Poet. Author. Storyteller.
Deep words are the result of even deeper scars.
The writers with the sharpest tongues are the ones who once had to bite theirs too often. Too hard. They remember the pain. They still taste the blood. But they've learned to embrace their gift.
To make it beautiful.
To show that even flowers can grow without water. For the ones who have starved are the hungriest.
The most passionate.
They learned to survive off of nothing but words. They had no choice but to be potent. Concentrated. Heavy. For a poet is only a poet because they need to be. It is not ever a choice.
Who I Am
One of the things I take great pride in is my womanhood. I value my femininity, my strength, my mind, my soul, my body and my ability to give life, both literally and figuratively.. One of the things I advocate is for women of all backgrounds to be unashamed and unafraid to live their womanhood proudly. In a world that encourages women to harden, I encourage all my queens to hold onto their softness and embrace their true nature.
The stage is my second home. It is the most powerful form of healing, of relating, of teaching and learning, to share and exchange energy with other open hearts. I have performed in various states, for numerous events and occasions. I am currently available for booking!
I am a poet, spoken word artist and author. I have been writing since I knew how. I write to free myself. I write to make beauty of the ugly. I write to make light of the dark. I write to give voice to the things that we all feel but are too afraid or unable to put into words. I write about the things that mean something to me and hope to reach the hearts of others in the process. I write about my experiences as a woman, wife and overall human being in this world. I also write prose and other genres. I have a bachelors degree in English and I currently have 2 books of poetry.
A reflection of self
I am a woman - an African-American woman - in America. My history, or what’s made of it in textbooks, does not foreshadow bright futures. I come from a line of oppression, an epidemic of poverty, and a sick game of making do with what we’ve barely got to begin with. No, the cotton may have never slipped through my own fingers, or even those of my grandmother, but I have watched my family rise at the crack of dawn every morning, and bend and sweat and bleed, just the same. And that taught me that I am not afforded the right to dream. I don’t have the luxury of closing my eyes and reaching to the light of the stars above me. I have to stay grounded. As a black woman, I have to be the anchor of my family. As a black woman, I have to make sure we survive. I have to cook the pigtails and mend the socks, all after my day job. As a black woman, I cannot allow my people to slip further back in time, in mind or in material. The scale of risk and reward is skewed. I am told success is going to college and getting a real job - a career. One with guaranteed checks every month, raises every year, health insurance and paid leave. I am also told that I can be whatever I want to be, and I want to believe them - but the reality I’ve seen makes me question the truth of that statement. The hunger I’ve felt makes me afraid of spending all my money on a dream that may never come true. The homelessness I’ve endured makes me terrified of floating on only hopes and plans. The tears I’ve cried makes me weary of trying to swim with the possibility of sinking. I am a woman who is drowning in a sea of shoulds and cants, of realism versus ideals, of back and forths between being what my mothers believe I can be and following what I’ve seen them do, because dreams are not something we’ve been given a right to.