Caribbean Equality Project
Just donated to this amazing organization, the Caribbean Equality Project (CEP), the only educational organization serving the Caribbean LGBTQ community in New York City dedicated to cultivating a supportive and progressive Caribbean community free of violence, oppression and discrimination through advocacy, community organizing, public education, cultural, and social programming.
Watch “My TRUTH, My STORY," CEP’s multimedia storytelling campaign series, which shares the stories of LGBTQ people of Caribbean heritage - in their own words, and consider a donation as well at:
https://www.youcaring.com/caribbeanequalityproject-897304
If you have any questions or want to learn more, please feel free to reach out to me.
I am beautiful, but not much else
I am beautiful
I said to myself in the mirror
after I finished
puking in the bathroom bar,
but not much else
The person waiting for me upstairs
still wanted to kiss me
he said
you are so beautiful
You used to think so, too
when I first met you
You would slide your hand
through the dip in my waist
over the flat
my barely thighs
in silence
prayer
as if in awe
then said
Goddamn that body
then,
pockets of fat
collected under my chin
on my belly
I softened
where bones
stuck out before
a side effect of
losing my mind
something you minded
didn't have the mind for
Your hands stopped.
roaming
I had nothing left.
to offer
Now
when someone says
I am beautiful
I say
but not much else
What My Mother Taught Me
You trained
me to suck it in
And so
My stomach was never fat
And I never cried in front of anyone
I never let anyone love me
And when we moved
(you always told me it was for my
unhappiness)
I took one last look at my
Insides
And threw it all away,
To hollow
Now all this time later
I’ve finally let my stomach go
Exhaled and let it round
Cried for two years straight
My belly protruding
with empty
Trying to take care of myself
So I can teach others
Poesie
You told me you wouldn’t walk outside with me if I went looking the way I did. Called me sensitive for crying. I poured into my Strawberry Shortcake spiral notebook, rhyming words.
I couldn’t find a place with my friends or at home: frizzy hair, baggy t-shirts, preference for books, never able to get it right. I scribbled into a white and pale blue hardcover book.
When I cleaned out my drawers, I sat on my bed reading page after page: how I didn’t like myself, didn’t know how to be a person people could like, didn’t want to exist.
The rhyming ruined it. I threw all my notebooks away.
But.
It is in my fingertips when I trace them down someone’s back, up their belly to their chest. Tumbling out my mouth before I push my lips against someone’s skin. In the silver strands snaking through my frizzy hair.
I am jealous of -
<p>People who let things slide. People who can be happy. Who don't take things to heart. Who don't obsess over everything. Who don't need coffee to keep them up and alcohol to keep them down. Who don't need workbooks and weighted blankets and to ask for goodnights. Who don't feel most comfortable living in bed. Who don't choke on their sobs all night, waking up looking like they beat the shit out of themselves. Because they beat the shit out of themselves. They continue. And it's exhausting: the no sleeping, the fitful sleeping, the early waking up but not being able to peel yourself up, the&nbsp;artificial high of caffeine, the shitting out all the caffeine, the sluggishness of fried, greasy deliciousness, the eyes closing on the bus, the eyes wide open in bed, the "in an hour, in five minutes" turning into the whole day in bed, the forcing yourself to go outside and pretend to be alive,</p><p>the pretending to be extra alive because that’s how everyone remembers you, the need of someone to hold you when no one cares to hold you, the softness of the blankets hurting too much, the&nbsp;piles of stuff&nbsp;on the left side so you can only sleep on your side. </p><p>
</p><p>Beating yourself up because you know what you should be doing: going to the gym before work,&nbsp;cooking your yourself; when you did that you had real energy and were able to fit into all of your clothes. Going on dates and seeing friends and doing things, when you did that you didn't feel dead. Now if only you could get out of bed.</p><p>
</p>