What Will I Tell My Daughter Who Is Black?

When I conceive, grow,
and love a black baby into this earth
and she is born 60 years old
and the doctor asks why her spine
is already growing into submission.
When the nurse asks,
why at her 3 month check up
her eyes are already bleeding the color of sorrow.
When she is sucking supple nipples,
and takes just enough to almost nourish her.
Being sure to swallow in consideration
of her great, great grandmother,
who never tasted the breasts of her own mother
because they were too busy being shoved into the mouths
of white babies,
and white men.
When she is never her age.
Always 10 going on 15,
15 going on 30,
30 going on "too old to still be mad at the things that happened"
but too black and woman to forget.
When her eyes and fists anger at the blow
and she comes home
tornado of mad woman whisking down Hambrick Lane.
When she burst through the door
with 400 years of confusion on her back,
and she is heavy and angry, and broken, and thin,
and angry, and almost not here before my eyes,
ripping through the rooms
and falling onto her knees and asking me,
"How mamma? How did I learn this type of pain?"
What will I tell her?

Full Body Skin Care Routine

Hi loves! I'm back with a new blog post. Today's post is all about SELF-CARE. With the chaos of finals finally coming to an end, I decided ya girl deserves a bit of self-care. I want to share my full body skin routine with you all. Remember, always take a breath or a moment. Step back. Step aside. Show yourself some grace, whether it is in a chapter in your favorite book, a trip to the mall with great friends, or a night of self-care in your bathroom. You deserve it, love!

FACE-TIME:

1. African Black Soap: 
Twice a day, I cleanse my face with African Black Soap. I got mine from a local African shop in Atlanta, but different brands are sold all over the city!

2. Moisture, Moisture:
In the mornings, I moisturize with Nuetrogena Naturals Multi-vitamin Nourishing Moisturizer. I apply a tiny bit and follow up with a dab of Shea Butter on top
*dabs*
Shea Butter doesn't work for everyone's skin so be careful and try a little bit at a time.
At night, I apply the Nuetrogena Naturals Night Creme

3. Scrub a Dub Dub:
Once a week, I do a facial scrub to get rid of all the dead skin and stress that college brings! My favorite, because of its price, is St. Ives Blemish Control. You can find this at ANY drug store for the low.

4. Detox Day:
On Sundays, I like to do a facial mask to detox and deep clean my pores. I have been using Queen Helen's Mint Julep Masque for about 5 years. Although the packaging says leave on for about 10 minutes, I usually get carried away and keep it on for a strong 30 minutes. Hey, I deserve it!

GLISTEN ALL OVER:

1. Cleanse:
My favorite hair and body products are Shea Moisture. I usually wash with whichever soap of theirs I can get my hands on. I'm currently using the Olive and Green Tea Shea Butter Soap.
(I've researched and found out they are no longer a black owned brand. If you guys know any similar brands with all natural products that are Black owned, please let me know!)

2. For Sistah Girl:
Dove Sensitive Skin Soap

3. Exfoliate:
Once a week, I like to do a body scrub. I usually find whichever cheap, all natural alternative that is readily available. I'm using Alba Botanical's Hawaiian Body Scrub and it is MAGICAL!

4. Skin Like Silk:
I like to moisturize my skin while it is still damp from the shower. In the winter, because you know...we get a little crusty, I mix a bit of Shea Butter and Coconut Oil in my hands and massage into my skin.

I hope you all enjoyed these tips. Comment below, how you take a moment to self-care.
I love you guys so much + I truly appreciate each and everyone of you for reading my blog. We're coming up on our one year anniversary. I'll be doing a Holiday/I'm a year old blogger giveaway towards the end of the month so stay tuned on how to win!

Stay Happy, Stay Healthy.
~Naturallykbiggie

If You Could See The Light That Shines

  

If you could see the light that shines

The one that glows from fingertips

Seeps into shea buttered skin

And lives even in the cascading of tears

You would know of God’s magic

Of how careful he is with the crafting of miracles

Of how miracle and your name must be the same thing

Must breathe the same air

Must wish upon the same stars night after night

If you could see the stars

The galaxies

The universe in your smile

You would know not much of darkness

You would acknowledge the dim at times

But be assured of the sun's rise in the morning

In the morning

You would kiss your own skin “good day”

Lips would separate the ocean of your magic

If you could smell the magic

The kind that leaks beyond your footsteps

Lingering in all the hearts of all you’ve touched

You would touch like poets upon pens

Upon pads

Upon epiphanies

You would love like the Nile, herself

Move like the bends of her river bank stretched upon your back

You would gift yourself

To yourself

For yourself

You would love

You would love

My God, you would love

If you could see the light that shines

 

Authors Who Look Like Me.

I have been taking a Black Women Writers class this Fall and have read and experienced the amazing works of Toni Morrison, Octavia Butler, Phyllis Alesia Perry, Sapphire, and many others. Reading their works has made me realize the truth of my writing and dreams of being a writer.

There is nothing like reading work that tells your story. Like finding exerts of writings that leak with your experiences and knowing that you aren't alone. I think particularly as a black girl, I was always searching for books that would address my intersectional experience. I NEEDED my books to talk about colorism, gender, race, class, sex and sexual identity. These are things that I wanted to understand, but didn't always feel comfortable talking about with parents or mentors.

Over the past few months I have seen my dreams come into fruition. I have read and realized the power in my story and the ways in which I can change lives. Words can save lives. MY words can change lives. My writings have saved MY LIFE.

So, I am starting a reading challenge to only read books, poems, short stories, and other works from writers of color for the an entire year.

With this new challenge I have a started a reading list for the year.

