Writing, when done from an authentic and vulnerable place, is messy. As I tell my scholars, the first draft is trash--always. Point blank period. Or as the teens say, "Periodt." Often I post my sketchnote layouts on social media with the loopy calligraphy, colorful accents, and extra doodles; however, my 2020 word is AUTHENTIC, so here I am letting the interwebs see into the other pages of my well-worn black bullet journal. Those sketchnote layouts are real, they are done in real time as I listen to a presentation, keynote, sermon, podcast, whatever, but it is a different interaction between myself and the pages because in that context I am recording, organizing, and displaying information as I hear and process it. But this image, this is me working through my own thoughts, my own words, my own perspective and experiences, so it's messy and sloppily written and unfinished.
But it is beautiful because it is the beginning of a new poem.
After attending the TCTELA Conference last week, several sessions, keynotes, observations and interactions inspired me. The poem comes from a session called "Poetry Circles". The activity was to listen/watch the poem "Dare to Dream" by LeDerick Horne, record lines that stand out, then select one line to be the opening line of a new poem and write from it.
I wrote down two lines: "you might be a little afraid" and "we deserve the best, nothing more, nothing less" and I chose to write from the former. After the writing exercise concluded, we were encouraged to share with those around us to see what line they had selected and how their poem had formed. On the second page of the messy drafting layout, I noted "'I have a lot of biracial babies in my family. You'll be fine.' white lady in 40's after I read my poem about my future black son." This moment will resonate with me for eternity because it is the diminishing of my fear that solidifies my fear regarding the racism that I will face with my future children. My fear is a combination of many reasons, and no one has a right to attempt to console me by disregarding the validity of my worries; furthermore, one's denial of the concerns affirms that one ignorantly believes the lie that racism does not exist anymore. *eye roll*
Currently, my scholars and I are in the midst of drafting slam poems. My first draft was on the topic of OCD addressing the people who downplay it. But after this quick write draft, I knew I had found my slam poem. Last night I revised, typed, and added stanzas two and three. Today, I explained and showed this process to my scholars, including the messy draft pages.
Maybe this poem is done now. If so, my next step is making sure I practice. Practice how I will pronounce each line with intention and plan my pacing and hand gestures. Stay tuned for the final performance and draft.
currently working draft
audience: myself
topic: how racism and sexism will impact my future mixed children
untitled
you might be a little afraid
that there will come a day
when your white privilege will put your black son at risk
no matter how much you insist
or how you taught him to fight with his words, not his fists
or that there are always multiple witnesses
because the mixture of melanin within his skin will be the assist
of him becoming another name printed on a t-shirt in protest
to the trigger-happy profiling senselessness
mixed with deeply rooted ignorance
an extremely powerful influence
founded on our country’s colonized historical lens
you might be a little afraid
that there will come a day
when your mismatched skin tone will cause strangers to stare
at the grocery store they will squint back and forth and compare
her darker complexion to your skin tone, lightly freckled and fair
and they will reach out without permission to touch her hair
no matter how hard you glare
you’ll be forced to say “don’t you dare”
and they will look at you completely unaware
that their near violation of her space is your nightmare
or that her value is not based on her appearance being so “rare”
or how she has every right to be angry at the same time as care
you might be a little afraid
that there will come a day
when your child will feel pressured to check a box
defining their race or gender as if it’s as simple as small talk
sticks and stones may break their bones, but what about rocks?
society unable to see their identity needing eye drops
to overcome the discriminatory roadblocks
metaphorically trapped in a crosswalk
when will the bi-nary categorization stop
so that we can join Martin Luther King Jr. on the mountaintop?
you will be an ever-evolving key working tirelessly to unlock
the countless beliefs and perspectives of the orthodox
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