Pages From My Journalโ€”Coming Septemberโ€™21

An actual entry from my journal (swiped to see typed version) to be included in my debut book-

๐Ÿ“„โ€๐๐š๐ ๐ž๐ฌ ๐…๐ซ๐จ๐ฆ ๐Œ๐ฒ ๐‰๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ง๐š๐ฅโ€ ๐Ÿ“„
๐–ฒ๐–พ๐— ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ป๐–พ ๐—‹๐–พ๐—…๐–พ๐–บ๐—Œ๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–ฒ๐–พ๐—‰๐—๐–พ๐—†๐–ป๐–พ๐—‹ ๐Ÿค๐Ÿข๐Ÿค๐Ÿฃ
โœ๐Ÿพ
๐–จ ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—€๐—‚๐—๐–พ ๐–บ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐—๐—…๐–พ ๐—€๐—…๐—‚๐—†๐—‰๐—Œ๐–พ ๐—‚๐—‡๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—Œ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ๐—Ž๐—†๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ ๐—†๐—Ž๐–ผ๐— ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—†๐–พ ๐—…๐–บ๐—๐–พ๐—…๐—’.

๐–จ ๐—๐–บ๐—๐–พ ๐–ญ๐–ค๐–ต๐–ค๐–ฑ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—‹๐—„๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐—‡ ๐–บ ๐—‰๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—ƒ๐–พ๐–ผ๐— ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—‡๐—Œ๐—Ž๐—†๐—‚๐—‡๐—€, ๐—‹๐–พ๐—Š๐—Ž๐—‚๐—‹๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐–จ ๐—Œ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ๐—๐—‚๐—†๐–พ๐—Œ ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‡ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ๐–ฟ๐–พ๐—‹, ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐—ˆ๐—๐—๐–พ๐—‹ ๐—€๐—‹๐—‚๐–พ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ผ๐–พ๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐–บ๐— ๐–จโ€™๐—† ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐—€๐—ˆ๐—‚๐—‡๐—€ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐—๐—‚๐—๐—.

๐–จ ๐—๐—‚๐—…๐—… ๐—Œ๐–บ๐—’ ๐—๐—i๐—Œ ๐—๐—๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐—, th๐—‹๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—€๐— ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐—๐—๐–พ ๐—Ž๐—‰๐—Œ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–ฝ๐—ˆ๐—๐—‡๐—Œ, ๐—Œ๐—๐—‚๐—…๐—… ๐–จ ๐—€๐–พ๐—‡๐—Ž๐—‚๐—‡๐–พ๐—…๐—’ ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—…๐–ฝ ๐—‡๐—ˆ๐— ๐–ป๐–พ ๐—†๐—ˆ๐—‹๐–พ ๐–พ๐—‘๐–ผ๐—‚๐—๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—Œ๐—๐–บ๐—‹๐–พ ๐—๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—๐—‚๐—๐— ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž.

๐–ณ๐—๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–ป๐—ˆ๐—ˆ๐—„ ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐–บ ๐—…๐—‚๐—๐–พ๐—‹๐–บ๐—… ๐—‰๐—‚๐–พ๐–ผ๐–พ ๐—ˆ๐–ฟ ๐—†๐–พ ๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ ๐–จ ๐–ผ๐–บ๐—‡โ€™๐— ๐—๐–บ๐—‚๐— ๐–ฟ๐—ˆ๐—‹ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž ๐–บ๐—…๐—… ๐—๐—ˆ ๐—๐—ˆ๐—…๐–ฝ ๐—†๐–พ ๐—‚๐—‡ ๐—’๐—ˆ๐—Ž๐—‹ ๐—๐–บ๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—Œ.

๐–ฒ๐—๐–บ๐—’ ๐—๐—Ž๐—‡๐–พ๐–ฝ ๐–ฟ๐—‹๐—‚๐–พ๐—‡๐–ฝ๐—Œ.
๐–ณ๐—๐–พ be๐—Œ๐— ๐—‚๐—Œ ๐—’๐–พ๐— to ๐–ผ๐—ˆ๐—†๐–พ โœ๐Ÿพ
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I see you, little one

With my son, I learned how to love.
But with my daughter, I am learning how to love myself.
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I see how you look at me, little one
I see you studying my smile wondering just what it is that makes my cheeks crinkle
I see you stand there, little version of meโ€”and I want to be better
So I am learning to
Crave my curves
Serenade my scars
And long for the lines that lay across my thighs
When I see you seeing me, I want my self love to scream out, โ€œI am worthy no matter how I lookโ€
I see how you look at me, little one
Your eyes house a sparkle youโ€™d never find among the stars
And I will do whatever I can, to keep them sparkling forever.
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Mistakes In Minnesota

Where do I start

More importantly what do I say

How do I communicate things that have been said over and over

How do I make my words hold enough weight so that the corrupt will finally crumble

I cannot be my brothers keeper when I am continuously robbed of the chance to keep him

What is it in my melanin that threatens you

Am I only shade that wakes your sleeping fears

Because it seems Mistakes In Minnesota only come in Black

And as much as I fear that speaking on these attacks

Will put a big target on my back

I refuse to remain angry in silence

Killing our Black people for simply being Black People

And yet we are deemed the ones who are violent

Not everyone will grasp the concept of my anger

Just know that when you question why you haven’t

drawn blood from your body even though

you keep tripping over the reality of Black people

It is because your privilege continues to catch and protect you

Know that the exact same reason you are allowed

To walk in any direction you desire without your body taking on fire

Is the same reason I must walk a straight line

Does no one see the problem in freedom being their right

But being labeled Black and dangerous is mine

And if the only time you think to say my name

Is after my blood has been shed among the streets

I rather you not say it at all

My rise to fame will not be the way I died

My skin color will never be my downfall

I keep a sticky note close to my door

And it reads, “we will return home”

Its more of a request rather than a statement

And every time I state those words

I hope it falls onto the compass of the angel

Chosen to guide us back home that day…

on the days i feel i failed them (moms you aren’t alone)

on days such as today i am certain that my

uncertainty is where it all went wrong

what are the ways in which i can make failure sound graceful

make it something to be proud of

how many stanzas does it require to add rhythm to this offbeat day

my pen stands still

because no matter how i dot my iโ€™s or cross my tโ€™s

these tears still flow from my eyes

my daughter rubs my arm

i can tell sheโ€™s confused

tears followed by bursts of anger would confuse anyone

but thatโ€™s how fast i knew i needed to slow down

that’s how quick it was to fail my kids today

to have a way with words and still unsure of how to use them

she continues to rub my arm

she comforts me for losing my cool

when she’s older iโ€™ll tell her the story of the imperfect being

who meant well but didnโ€™t always know the way

who worked hard but didnโ€™t always know the limits

who loved harder than can be described but also made mistakes

until then iโ€™ll hug her tightly

or maybe iโ€™ll rub her arm until she falls asleep

reassuring her that my arms are still her safe space

and once she’s down for her nap iโ€™ll call the doctor to

discuss these meds that still arenโ€™t working