can show up for them.
 
When I sat down with one student on the first Saturday, I was not sure what I was to learn or if the workshops would continue with numbers like these. But there is an inspiring moment in one grain of sand if you consider the millions of things it is made of and how far it has come. One student became two then two became five and all were already full vessels of creativity, dreams, and ideas… not all devoted to poetry. I had my work cut out for me. However, the moment that took my breath away did not happen when the students were offering their own writing prompts; not when they were taking to line breaks with the same urgency as the Dunkin Donuts I brought for them; not when they inspired me to write a love poem to Dunkin Donuts confessing how much I can’t stand their hot chocolate; not even when they decided they wanted to perform the group piece I helped them create at the eighth-grade graduation on their own. It was during our morning practices that I was reminded of one of the many benefits to performing your story in real time.
 
“We need to practice more.”
“I think she’s going too fast, she should slow down”
“Yeah she’s going too fast. You need to slow down! You're getting too distracted. Can we go again? More energy!”
“Can we add Danny to the piece? He missed one day but he’s been to every class. He should be a part of it too.”
“I don’t need paper. Let’s all have it memorized!”
 
 It was as if I wasn’t even there! My mouth hung open as they bickered and workshopped their own group piece. My presence was nothing more than, “Do you all feel that you’re ready?” and then they would be off again performing and talking it through. Poetry performance offers a rare opportunity for young people not only to see themselves on the written page but also to claim their voices in the open air. What’s more is that when poetry is being performed, rarely is it in a vacuum, alone. When poetry meets community–be it at the Nuyorican Poets Café on a Friday night or a lively group of five students on a Saturday morning–your words are in the care of an audience. Individuals feel supported to take risks, to trust, and to speak their mind. These five students were not all fans of poetry nor performance. Some of these students could barely be heard when they first introduced their name, but when it came to performing at the graduation, I was looking at young people who wanted the stage, who wanted to do their best, who wanted to work together, and who after having a successful performance, wanted to do it again.
 
This. This is why I want to do this for the rest of my life. To see those students take off and claim their work and their identity in an art form they had no prior experience in. To see them owning their words, taught me just how much I have gained myself, as a poet. From the moment that I was put in a spoken word class until now, my story has always had a home on the page and a separate vacation home within the hearts of artists and audiences who are open to hearing me. These five students now had an example, a tangible experience, that couldn’t be taken away from them: an entire auditorium open and ready to hear and accept their voices. It was amazing to see them after they got off stage, invigorated ready to “go on tour”. The arts, it’s contagious.  Performance means power and poetry means freedom. When you let them loose in a room, anything can happen.
​
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5 Things I learned from the #StillNotYourEnemyBrunch

6/18/2017

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  When I first decided in 2014 that I wanted to create the #ImNotYourEnemy shirt to jumpstart a conversation on sisterhood, I imagined the shirt orders I would make, the people that would call, the conversations that would be started all over the country. I was ready to be a part of the solution in contributing to sisterhood amongst women of color as a mainstream topic, a lifestyle, a pledge, a form of activism. What I did not realize is that my definition of sisterhood  has evolved heavily since that summer in 2014. But I was not aware just how much my experience of sisterhood has grown until that Sunday at the #StillNotYourEnemy Brunch Experiment. Here are the top 5 things I was reminded of when it came to sisterhood: 

1. Sisterhood is a Community Organization

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The #StillNotYourEnemy Brunch could not have happened without the dedication of Black women that surrounded around the idea of openly and fearlessly speaking on sisterhood, as it exits in our lives today. This was not a one woman show, as I thought the #ImNotYourEnemy movement would be (as usual, the Black woman feels the need to carry the burden of the world on her shoulders). Sisterhood in action is a lot more kind than that. Without the women who have supported me since the beginning, I wouldn't have had the inspiration and courage to expand and open my vision beyond me.

2. Sisterhood is fluid  

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Sisterhood should have the ability to move between, in and out of all different types of spaces. I was reminded that day that to speak on sisterhood is to speak to the diversity in existing as a Black woman. That means LGBTQIA voices; that means multi-generational voices; that means Black voices from all identifications; the Black diaspora. As I grow in my Black womanhood, sisterhood becomes less of a definition and more like a moving, breathing, force that pushes all of us forward in unique ways.  

3. Sisterhood is unity AND individuality 

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Unifying women in the name of sisterhood is not a hard idea to celebrate and stand behind. But I have to accept that we are all individuals first. We do not need to sit at the same table all the time. Sometimes Black women are not going to be the best of friends. That is a fact. We strive for unity but not at the expense of our individuality as human beings. We can be true to ourselves without ostracizing our fellow sisters. 

