This was #5 from 30/30..in which I wrote 5 poems (it’s been a stressful month on a personal note). I was attempting to write about being biracial but kept getting hung up on wanting to do it “right”…and then I got frustrated and this came out-it was sort of just meant to be a brain dump of sorts but I tweaked it and played with it and it turned out to be one of the most honest pieces I think I am currently capable of in regards to my race.
There is this danger in being black
in the wrong place
at the wrong time
wrong place: America
wrong time: all the time
the sights though
they aren’t on me though
I am watching like a child in the closet during a murder
another unarmed black boy murdered
another black woman too black
I am blood tongued and alive
I am affected the same way I am black
my closet skin
my poker face
my one drop rule
my paper bag test
my house slave
my survivor’s guilt
my white guilt
my assumed innocence
my “good” hair
my green eyes
my white mother
my white mother tongue
my code switch
my off white
my black scream
my black anger
my black heart
my race card tucked in my wallet
a photo of my father tucked in my wallet
my black king of spades father
my race card
my grey area
my unintended passing
my still passing though
my black neighborhood
my safe house skin
my white friends
my being my own black friends
my too sensitive when someone who does not have permission says nigger like no colored ears could hear
my privilege is to hear
my black anger
my permission to say nigger
my blood tongue hates to say nigger
the way it comes out of my white face
the way it leaves blood spatter across the walls
it looks too much like another murder, my privilege.
I have so much love for this article. I knew there had to be someone I could relate to in the world who is bi-racial but does not have the aesthetic we most often associate with being bi-racial. Of knowing what it is to not live the black experience because outwardly you look white but not living the white experience because you just aren’t white. I appreciate this writer for sharing this.
I canmot begin to express thanks to anyone/everyone that bought a chapbook or cd (or the couple folks who just straight up donated cash) it helped me avoid falling into a hole. It means the world to know people have my back.
Orders will go out this week/ weekend (I ran out of envelopes and have to pick more up). <3
Also-there are still a couple of people I owe notebooks/collages to and those will also go out soon!
The truth is…I am awake at 7:30am on a Sunday because I am panicking about money. I am in a bit of a bind with it at the moment. I gotta dig myself out of this hole and could use any help I can get. I have these chapbooks for sale on my website for $5:
Its the beta version/sampling of what will become my full length book “Fat Girl Finishing School”. If you own Sugar Blooded.Elephant you have most of the poems in this chapbook but there are 3 newer pieces that I wrote after I put that book out.
This summer thanks to some great awesomeness I ran out of all my copies of Sugar Blooded Elephant and had to make a mini chapbook to sell at my remaining gigs. Its the beta version/sampling of what will become my full length book “Fat Girl Finishing School”. I printed 50 of these. I have about 15 left but no more shows booked this year…if you are interested in owning this mini chapbook paypal $5 to email@example.com and I will send one out. <3
Note: If you own Sugar Blooded.Elephant you have most of the poems in this chapbook but there are 3 newer pieces that I wrote after I put that book out.
“Fat people have the right to exist in fat bodies regardless of how we got fat, what being fat means, or if we could be thin through some means – however easy or difficult. There are no other valid opinions on this – we have the right to exist without shaming, bullying or stigmatization, period.”—
So this month I was attempting 30 Love Letters in 30 days.I didn’t make it to 30…but I wrote more than I would have if I had not made the attempt. I promise to post a love note to my body whenever the need arises.
November brings another challenge-it is National Novel Writing Month and often poets will use the opportunity to write 30 poems in 30 days alongside our novel writing friends. This year I have a (not so) secret weapon…in the back of Aaron Samuels awesome book from Write Bloody-Yarmulkes and Fitted Caps there is a workshop to correspond with each poem (it is worth noting that Geoff Kagen-Trenchard’s hella dope book Murder Stay Murder also does this). I have decided that I will write my November 30/30 only off of the workshops in Aaron’s book. I really love and respect Aaron’s work. A good deal of Aaron’s work unpacks from various angles of what it means to be bi-racial. I have been struggling to unpack this myself for a very long time and I think working through the workshops in his book will be helpful in that. I am excited to see what comes of it!
The other 30 in November happens on November 2nd and is my 31st Birthday. :-) Hopefully there will be a dairy queen icecream cake in that celebration.
Dear heart pounding like feet on fast pavement, Dear Knuckles cracked, hot and brick heavy, Dear bank vault jaw, Dear quick breath, Dear fire helmet skull, dear battle ground tongue, Dear war cry lungs, Dear earthquake hands- The fight is real. You are necessary. You are the pieces I will kiss hardest in the middle of a busy downtown intersection every single time you come back from war.
We’re used to seeing celebrities cross the line of appropriateness on Halloween but it’s usually nothing more than an overly skimpy costume. In Julianne Hough’s case, good sense was thrown out the window when she decided to go as “Orange Is the New Black” character Crazy Eyes.
So here’s the thing. I feel like white folks hear “Post -Racial Society” and it translates to color somehow magically not mattering (because that is after all the convenient and easy definition that lets people off the hook) so that shit like this is suddenly acceptable. A “Post-Racial Society” would actually mean that people take the time to understand and respect why this is not fucking okay!