- Shifting, Charisse Jones and Kumea Shorter-Gooden, Ph.D.
- Kindred, Octavia Butler
- The Politics of Black Hair, Althea Prince
-The Bluest Eye, Toni Morrison
-Beloved, Toni Morrison
-The Color Purple, Alice Walker
-Half of A Yellow Sun, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
-Purple Hibiscus, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
-Feminism is for EVERYBODY, bell hooks
-Why Black People Tend To Shout, Ralph Wiley
-Ain't I A Woman, bell hooks
-The Mis-Education of the Negro, Carter G. Woodson
-How Europe Undeveloped Africa, Walter Rodney
-The Black Unicorn, Audre Lorde
-The Fire Next Time, James Baldwin
-Notes of a Native Son, James Baldwin

Of course, I will be adding in new books throughout the months. I am asking you all to join in this reading challenge with me. The more, the merrier. Let's see how we can grow. Let's see how much we can learn when we read our own stories.

Please, comment below some of your favorite books by writers of color!

Keep reading and I'll chat with you all soon! :)
Stay Happy, Stay Healthy.
~Naturallykbiggie

Listen here, Black Girl.

A letter to myself, and other broken black girls.
We are not shattered, we are simply letting the light shine through.

Listen here, Black Girl.

I know your knees are tired.
Bruised and beaten from all the time they’ve spent shoved into hard wood, carpet, and linoleum.
I know your eyes are cried shut from all the pain this black skin brings.
All the pain, this black girl brings.
I know what it’s like to be searching for someone whose love holds all that deep skin, and knotty hair, and wide hips of a woman.
I know what it’s like to come up breathless and empty handed.
Knuckles and fingertips carving around pieces that don’t fit, simply because they are pieces.
And they aren’t quite as shattered as you, Black Girl.
I know, Black Girl.
That the compliments are nothing in comparison to the pictures.
To the Nia Longs,
And Anita Bakers,
And Beyoncé No Last Name Women.
I know.
I have sunken into this skin before.
I have sat there.
I have died there.
I had rotted there.
But listen here, Black Girl.
Don’t you see?
I know you can’t right now,
But you are glorious.
And I know, those words have fallen into deaf ears.
Ears you harden so often they aren’t familiar with the sound of love.
But no one can train them to know what it’s like to be poured into like you can.
And you can.
And you will.
And God willing, I will teach you.
I will be all the woman you have dreamed of.
I will show you how to love yourself like you want someone else to.
I will be your Nia Long,
Or Anita Baker,
Or some other Beyoncé No Last Name Woman.
I WILL,
Be
Someone you are proud to become.
All that deep skin, and knotty hair, and wide hips of a woman.
I want you to read this, when all the world around you is caving in and breathing space is limited.
Read aloud.
Read through the tears.
Scream at the top of your lungs if you must.
Just keep reading.
And when you are done,
Look at your beautiful self in the mirror and say,
“Listen here, Black Girl.
You be all the magic they are afraid of.
You shine so bright, you blind everyone around you.
Sit in the valley if you must.
Cry, deep, Black Girl tears.
But when you are ready, and this time must come…
RISE.”

For the love of life + LA.

I am on the Executive Board of the African American Student Alliance at my university. I am blessed to hold the Financial Secretary position for 2015-2016. With my position comes so much self development, especially as a future Public Relations professional. I manage an $85,000 budget for the fiscal year, I am learning the ins and outs of event planning, and I represent an organization that has created a 20-year-old home for Black students at my PWI. Aside from these things, AASA has held me like no other space has. I have found my home in the advisors, my amazing TEAM, and the daily connections I have made. To say the absolute least, I AM BLESSED.

AASA goes on a Fall Excursion every year to explore the Black history and culture of a different region of the world. This year's trip was to The City of Angels, LOS ANGELES! I, as an E-board member, embarked on a four day, all expense-paid experience, and here is what I've learned.

THERE IS NOTHING, AND I MEAN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, LIKE BEING BLACK.

25 people.
4 days.
2 museums.
1 Compton Initiative.
Nonstop laughter.
And a whole lot of Black Excellence.

 

 

 

 

First, the museums.

California African American Museum is the greatest museum I have ever been too.

Picky Head. The background is composed of small images of Black women with natural hair. "Picky Head" is written in relaxer.

Untitled (Sketches on Femininity).

Race Films.

African Textures + Textiles.

 

 

Second, the food.

The best 90cent donut of my life.





Now of course, I don't eat chicken, but let me tell you they had some bomb vegetarian greens and mac 'n cheese. The sweet potatoes were WAY TOO SWEET but all in all, great food!

The world's greatest vegan burger! One thing about LA is there are healthy vegetarian options everywhere, so it was so easy for me to find food. ATL needs to catch up on this!

 

Third, the friends + fun.

AASA 2015-2016 Executive Board, Rocking Black Girls.

The Excursion Family.

Adventures at Santa Monica Pier.

Our Secretary, my roomie for the weekend, and amazing sister, Riah!



More of the fam.



THE womyn. Our Vice President. The Queen, herself. She made this entire trip possible. She has been planning and working on this excursion relentlessly since May. I've watched her stress, grow, and finally breathe. You are magic, Shon. We love you to pieces. You are the reason we got our lives this weekend. Thank you is not enough.

 

 

To AASA, I can't thank you enough. I never knew what it would be like to call this space home, to find so many new brothas and sistahs, but I have. My most rewarding moment was listening to all of our attendees express their gratitude and all they had learned in these few days. One of the women said, "I am proud to be Black" for the very first time on our trip. This is why I am here. This is why I work. We are here. We are learning. We are coming.

 

 

Unapologetically,

~Naturallykbiggie

 



 



Knowing Black

So all my poems are about Black.

Because I know Black

I know Black like I know the South.