4. Healing is mandatory 

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Sisterhood is community work and like community work it requires all facets of our being, spiritual, physical, emotional, and mental. During the panel discussion, it was suggested that thought we do all we can to support each other, self-care should still be our top priority. Sometimes that means investing in ourselves more than carrying the weight of another's burden, problems, and drama, especially if it is toxic in nature. 

5.  More safe spaces, more safe spaces! 

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The most important message I got from the #StillNotYourEnemy Brunch is that we need more safe spaces. We as Black woman need places that we can go where we do not need to explain our existence, our struggle, and our experiences.  We need a space to recharge and reboot. That is why I want to continue what LuxyLoaded has inspired, a physical manifestation of the #ImNotYourEnemy movement.  I want to provide safe spaces and conversations for women of color to come to celebrate, to cry, to heal, to laugh and to be, unapologetically.
Stay tuned for it! 
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#DAMN. An Album for Kendrick by Kendrick. We are Witnesses

6/1/2017

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When I first saw the DAMN. album cover, ironically my first reaction was damn! Ol’ boy wasn’t lookin too good! Disheveled beard, eyes vacant and dim, lookin nowhere, I was concerned for him! Then I heard the criticisms of his single “HUMBLE.”: misogynist, sexist, an attempt to police women’s bodies. What I saw in “HUMBLE.” was a man on the thin line between humility and cockiness not sure where he should stand as a Black man. I saw a man battling with many images, light and darkness, heaven and hell, white and black, poor and rich. I saw a man battling himself. HUMBLE. was Kendrick versus Kendrick. What stood out to me more was the fact that Kendrick’s preference for stretch marks and natural hair was more a controversy than lyrics that demanded our asses be fat, our weaves long, and our name bitch. Even so, my opinion was still met with confusion and distaste for this new Kendrick that burst on the scene. People were asking: What happened to him? He used to be so conscious, now he’s just like every other rapper. What happened to “To Pimp a Butterfly” Kendrick? Who is this Kendrick Lamar? After listening to DAMN. I have never seen Kendrick Lamar as more Kendrick Lamar. He is an artist. And his latest album DAMN. is a tribute to what we artists use our art for: a way to process and understand our world beyond the unspeakable.
 
DAMN. was a portal into the world of a Black man, his certainty, uncertainty, fear, reflections, and determination. His album brings a humanity to the celebrity. In a country that praises and worships the lives, the wallets, and the scandal of celebrities and stars, I forget that these people are people. Their art is a result of their humanity. These influencers do not exist solely for their audience. That is why Beyoncé’s Lemonade struck me to my core. She ceased to be a brand, a face, a single—she was a complete process. DAMN. is Kendrick Lamar’s human process. Kendrick Lamar’s DAMN. is a labor of love for Kendrick Lamar. After listening to tracks like “FEEL.” and “GOD.” it sounded like he wrote these songs/poems because he needed to; and like many artists, the act of sharing is just as healing as creating it.
 
The shock value of my success put bolts in me
All this money, is God playin’ a joke on me?
Is it for the moment, and will he see me as Job?
Take it from me and leave me worse than I was before?

 
As a 24-year-old who wants to start her own business, write a book, and step into my own calling of using poetry and performance as an empowerment tool for voiceless communities, the song “FEAR.” moved me. I can’t be the only one who is afraid of success, and just as afraid of failure. Kendrick Lamar reminded me that no matter the checks, followers, or rewards we all have or will be at that crossroads. I have asked myself similar questions on my own journey. Any milestone that pushes me closer to reach my potential is met with resistance; a timid voice whispers and questions: Is this possible? Or is it all just another universal test only to start from the beginning again in a few years? The higher I go, the farther I have to fall.  How Kendrick must feel! From his first mixtape in 2004, Youngest Head Nigga in Charge (Hub City Threat: Minor of the Year) to being called the greatest rapper of all time. I could almost taste the anxiety, the questions, the fatigue in DAMN. I could only imagine, the money is coming in, the workload is increasing, advice is flooding in from everywhere, and the world is looking to him, fans leaning on him to continue to climb, to create! I too would go to my pen and paper like I always do, purging the secret questions, revelations, resentments, declaration, writing desperately toward that inner silence.
 