Last night I went to a giant outdoor Halloween party with my friends. There was so much appropriation happening it honestly ruined my time. At one point I ended up dancing just one person away from the girl who showed up at a party at my house last year in black face (she was not in black face this year) and I had to remove myself entirely from the dance party but I was just done and now I feel like much of the rest of this month will be filled with stories like the one above.
If you are new to eShakti, use my promo code RACHEL99MT and take $30 off your first purchase. Offer valid till Nov 30, 2013. Only eShakti offers Sizes 0-36W, Custom sizes and Custom styles.
So to expand on my earlier post about eShakti…this is a company I actually am really into. Where else can I actually shop with my thin friends?! Where else can I see a dress and know that I CAN have it (providing that I’m not busted ass broke like I am lately) becaseu it DOES come in my size?! I feel good in these dresses. I feel professional and cute in these dresses. THEY HAVE POCKETS! So I definitely suggest that people check them out.
On the selfish end…if you buy a dress( or skirt or top) you can get $30 off with the code in this link. You can buy yourself something (or you know, you can buy something for a certain fat girl poet whose birthday is next friday who typically where’s a 32 or 34 from this site) and I get a $15 gift card to use toward my next purchase.
Looking for a little advice. I recently started talking to this guy on a social website (I won't say which) anon and things were going well. He asked if we could hang out some time and I said yes. He then asked what I looked like and so I sent him a picture which didn't really show that I'm big and so he basically said he wanted to jump my bones and now I'm kind of panicking because I've concluded if he sees me in real life he'll think I catfish'd him. I'm just not used to attention like this.
If he thinks you “Catfished” him. He’s a jerk and to hell with him. I’d like to reclaim the term “catfished” to mean having eaten a bomb ass catfish dinner. Can I get a Po’boy Sammich?!
But for real, I understand the hesitation to believe someone has pushed aside all the negative shit that is woven into society about being fat but our own insecurity can keep good people out. You are beyond worthy of all the good this dude might be bringing. If he’s a hater you have to know that his anger has nothing to do with you but rather his own insecurity and self worth issues.
Just curious, what size are you? I think we're the same and I want to know where you get thems adorable dresses ^_^
I wear anything from a 28 to a 34 depending on the maker. My cutest dresses mostly come from eshakti.com That place is not a joke. It can be expensive but they usually have an awesome sale or a coupon out and an overstock section that acts as clearance so its a nice treat every now and again….truthfully if I had the funds I would fill my closest with their dresses.
Dear Body- I have struggled 24 days now to write you a love letter,
one without a razor blade on the roof of it’s mouth
or a file baked into it’s sweet
one I need not wear bullet proof heavy
and delivered to you dented in with the anger of others,
a love that need not be defiant,
one that can relax it’s shoulders
or sit with it’s back to the window unworried.
Dear Body-You are deserving of soft love too
gentle hands and unbracing.
And then while I was working on my response there came THISbrilliant response from The Militant Baker.
My excuse is pumpkin ice cream and Luther on Netflix. My excuse is corn dogs go great with a side of feelings. My excuse is I like the two little dimples above my big ass. My excuse is that I am have no children so I get ALL of the cookies. My excuse is, what better why to celebrate a negative diabetes test than with a muthafuckin cupcake?! My excuse is sleeping in and good pillows. My excuse is not having an excuse. My excuse is that it is MY body. My excuse is my body needs no excuse unless my hip or breast should rub against you while I pass, but a “you’re welcome” is more likely in order.
I have not had health insurance since college (and then it was just access to the campus health center that basically just gave you a pregnancy test no matter what you went in for). With being made permanent at my day job I now have insurance. Good insurance. I had a bio-metric screening done thru my work this past week. I was nervous. I have basically been self diagnosing and self treating for a long time now. All day all the time being fat and moving thru the world people and media are always telling me in one way or another how unhealthy I am. I have long feared diabetes and high cholesterol, and high blood pressure. The screening revealed that I have none of those things. I nearly cried with relief. Having a day job sucks-especially since making a living as a touring poet actually seems possible with college interested in booking me-but keeping the dull and reliable cubicle job is a love letter of sorts of what I am willing to do for myself. I know the screening didn’t cover everything but it did ease my mind a good deal. I have begun a wellness program with my insurance and am looking for a doctor and a gym.
Dear Body- These years I have laid awake and still listening to you like an old house convinced we were haunted with sugar and swamp and steam engine. Every thump and creak some warning of demolition. This morning smells like sage and we are not a ghost town after all.
I spent yesterday flying back from San Antonio, TX (where I had a lovely time performing at a women’s health forum). I have immense anxiety around flying but no the standard fiery death kind of anxiety around flying-I am actually not afraid of the actual flying itself-I am afraid of being removed from a flight for being too fat. I am afraid of unkind seatmates. And rude flight attendants. Last time I flew I wrote this poemit helped….but it didn’t stop the anxiety or the real life discomfort of travel….so I am writing some more for it..
How to De-Plane Yourself After Flight
Come home and stretch out across your bed like the unpacking of a suitcase full of all the best souvenirs. Your bones are a rack of the kitschiest key chains. Your belly, a magnificent snow globe. Your breasts, the best pillows not sold in the gift shop. Look in amazement at everything you management to get home safe. Call the lover who is holding a cardboard sign with your name in his chest waiting to kiss the armrest bruises from your hips.