Know gloom and anger like I know porches and swinging tires.

Like I know swinging bodies and fear.

And plantations and plantains and dancing for master.

That’s where I learned rhythm.

That same rhythm I know like I know jazz music.

I know the Blues.

I know Black girl Blues like I know Black girl love.

Know loving a Black girl aint the easiest thing to do, especially if you are one.

I know Black girl weary.

See it in my grandmother’s bony toes and heavy heart.

But I know good cooking.

Learning it straight from my grandmother.

Know snapping peas and mamma please,

And aint no eating until everyone else is full.

I know full

I know houses full of kin, and good music, and Black laughs

I know Black men.

I know Black men like Black men know yes sir.

Know officer please,

Know I’m just trying to make it home to my family tonight

Know raising black sons harder than picking cotton

And I know cotton.

Better than I know myself

And I know sun blistering, melanin popping, eye brows fleeking,

Baby hair laid, shea butter glistening

All that Black girl magic.

I know Black folk the most magic I done ever seen.

And I know magic.

See it in the way Black mommas turn absolutely nothing into absolutely everything.

I know everything I ever learned I learned like Black folks in slavery,

Learned like this the last time I’ll ever read, or ever write, or ever pray.

I know pray

I know doing it,

I know being it.

I know Black people pray like we still on the field.

I know fields, I know singing.

I know Negro spirituals the only reason I’m here right now.

I know Black like I know the South

Like I know myself.

Like I don’t know freedom but know we aint gone stop till we taste it.

I know Black taste a whole different type of palette.

I know we aint always palatable but everybody just can’t handle how Black we are.

I know we are community

Know we float around with love in our hearts

I know Black hearts the Blackest berries I’ll ever swallow.

Sweet as honey, divine as wine.

I know Black skies burst through the inevitable

Rise and Shine.

Things That Happened...

Welcome Back!
Continuing with my new poetry project, I would like to publish two poem submissions. I want to thank you all so much for sharing your stories + ask for your continued support.

*TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual Assault + Domestic Violence.*

" I am still fond of the smell of whiskey,
Even though the smell of your breath is what I remember most.
It was better to focus on the smell of Jim or Jack than anything, I guess
I could have chosen to lock my mind on your sister;
She was sleeping merely feet away.
My best friend of seven years…
Or the friction of the mismatched sheets underneath me-
Knotted up uncomfortably where you had tossed them off,
Or how the stubble on your face was cutting into my skin,
Those animal like sounds escaping your mouth,
The rolls on my stomach smooshed all together,
The names you had given me earlier in the night could have resounded:
Slut,  n***** lover, fat bitch, beautiful, race traitor, baby…
I could have been reciting them, so as not to forget what I am.
But I did forget what I am.
It was hard to remember.
I did not fight like hell like I thought I would have.
I did not push you off of me like I thought I would have.
I did nothing at all that I thought I would have.
I was busy being quiet.
I was busy being still.
I did not try to estimate the number of drinks you had likely had.
I did not try to remember the way I had always pictured my first time.
I did not count how many times you had promised me we would wait.
I was busy being quiet.
I was busy being still.
I just focused on the smell of that whiskey….Jack or Jim.
I had completely forgotten that you had loved me so much.
I had completely forgotten all that you had given me,
All of those names…
I was busy being quiet.
Because I loved the smell of whiskey, and I was busy being still.
I had forgotten what I am and who you were to me completely.
It was only easy to remember how much I love the smell of whiskey.
Only it wasn’t easy to be raped…
But it was easy to forget what I am."

-Carlynn Greene
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"He was the kind of boy who collected knives and wandered around coffee shops
Searching for afros buried in novels. He found me there.
This is for the next girl he cuts into.
The gash won't seem like much at first, but before you know it.
You'll have looked into his eyes and blamed yourself for all the blood.

He was the kind of boy who'd charm body bags under your eyes and compliment their beauty.

He was the kind of boy who made "damaged" swim off his tongue like water,
Made you swear there was beauty in being broken.

He was the kind of boy you'll never forget.
The kind you don't mention to future lovers, the elephant in the room.
The kind no one talks about even though everyone sees his aftermath.
He was the kind of boy who morphed you into statistics,
Made you pray for better days to come, They did.
He was the kind of boy who made you hate yourself.
He is the kind of boy who made you love yourself.

He was the kind of boy you fell for.
Never intentionally, usually the result of another stumble.
He was the kind of boy to teach you how familiar fists become with flesh.
How the ground seems to soften the longer you stay there.
So you do.
And convince yourself that you are sidewalk rubble.
He never stopped to pick you up."

-Anonymous

 

Things That Happened to Me in High School That Wouldn't Be Okay for Me to Talk About In High School

After Poetess, Lauren Zuniga.

I AM STARTING A NEW PROJECT!
I spend most of my time on YouTube watching spoken word poetry and a few months ago I came across a poet by the name of Lauren Zuniga. She has a poem, or better yet a short narrative, called, "Things That Happened to Me in High School That Would Not be Appropriate for Me to Talk About In a High School." It is a list of all the things she's been through and how much she had seen and never talked about.

Inspired, I decided to write a suite of poems based off of my high school experience. I think it is crazy how much young people go through, but are never allowed to discuss. Whether it is fear or lack of understanding, I am opening my heart and diving into some of my deepest thoughts. I, of course, want to share some with you.

In continuing this project, I am asking for your support. Send me stories, poems, pictures, paintings, any form you chose to use. Share your high school moments with me. I don't know how this project will continue to unfold, whether it will morph into a book, a collection of short stories, or something that makes us feel a little less alone in this world. Whatever it is, we need it. Peel back your layers with me and let's dive in. You have always been here for me. Now, let me be here for you.