Lamar created a human experience in DAMN. He reminded me as a poet and activist that the foggy moments, the silences in between our revelations, success, and failures are just as beautiful, just as valid and telling and universal. After listening to the whole album, I wanted to give Kendrick a huge hug and say thank you, from one Los Angeles native to another. The job of an artist is to dig and dig deep within; to find the piece that pushes us even deeper and to share that work in order to connect to the depth in someone else. And we need that right about now. When I watched the news of the Manchester bombing, picture after picture being released of deceased young people, when I read about the impending threat to my healthcare rights as a woman, when I get a notification about another toxic tweet or another tragedy so far away I can barely fathom; when I consider the rise in violence against Black bodies, Muslim bodies, Trans Bodies, Our Bodies; when I walk down the street and have to maneuver my body so that I am not touched or followed or worst, I can’t help but think damn. It is a state of being, that damn. It’s that sigh when you’re a woman and you get home safe after a fun night, it’s that tension in the muscles when the police keep cruising past you. Kendrick’s DAMN. is not only a confirmation of what that damn can do to the spirit, it is a powerful reminder that we are not alone in feeling it and that is possible to use that damn and repurpose it, as much of the country and the world has done throughout history at the beginning of every revolution.
 
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Kendall & Kendrick: When Being “Woke” and Social Media Collide

4/7/2017

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 I use to pride myself on how much I didn’t know sbout pop culture. Someone would ask me about a show, new album, or latest twitter beef and I would turn my nose up and say, “NOPE! Sorry, I don’t have time to entertain such things!” Years of being called an “old soul,” I started to neglect the pop culture and social media phenomenon evolving right in front me, moving full speed ahead since I was born. Some witnessed the first man on the moon but only one generation can say they witnessed the birth and death of Myspace.com; the birth and empire of Facebook, and the takeover of Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat. However, I still could not see the benefits of having platforms to share opinions, random photos, and thoughts among millions when you could’ve said it to the wind and it would have the same effect. Who can really commit to a cause when you see only a glimpse of it? There is an understood and acceptance of fear of committing too long in the social media world. Facebook filters change after every tragedy, hashtags of fallen Black people to the hands of police. It’s all passing, I thought, where’s the substance? Then came #BlackLivesMatter, #NoDAPL, #BringBackOurGirls, #Ferguson, #NotMyPresident… I had no choice but to pay attention, as an activist. As a Black woman in her early 20’s, I am existing in a world where the internet serves more purposes than just a procrastination aid. Twitter, YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram are my newsrooms and those same platforms serve as my storefronts for my own business; there is no way for me not to engage. Social media ebbs and flows freely throughout all our lives with the trivial and the urgent. I can no longer justify social media as a waste of time. It has become as complex as the human condition and I, like everyone else in this world, have a seat at the table to listen, learn, and contribute. So, when Kendrick Lamar dropped his single “Humble” and the outrage from women of color poured into the twitter-sphere regarding his misogynist comments, and the infamous and an insensitive Pepsi ad featuring Kendall Jenner surfaced, I had no choice but to tune in, because what is the point of having a seat at the table if you are not going to show up?

What Kendall and Kendrick have in common is a complex existence made plain. A world of action, resistance, intersectionality, and violence are too heartbreaking, inspiring, tiring, historical, and urgent to be solved by one White face and a Pepsi. My heart dropped watching the commercial portray a protest of many diverse faces joined together for “peace,” only to see the focus put on Kendall Jenner confidently walking through the crowd to give a police officer a Pepsi as the crowd celebrates. I was not sure what they are celebrating. Immediately I was reminded of the images of protesters in Ferguson with milk tears running down their faces and bandanas around their mouths. I was reminded of the gas masks and pepper spray, dogs and water hoses. My mind was brought back to the historic footage of my home city, Los Angeles, being burned alive in 1965 and the clip that I will never get to un-see: A Black protester passed out on a Los Angeles curb, beaten, with soiled pants, still being frisked by a police officer, surrounded. This attempt at a commercial hurt. The art of protesting was now a marketing tool, when for so many, including me, it is part of a necessary strategy to fight for our lives and our rights. The many times I put my safety on the line to speak up; the many times I was too afraid to.  I do not get a check for showing up for my people and the people I support. My drive, my protest, is mandatory to thrive in this country and thanks to the infinite table with infinite seats in social media, Pepsi and Kendall Jenner got to take a seat. They both get the chance to learn about responsibility and we, The People, get the chance to hold them accountable. The conversation is not limited to anyone and neither is the critique. Social media can make very complicated matters easy to digest and Pepsi was fooled. Fighting injustice is nowhere near two minutes long. It’s more like a 400-year battle, give and take a few hundred years depending on how you identify. I am grateful for Black Twitter and social media for consistently offering the opportunity to keep companies, public figures, and Presidents in check.

