Tuesday, June 4, 2013
I turn 52 this month; and 52 for me means reflecting on past accomplishments and making way for new blessings; means more opps to help my students become critical thinkers and writers, and see their personal lives as great investments; means providing more workshops on general life skills, motivating teens n 20soms and giving voice to the outcast. 52 also means making peace with those who served their purpose but must now stay in the past and welcoming those whose purpose is to carry me over to the next level. 52 means finding forward thinking school administrators who are willing to get out the way, so that our sons and daughters have access to my books; means working on my fourth youth motivational book and having it ready for publishing by the end of 2014. It also means learning how to play the role of caregiver to a parent who wasn’t there for me; means aging gracefully by treating others gracefully. And damn it! 52 means suddenly joint pains and looking at your arm, and sayin ish like, When the what did that get here? But in the end, it all comes down to being comftble in your skin. Come keep growing with me...
Thursday, May 30, 2013
His mom couldn't beat cancer like he couldn't pass High School Kept at it like a soldier drinks chemo, but the taste of isolation Seemed to always get in the way Had his father knew his own worth, He would've been the one telling this story But there's a reason why some boys are men at sixteen And some men play video games cos they got nothing to say It be a lie if I told you that suicide was never at the family table Or that it doesn't cling to a kid's backpack And forced smiles at the school cafeteria And it be a shame if I waited for too late Just to scratch a more profound poem out from my head His mom couldn't beat cancer like he keeps tryina pass High School But this year is the year he learns to say words like 'graduate' and 'elevate' Cos it's not natural for grown men to watch any and all sons slowly kill themselves It's not natural at all for a boy not to even know how to smile. From my next book of poems, Throw
Friday, May 17, 2013
When you feel closer to your dog than your son cos a dog doesn't challenge you to do more/be more, you're not just acting out your drug addiction but also your refusal to do The Work/your inner work. Still, let's not single out dmx cos so m...any of us are other types of addicts; so many of us avoid The Work, whether it's our chaotic lives that we blame on others or seeking love from individuals who don't know how to show love yet we keep at the fantasy to avoid reality. DMX is just on volume kaboom. another's volume might be simmer, but we all have our demons. The best of us face them dead on while others sleep with them to then die with them, slowly.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Every Mother's Day I thank my own mom for giving me life, along with all the years of support and guidance she's offered and the lessons she's thought me. At the same time, I consider the many students who reach my desk with stories of motherly neglect and abandonment that don't make the Sunday news. These are the wounded young and older souls who are forced to face their childhood scars, tolerate Mother's Day hype and walk by flowers that deserve a holding hand but because of past trauma, cannot appreciate the beautiful colors and smells that represent pleasant memories of being considered and held. For these wounded individuals, the term mother is somewhat of an oxymoron; a figure of speech. A total assumption that vagina automatically means motherly/nurturing when we know of many moms and grandmoms who shouldn't be parents by the lack of emotionality in their giving hands. Not all mothers are flowers. Some make babies to keep a fleeing man. Some create life to have a life. Some define their womanhood according to social welfare benefits. Some just plain don't have a clue, so they pass on the burden onto the kid whose job will be to figure it out for themselves. And when that same kid, now transformed into an angry, jaded young woman/young man, my job or hope is to transform years of neglect back to when disillusionment wasn't yet a side effect; before rage found its name, before mother became an absent figure and before Mother's Day became an annual thorn to their side. How we get rid of our thorns is up to the wounded. The other side effect of being left with questions unanswered. We can either continue allowing the void to dictate how we live and love, and in turn raise ourt own children, or turn victimization into victory by releasing the pain, giving it back to the very person who created it and create a new identity for ourselves. One that is more accurate, closer to who we believe/feel we are, in order to prevent more wounded children. We do this in the name of love and the One we pray to and say to our ancestors aloud and with newfound pride-- This is the year I welcome Mother's Day, as I mother myself in the way that my mother didn't know how to. Ashe!
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
From new reader, Chavaughn Christie (21)-- "Message to a Youngblood is the realest book I ever read. It made me think, caused me to laugh and be upset because I had to reflect on my flaws. But it also touched me deeply. It's great to read a book that's about me, that I can relate to and not about dead White men."