"I spent a summer on scholarship at Point Park University,
dancing Monday through Saturday from 8:00am to 6:00pm.
That entire summer,
I saw the best ballerina eat 6 full meals.
Everything in between was Cheerios and constant bathroom visits.
I caught her head stuffed down the toilet +
begged her to stop.
She said, 'you don't become the best without making sacrifices.'
I contemplated for weeks, but settled on second place and chicken nuggets.

Once a year, we got the call.
It came like clock work.
Another kid had killed themselves.
Somehow, it was always a freshman.
At 15, the world had already convinced them that they were too gay or too sad to live.
My senior year, he wandered into his daddy's closet
and stole the gun hours after homecoming.
From miles away. I swear I heard the bang.
Each year, I'd beat myself up for week wondering why I couldn't save them.
They keep teaching about sticks + stones and how words never break you.
They lied."

-Naturallykbiggie, Things That Happened to Me in High School That Wouldn't Be Okay for Me to Talk About In High School- Part Three + Four

Write Your Truth

"I am often asked how I learned how to write.
THAT is a question, I do not have the words for.
But I suppose it started some time in elementary school,
far before metaphors and alliteration.
It started with Accelerated Reading Points.
It started with long trips to the public library with my mommy,
each week a bit more excited than the one before.
Racing my brother through the bookshelves and being "shhh'ed" by the old librarians.
Older cousins knew ALL the big words and I wanted to be just like them.
It grew in D.E.A.R. time.
Drop Everything And Read was custom in the Brydie house.
I'd climb onto my daddy's lap and stumble over all the new words I'd learned.
"Sound it out," he'd whisper. "You got it baby girl."
After school, we'd take trips to the bookstore.
I'd walk in and stand in awe of all the books I have yet to read.
My parents would burst open my door late at night and yell because I was buried in new literature.
"Just a minute," I'd plead. "I think Bella and Jacob might kiss."
"One more chapter."
"One more page."
"Just one more sentence."
And who can argue with a cute face and a thirsty mind.
It blossomed when I "fell in love."
Eleventh grade and scavenging the library for books on broken hearts.
Poems, and quotes, and songs got me through.
I found that there were words for everything.
The smell of Gram's oatmeal raisin cookies.
The uncontrollable laughs with high school friends.
The emptiness I felt, when my grandfather was called Home.
There are words for everything,
and the coolest thing is, you don't have to say them aloud.
Sometimes your voice trembles, and your throat gets all scratchy.
Sometimes you are too afraid to even try.
It flourished when I bought a tan leather notebook.
$38.95 from Barnes and Noble,
but I wanted it.
And I learned how to love lexicon down the pages of this journal.
It multiplied when I decided to share.
When I realized the power in my voice.
When I understood that I can write my own story.
I'd been waiting for others to do it for me.
So, I picked up my pen.
Flipped to an empty page.
And Wrote My Truth."

-Naturallykbiggie, Write Your Truth

Colored Magic

"Resilience. Noun. The ability of substance or object to spring back into shape.

Strength. Noun. The capacity of substance or object to withstand great force or pressure.

Power. Noun. The ability to direct or influence the behavior of others or a course of events.

Women of Color. Noun. Magic.

With skin like sand, and clay, and dusk.

I used to wonder how God could pack so much beauty into the 5’2 frame that is my grandmother.

Question daily, how the literal meaning of Magic lies on her face, her journey from Mississippi to Maryland, and the way she raised two black bodies in this world not meant to love them.

I use to question all of these things, the validity of super powers in the first place until I started finding glimmers of star dust sprinkled strategically on every colored woman I’ve ever met.

Me, being the curious girl I’ve always been, I wanted to know what it was.

Wanted to taste a bit of stardust for myself.

When I finally got the glitter on my fingertips, I realized it was resilience.

I realized it was strength.

I realized it was power.

It was years.

It was centuries of brown girl buoyancy.

Never knowing where life may take you but knowing there was something more than this step.

It was taking steps, leaving countries and men, gaining education, finding yourself in all of this mess.

It was the voices of all of my ancestors, and all of your ancestors

Whispering sweet everything’s into skin and praying it would seep into their daughters.

And here we are daughters.

Glimmering and glistening like magic.

We are still taking steps.

Still following the path they lay diligently for us, creating our own ones if need be.

Pushing on and forward.

Despite all this world comes with.

Despite all being women of color comes with.

We are the strongest beings I’ve ever seen.

We form communities at kitchen tables.

Love, in our embraces with one another.

Hope, in all of us in this room right now.

Right now, we are resilient, strong, powerful.

We are all the things we’ve ever thought of being, but were far too afraid to pursue.

You are her.

The doctor, the lawyer, the astronaut, the rock star, the ballerina.

You are her.

You are everything you’ve ever wanted.

You have all the strength you’ve ever needed.

You are Magic."

-Naturallykbiggie, Colored Magic

So, What Are You Going To Be When You Grow Up?

 "Dear Self,
It is okay to say, NO.
You don't need to explain.
You don't need to justify.

You do not need to break your back for others to stand.

Take care please,
Self."
-Naturallykbiggie, Saying No + Meaning it

This is for every senior in college who has been routinely plagued with this question for the past 20 odd years of our lives. This is for the timid pause we take when trying to answer immediately. This is for every "girl, you graduate in a year. You better figure it out" response. This is for the respectable answers we give to please distant family members and friends. This is for the anxiety attack I had at work yesterday when trying to seriously sit down and plan out my entire life.

This is for....me.