Kendrick Lamar is no exception to critical commentary either, no matter how beloved. His single, “Humble” ignited a tidal wave of debate regarding his misogyny, internalized racism, and sexism embedded in his lyrics, specifically:


I’m so fuckin’ sick and tired of the Photoshop
Show me somethin’ natural like afro on Richard Pryor
Show me somethin’ natural like ass with some stretch marks

I was not sure what to expect when my friend pulled up the music video for me to see. The Kendrick Lamar in “Humble” was indeed a different Kendrick. He was still from L.A., a force of nature rhythmically and lyrically. But… there was something that changed; a switch was turned on. His face even looked different. What I saw in “Humble” was a battle between two different parts of one man. On the one hand, I saw a young Black man who definitely sounded similar to almost every other rapper, flaunting money, sex, and exclaiming “I’m the best!” Then I heard a chorus that called for humility, for a sit-down, a bowed head, and a shut mouth.  I saw a question within the imagery: Who could Kendrick be? Would he be allowed to be a humble Black man? Would he be allowed as a Black man to celebrate and flaunt his success? Who can Kendrick Lamar be? I saw a juxtaposition of Black and White in what Kendrick Lamar was wearing in the video. I saw a Black man at the last supper with in a zip-up jacket with other Black men having a good time. Is that even allowed? I saw Kendrick Lamar in clergy attire. I saw an illustrated battle of images–of types of manhood. Did I like the line: “Get the fuck off my dick, that ain’t right” when I know how toxic hip-hop has been and is toward the LGBTQ community? No. Did I appreciate the amount of times bitch was said in the song? No. Did I like that he expressed wanting to see women without Photoshop and stretchmarks? Yes, as a person who has never tried contouring and has many, many, many stretch marks, I found it refreshing because the song seemed more like an inner battle than a commentary or press release for or against a cause. We all had a seat at the table of “Humble”, to see it, to offer a perspective, but we are mere observers of a narrative that seemed to me, quite personal, and I am more inclined to observe Kendrick Lamar’s evolution—as messy as it may be as he navigates his career—than I am to be called a “boujee” bitch with no hair and a fat ass with no value, as I am referred to and represented as throughout the Industry, which rarely leads to debates like the one “Humble” ignited.

I think it is easy and comfortable to offer critique to public figures and celebrities who are developing their consciousness for the world to see and through their artwork. Beyoncé is one of the prime examples when she co-opted the word “Feminist” for her Beyoncé Tour. Some were outraged and expressed that she was not a true feminist because of one reason or another. All I could think was: Am I even a true feminist when compared to the expectation of the “woke”? I did go to an all-women’s college and took gender studies and feminist theory. Was it enough? My evolution as a feminist, activist, and woman has been a process where I can control the audience. Celebrities and world-renown artist do not have that luxury. When Kendrick Lamar is expressing two sides of his identity and career or Beyoncé considers the women’s movement, I am less compelled to assess their artwork outside of what it is, art. My poems do not always speak to a movement cause; sometimes my poems are a prayer, a riverbed, a plea, or an apology to the unspoken and private. I am more interested in those voices hiding under rocks with their misogyny, their sexism, their racism, their homophobia, their transphobia, their -isms. They seem to get passes too often because we are comfortable. Those are the folks I want to especially invite to the table. Companies like Pepsi, and privileged folks Kendall Jenner do not have to think twice about the reality they are playing. Sexist and toxic figures like Bill O’Reilly and President Trump are also invited. Those are the people I’d like to open a chair for, ask them to take a seat because the world is watching….
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The cyber community, like any other community, will not always agree, and I have learned with hashtag after hashtag, that is going to continue to be the case. There are going to be people who will never listen to Kendrick Lamar again and the #BoycottPepsi hashtag is already trending and taking on a life of its own. The conversations will continue to evolve like technology and humans have done. Social media represents the social consciousness in all its messiness, comedic genius, compassion, and power. In those spaces, easy definitions among the millions of perspectives are hard to find but it does not matter what time I sign off or sign in, I can always find love, justice, hope, and understanding in some corner of the cyber-sphere. We, as The People, still choose to show up to the table, not only to fight, resist, laugh, cry, feel, but also to connect. And we will continue to show up, I will show up, because it’s my responsibility and privilege to connect to a global community that is never silenced.
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    Tayllor Johnson currently resides in New York City where she has begun her journey into Poet. Passion. Period. In between those learning moments, she sometimes has just enough time to jot a few lines... 

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