Miriam Makeba Makes Her Transition

Happy Birthday Miriam Makeba. (a post from 2008)

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl

Three years ago today, I wrote this Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl series. Check it out.

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I read somewhere that as an adult you become whomever you were at age 7.  Part of me thinks: scary thought.

The 7 year old I was—always trying to write the longest story in Mrs. Fountain’s class—with the neatest handwriting (we received a grade for penmanship) is not wholly unlike the woman I have become.   I wanted to imitate her perfect script so-o-o-o-o-o bad I probably burned holes in the cursive border that lined our classroom wall.  I was a determined little girl, erasing holes into that thin paper—it was a the color of recycled paper, about as thin as parchment, and lined so that we could keep our upper and lower case letters at a proper height; there was a big empty white space at the top—so we could illustrate whatever we had written about.

On the “quiet side” of the room  Doreen—my twin—was on the “noisy side”…

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Monthly Meter: January

fellowship/publication submissions: 7fellowship/publication acceptances: 0 fellowship/publication rejections: 3 books: 0 Secret Shame: This ain't working.Mantra of the Moment: Serial killers were once babies too.

Monthly Meter: February

fellowship/publication submissions: 0 fellowship/publication acceptances: 0 fellowship/publication rejections: 4 books: Salvage the Bones - Jesmyn Ward Secret Shame: I'm in my first trimester (but only in my stomach). #buddhabelly Mantra of the Moment: Haters gon' hate.

Conversations that happen in my head…

...and maybe should stay there. **RAMBLE/RANT ALERT** I have gone through those break-ups that deflate you, suffered losses in which you know you will never stop missing the person as long as you exist on the planet and they do not.  I have physically hurt to the point of tears, curses, and moans--all of which [...]

Throwback Thursday: How I Got Over

I can remember taking every photo: the day, the place, where my mind was.  Remember writing the poem.  Remember "discovering" it a good year later.  Setting it to music; then choosing the pictures.  Abusing that song by Citizen Cope; abusing Citizen Cope on Limewire; my first laptop (r.i.p). Throwback = throw your head back, close [...]

Wounds & Debris

1. I'm in the fourth or fifth grade.  In our small town, in the 80s, this makes me old enough to walk downtown without adult supervision.  Which is what me, my twin, and our sister Debbie are doing. A man in a red car drives slowly following us trying to lure us into his vehicle.  [...]

PTSD [#3]

WHY LI'L KIM SHOULD WEAR MORE CLOTHES two men blocked me from crossing the street when i was fifteen, and offered to pay. it was not the first time i was forced to realize i had breasts by strangers with greasy hair and hands making me want to destroy my own body before they could [...]

PTSD [#2]

FDA approved for those who can’t afford organic chokes energy from WIC’ed babies thick-thighed  with hormones that make steaks fat, make asses fatter Thighs rub, chafe, make heat where cold glares peer with open lips from seismic ads, invite their men to lynch-worthy dalliance. Breakbeat psalms exalt: only a dog wants a bone. Spandex expands [...]

PTSD [#1]

Post Traumatic Sexualization Syndrome - a type of anxiety; typically brought on by the sexualization of the female body in its formative years and/or in such a consistent sequence that the anxiety presents in or even as her realized sexuality and sexual experience Post Traumatic Sexualization Disorder - disorder in which one's anxiety surrounding sexuality is [...]