I DON'T KNOW.
I am trying to learn that it is okay not to know.
I mean it's crazy really. You spend 12 years in school, walking in straight lines and raising your hand to go to the bathroom. You dream of these jobs that you soon realize you don't like or can't imagine pursuing...then you're thrown into college. You're told to pick a major at freshman orientation. So you do. Then you change your major a year down the line to something you really love. You find yourself.
And one day, you open your eyes and graduation is tomorrow and you don't know how to take that next step.

So, I'm writing this mainly to convince myself.
It is okay Kier.
You don't know where life may take you, which career path, what grad school, what state, living arrangements, what company, freelance, bills? WHAT MONEY?
You don't know. And I am trying to learn that it is okay not to know.

I want the people who read this to know that your emotions are valid!
Cry. I did.
Pout. I did.
Get Angry. I did.
Spend some time alone. I did.

Then I want you to grab a cold glass of water and take a walk. Seriously. I want you to focus on your breath, deep inhales + slow exhales. You need a spiritual experience. Talk to God, meditate, pray, do whatever it is you need to.
Then I want you to talk to yourself. I asked myself yesterday, "What's with me cutting more slack for others than I do myself?"

I need you to think about yourself right now. Not what others want you to be, or where they want you to go. I need you to think about you right now. I need you to grab a pen and a notebook and I need you to plan. Take your time. Come up with options. Talk to a mutual, levelheaded confidant. Now take a break. I need you to eat, drink more water, and get a good nights sleep.

Most importantly, I need you to know that it is okay not to know.
Please take care.
~Naturallykbiggie

This Summer I Learned How To Love Myself

"In April, I learned how to let go of dying roses.
Learned that weeds are often disguised as masterpieces.
Learned that some thorns never allowed me to water my
own garden.

In May, I learned rock bottom.
Learned that you must reach the deepest soil in order to
plant new trees.
I learned pursuing + patience.

In June, I learned how to pick myself up.
How to kiss my own bruises.
Learned how to mirror counsel my shards into
staccato stained glass.

In July, I learned how to dance.
How to become a symphony for my own glory.
I learned how to celebrate the Magic I am.

It is August, and I have learned to love myself.
Whispered poems, sang songs, and two stepped in the rain.
I learned where my heart flutters.
I have cocoon blossomed into a red lacewing butterfly.

The summer I learned how to break past barriers,
Dance to the edge of a cliff,
And FLY."

-Naturallykbiggie, Relearning Summer Love

THIS WAS THE GREATEST SUMMER OF MY ENTIRE LIFE BECAUSE I LEARNED THE MOST IMPORTANT LESSON: SELF LOVE.

I had no idea this summer would have so much personal growth in store. In all honesty, I was dreading this summer. To be completely transparent, I had just gotten out of a year long relationship. And although, there were no foul feelings in our parting, I realized that I was growing stagnant. I was not putting myself first. Everything was "we, We, WE" and I saw myself suffering from that.

So we split, and I was heartbroken.
And on my journey to healing, I have learned what was missing.
RADICAL SELF LOVE.

This summer I learned to love myself.
I started off faking, claiming phrases like "black girl magic" and "self exploration." Let me tell you something. I faked it until I made it. I spent mornings in the mirror, proclaiming that I am worthy of love.
What I didn't realize was, that love had to come from me first.
What I didn't realize was that I am my greatest treasure.
I didn't realize my magic.

And now I am sitting here crying, typing this message to ALL of the black girls who read my blog, begging you to find yourself. Find out what you love. Find out who you are. Be fearless in your pursuit of yourself. Last night, I sat in my bed, overwhelmed + crying at my Black Girl Magic. I want everyone to know this feeling. It is better than all the dates, and kisses, and anniversaries. To love yourself, radically. To proclaim that love, shamelessly. And to radiate that love, magically.
I have no words to describe it.
I cannot write enough poems.
Sing enough songs.
All I can do is continue to bask in my glory.

If you never take anything else away from my blog, I want you to take this and keep it in your front pocket for the days when the world is too heavy, for heartbreak, for failed dreams, for all the pain:
YOU ARE MAGIC. Find yourself. And never, ever stop falling in love.

This summer I learned how to love myself.
I am praying you do too.

Stay Happy, Stay Healthy.
~Naturallykbiggie

Love Letters To My Younger Self

For when you are 14 years old and trying to find your place in this world,

First things first,
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.
I know you don't think you are beautiful enough. I know you're growing tired of hearing it from all your parent's friends and not enough from the people who matter, like the silly boys at school, but you are beautiful. And what I'm about to say may be the greatest lesson you'll ever learn:
No one can see you like you see you.
No one can love on you the way you can love on you.
You are your greatest treasure.
Delicate. Strong. Full of intricacies that not every one can water.
You control the nozzle.
YOU control who you allow to flow in and out of your garden + how roughly they may stampede on your flowers.
YOU are gatekeeper.

Next up,
One day, no time soon but still not too far in the future, you will soak in the sun. You will not be afraid of the aftermath of her rays.
I don't know who taught you that dark skin is not beautiful. I am begging you to unlearn it.
You will spend too many daylights hiding inside.
You have spent too many mornings afraid to look in the mirror for fear of finding darker flesh.
One day, you will learn of the beautiful Africa still living in your melanin. You will learn that you cannot whitewash a colored masterpiece.
You will taste your own skin and hum that song everyone sang to you.
The one about dark berries and sweet juice.
One day you will believe it.

Lastly, For now,
I know of the book of poems you have written and how you're afraid to share them because "Who listens to teenage girls?"
I know, by now, that you have written at least 50 stories on what it's like to be a little black girl from Stone Mountain, Georgia.
I want you to keep writing, baby girl.
You will soon know of the power you posses. Your words will heal friends, broken hearts, shattered homes. Your words will heal yourself.

I don't know how your story ends. I am still writing.
But here's a spoiler:
One day, when you're 21 + a senior in college + a smart mouth with a lot to say, you will change the entire world around you. You may not notice at first, but then you'll start to realize how close you've grown with your parents, how friends come to you for love and advice, and how the world just doesn't seem as big around you.
I want you to know that this paradigm shift all started with you LOVING YOURSELF FIRST.

365 Day Shameless Journey

I don't think you all are ready for the magic that is about to happen!
For the past year or so, I have watched ShamelessMaya on YouTube, followed her journey, + watched her grow. She has inspired me to start my own SHAMELESS journey.

Now being shameless means something different to every person. To me, being shameless means being YOU 100%. It means not allowing fear to stand in the way of your dreams. It means dreaming BIG. I mean, think of some far off desire, something you care barely imagine and multiply that times 100. Now reach for that dream. Keep reaching, despite all the haters, despite all the preconceived notions, despite all the stereotypes, and despite all of your fear of failure. Reaaaaacchhhhh a little more. Now, grab it.

THAT IS SHAMELESS.

On my journey, I want to discover myself. Now I am already pretty sure of who I am, but I think it's by default. I've lived in this bubble of, this is the way the world wants you to be so this is how you are. And I've accepted it for so long. It is time for me to travel, try new foods, live in an igloo. Shoot whatever it is, it's time for me to be 100% shameless in my pursuit of myself.

I am so excited. I'm kind of bubbling right now. I, of course, want to bring you all along on my 365 day shameless journey to share and inspire you all to live for yourself in hopes that we can all #GetShameless together!

Here is a small list of some of my goals for my journey:
-GRADUATE!!
-WRITE A BOOK
-Go camping, not "glamping" but seriously camping
-Travel outside of the United States
-Compete in a poetry slam
-Join my university's Communication Honor Society
-Buy a camera + document life
-Go to a concert by myself
-Dance in the rain
-Be an extra in a movie or TV show
-Change the World!

And the list will go on and on and on...
August 5th, 2015 is the start of a journey that I pray will turn into a lifestyle. Today is monumental. 365 days from now I hope to look back on all I've learned and smile at who I've become.
LET'S GO!

Grand Libraries -- #SelfCareAugust

"My name is Kiersten Brydie.
I am 21 years old.
I stand 5 feet 11 inches tall.
I have dark skin, coily hair,
and an unnatural obsession with the way words line pages
and turn empty space into grand libraries.

I am a grand library,
and what I've learned is that I have to be my own book keeper.
Dust off old passion pages,
Write new ones when it is time,
And throw out literature that no longer makes me move.

Everyone doesn't deserve a library card.
The devil may come dressed up as the most avid reader,
but I have learned the difference between fiction and reality.

I am learning to stock my bookshelf with more books about me.
I am learning that reading them daily is like watering plants,
necessary for abundant growth.
I am learning to out grow my library.
Finding that fear of knowledge unknown is the only thing that's kept my warehouse so small.

I am moving all my books,
taking all my treasures and relocating to the grandest library.
Not everyone is invited to spend time here.
Some may frequent the old warehouse searching for the new me.
I am busy decorating,
too consumed with finding new words to write new books all about me.

I now understand why tiny librarians take their job so seriously.
They are protecting all they've ever had,
all their stories,
all the poems they've spent nights etching into skin.
So Am I."

-Naturallykbiggie, Grand Libraries

#SelfCareAugust

"We are handed heavy things.
Sometimes it is a first love.
Or a hearty laugh.
Or a sleepless night.
Other times it is a shattered rainbow.

There will be days when your arms are not big or strong enough to cradle all things at once.

When this time comes,
drop one.
Shit drop them all and hold yourself.

I am too familiar with everyone else's struggle and not enough of my own warmth.

This is for colored girls, with shattered rainbows, searching for beauty in her wreckage.
Brush aside the rubble, sweep away the debris.
Behold.
You are still standing"

-Naturallykbiggie, The Monument That Grew From Wreckage


Hi Guys!
I am so happy to be back writing to you. I've missed sharing so much!
I am participating in #SelfCareAugust. Self Care is different for everyone, but for me it is particularly important.

Being a writer/poet and being involved in movement work is a very, very heavy load to carry. Over the past few months, I have found myself so angry. I mean mad, upset, popping off for no reason and it really isn't until recently that I realized I am allowing so much grief to build up inside of me. I have not been taking care of myself. Even in my outlet, poetry, I have allowed so much anger to infiltrate my space.

My daddy even recently asked me why all of my poems were so heavy.

To solve that and heal myself, I am using #SelfCareAugust as a challenge for me to write one new poem every day about the beauty of just loving on myself. I have never done a poetry challenge before, but I am so happy I have placed this one on myself. This August, my self care will be me finding new ways to love, express, and give to myself.
Of course, I'll be sharing some of my poems with you guys, so stay tuned for tons of love.

Please, pulease, take care of yourselves.
You deserve all the love you have to give.

Stay Happy, Stay Healthy.
~Naturallykbiggie

From Rock Bottom to Fertile Ground

I've learned that rock bottom is different for everyone.
I use to trick myself into believing that I've never known pain because my symptoms were different.

They didn't hurt any less.
The bruises weren't any more beautiful.
I didn't know beautiful.
I didn't know she lived inside me, didn't know she was the clawing in my throat begging me to use my voice.
Beauty was one shade.
Dark and lonely,
And searching for compassion in the hearts of all the wrong people.

Rock bottom is a lot darker than they say in the books.
Much like my skin and midnight.
The movies don't tell you about loosing yourself.
Don't tell you that you will find yourself in the same places you left her.

I lost her.

Every carefree laugh.
All the songs and dances.
My poems.
Every beautiful thing I've always been.

I lost her.

It took so long to find her, and when I did she was unrecongnizable.
She was frail, growing smaller with years of me telling her not to speak.
Not to shine.
Not to grow.
I water her everyday  now.
Whisper love into her pedals and turn old soil into fertile ground.

You feel broken now.
But you will soon find someone.
And they will decorate your tears as beautiful.
Paint the pain into battle wounds that only you had the strength to live through.
They will smooth the edges that have been roughed over time and time again.
Somehow you will find someone, who will never make you feel shattered again.
I pray that someone is yourself.

A Colored Girl's Song

Ain't nothing like the tears a colored girl sheds.
Ain't nothing like being three-fifths a man when you ain't one, searching for your fraction to call home. Your borrow to nestle into and be comforted by the affirmations that you are at least something.

Not one thing saltier than the rivers we flow. Than the rivers we drown in daily. Than the very streams we fill to the brim, but ain't nobody searching for colored girls. We're shh'd into midnight stories as fable as black superwoman. When we go missing, don't nobody lift a finger. Don't nobody call the police. They ain't listening no ways, 'specially not for no brown girl body.

We ain't bodies. Bodies ain't ours.

We enter rooms by invitation. Cook your meals. Clean your home, but where's a colored girls home?
Where we sing?
Where we dance, and shout, and praise?
Where we human? Where we home?
Colored girls ain't got no home. Only too deep skin. Only flesh far too resembling of blood and night.

Tonight we stand colored girls. We link like chains, and we be woman as much as we be colored and we be colored as much as we be woman.

 Don't you make us choose which fence we straddle on today. We spent far too much time with our legs shoved open. Who built them through our backs in the first place?
Our backs been bent for years.
Grandma ain't never stood straight.
We kneel to let you get a better seat.

How life look from up there?

Colored girls ain't seen life head on. Only pain and sorrow. Only the soles of boots knocking our faces in.

And we keep passing down this same colored girl blues. We sing it without knowing.
How I learn this song?
How the words morph into my skin like tattoos?
How they taste like home already?
How my mouth already taped shut?
I barely had the chance to use it, but I use it now.

We spit color into your ears. Pray it rings like fight and stings like fire.
Colored girls know fire. We been the first ones to feel his burns. And we burn. We been burnt.
Had fire extinguishers blown through our souls.
We immune now. Try again.
We the toughest things you'd ever wish to get rid of.

But here we are.
Colored girls.
Singing our colored girl blues. Crying our colored girl tears.
Knowing this life ain't meant to cradle souls like ours. Flesh like ours.
But we be here, anyhow.
We be colored, anyhow.

You've tried for centuries to blow us away. But we be colored trees.
Roots planted so deep and you can't see pass the soil.
We be brown and black. And yellow and red.
And all the colors of all the rainbows.

And you just can't silence a colored girl's song.

Stigmas That Need Demolishing

Hi everyone!
So my mind has been running like crazy lately. I believe I've reached a higher level of thinking and for that, I am so grateful. I've been thinking of new ways to combat stigmas that I will undoubtedly face as a black womyn. (WoMYN; is a non traditional spelling of women. It's used by modern feminists to avoid ending the word with "men".) We are plagued with numerous stereotypes and not only have I decided that I won't fall victim to them, I am taking it upon myself to debunk them all together.

That is a heavy weight, I know. But what is life, if not adventure and challenge.

Okay. Let's debunk the notion that womyn NEED a man to be complete. PUHLEASE!
"What's a Queen without a King?"
A QUEEN. A GODDESS. Whole and complete in her own being.
Sayings like this argue that womyn are not an entire entity until she meets a man who will come along save her. Then and only then will her life and her Self be complete.
Trash that Notion!
We are Queens far before we meet our partners and we will shine as Queens far after they leave. Stop teaching little girls that they need a man for their lives to hold value. That is damaging, cut it out.

Can we also stop telling girls that boys are mean to them because they like them!
I don't think parents realize how damaging that is. You are teaching little girls that pain and aggression are synonymous with love and beauty. So yes, the third grade school boy may be mean to your daughter because he likes her. But what happens when she grows up and the high school boy ignores her, when her college boyfriend pushes her, when her fiance slaps the smile from her skin? She has grown up thinking that these actions means he loves her, so she stays. She stays in these unhealthy relationships because that is all shes been taught.
Trash that Notion!
As parents, caregivers, mentors, big sisters, whatever our role may be...we have a responsibility to teach our girls self love and self value. Be careful of the language you choose.

This one really grinds my gears, and I know there will be Aunties and Godmothers who disagree, but there is NO SUCH THING as ladylike. That is a social construct that some man came up with, and we have been passing it through generations for centuries.
Womyn don't have to be petite, to be any more womyn.
Womyn don't have to shave, to be any more womyn.
Womyn don't have to wear make up, to be any more womyn.
Womyn don't have to be quiet and meek and gentle, to be any more womyn.
Trash that Notion!
YOU ARE ALREADY WOMYN ENOUGH. You don't have to try to morph who you are into these stereotypes the world tries to shove down your throat. You are beautiful, in all that you are..in all that you choose to be.
And again, as sisters we HAVE to stop shaming our sisters for their choices. Believe it or not, what another sister does with her body, does not effect you. So let her live and shine, and I promise you will do the same.

These are just a few Stigmas That Need Demolishing. There are plenty more that push my buttons, but I can literally write a novel..
(Which is something I'm really looking into, so stay tuned.)
We each have a role. My role is my voice. My tool, my weapon, my arsenal is my voice. I ask you what is your role? Will you continue to survive in this misogynist world, full of angry stereotypes, or will you join me in debunking them?
Sister and Brothers what is you role?
Start talking and Trash that Notion!

Comment some other stigmas below. I really want to talk to you guys!
As always, thank you So SO much for reading. Writing and sharing makes me feel so happy and free. I feel like I am Home, here.
Until next time,
Stay Happy, Stay Healthy.
~Naturallykbiggie

CHARLESTON WEDNESDAY

I learned the news at 6:00am. I cried myself back to sleep for what seemed like forever.
I woke again at 7:00, tore myself from my tear soaked pillow, and tried to write a poem about it. But how do you write a poem about how history is a revolving door, spinning uncontrollably counter clockwise, repeating itself every so often.
I do not have the words for what happened, but I do have enough tears and rage to relay my message.
Charleston Wednesday smells a lot like Birmingham Sunday. Like black folks gathered round the church clapping, singing, and praying harder than fallen boulders on pavement.
This world outside is tough, but in these four walls we are safe. We've found community in speaking in tongues, in the First Lady's fancy church suits, and the way momma fanned sweat from her skin when the Holy Ghost reached down to touch her.

We are home now, in the Lord's house. There is no place I'd rather be.
There is a new face this Wednesday and we welcome him with opened arms as our families always taught us to do.

I wonder what happens next. This is where my words begin to disappear and I forget everything I've learned about writing poems before now. Haikus and sonnets vanish from my memory.

I do not know what happens next. I question whether he made an announcement, finished his prayer, or just opened fire. See I'm a writer, and I have a weird fascination with picturing everything that happens.
I picture the choir singing. Take Me To The King. Voices belting from bodies filled with love. I picture holding hands, strong embraces, tears and testimonies.
As much as I love imagery, I cannot picture bullets flying past the pulpit. I cannot picture pews becoming a safe house for little boys and girls on Wednesday night prayer. I cannot fathom how again, 52 years later, someone can walk again into the house of the Lord and turn praise into pleads for help.

I do not know what happened next. I do not know how families scavenged over blood, bodies, and bibles, and fans and fancy church hats trying to locate the limbs of their loved ones. I do not know if Take Me To The King is still playing faintly in the background.

I do not know how to end this poem.

I do not know how to transform what happened Charleston Wednesday and Birmingham Sunday into stanzas for your soul to feel.

So I close my book. I wipe tears, and snot, and oppression so strong it stings from my body.
I fall to my knees. I bend my head down to pray, sighing deeply because I am finally safe now.

And then I remember. 

Random Tips and Quotes from A Black Girl to A Black Girl.

1. Shea butter will have your skin glistening in the summer time, but you'll also mess around and be outside cooking like a fried egg.

2.There is more than ONE WAY TO BE BEAUTIFUL.

3. Always wash your makeup off before bed.

4. Eat the cake, or pizza. Drink the soda, and wine, and the shot if you need to.

5. "Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise."

6. You don't NEED a man, you WANT a man. Learn the difference.

7. Love yourself first.

8. Write poems. Dance stories. Become music. Decorate this world with your art.

9. Cry yourself to sleep. If you wake up and the pain hasn't left, walk into your kitchen and grab a bowl of ice cream. Emotions demand to be felt. Junk food just makes it a little easier to swallow.

10. Coconut Oil.

11.When the world tries to label you, shout back that the only label you'll accept is, "MAGIC."

12. Pray for sisterhood. It is a disappearing phenomenon. Bring it back.

13. Ehh. Bras are kinda played out. If they're meant to fall, they will fall either way.

14. African Black Soap.

15. There are black proverbs that you just have to get used to. Your family will call your mate your "little friend" until you're married. You will be told you "smell like outside," even if you were only out for one minute. And she really did bring you into this world. I'm quite positive she can take you out. Don't test it.

16. Learn how to cook. Not for some little boy. But because there is power in knowing how to take care of yourself.

17. Exfoliating your skin is not optional.

18. Gender roles need to be destroyed.

19. "Boys Will Be Boys" is unacceptable.

20. Love your blackness. Your skin, your melanin. Everything they mock and then try to artificially become. Love your hips, and kinky hair, and big nose, and the extra meat on your bones, and the way your family can turn a Sunday dinner into a reunion, the way living rooms become a sanctuary of trust, and how easily music moves through your body and into your soul, your crazy uncles, and crazier cousins. Love how women you barely know become aunts and godmothers in a heart beat, how "tender-headedness" is a real term, how you are frequently imitated but never correctly. Love the black person street acknowledgement, the all day beauty salon visits, and the gossip that brings us all a little closer together. Love your community. Love your family. Love yourself. You are MAGIC.

6 MONTHS AGO

I was sleep.
I mean, in a comma. Completely. But the crazy thing is, I didn’t even realize.
I was going through the motions.
Smart, but not really learning.
Aware, but not really conscious.
Black, but not really, well....BLACK.
And then I began my process of awakening, and it hasn’t stopped since, and if I’m blessed, it never will.
I say all this to say, America blinded me.
I mean I learned about “black history,” knew in depth about the Civil Rights Movement, and was familiar with the term Social Justice, but I look back and laugh and smile on how far I’ve come.
How much I’ve learned OUTSIDE of the classroom.
And the work I’ve put into making a change.
Before, I would never call myself an activist.
I wasn’t on the front line, wasn’t being arrested, wasn’t holding late night, secret meetings. There was no bounty on my head. No one knew my name besides the people at my school.
So I thought, “How could I be an activist? How can I compare myself to these people out here doing magnificent movement work?”
And I realized I can’t. That’s not my life. That’s not me.
But I am an activist. In my school, my organizations, relationships, community, family, and home
In this world, I make a difference. And I fight for justice.
This is my come to Jesus meeting, for myself.
I am realizing the power I hold and the power we hold as a people.
Now stress over the past 6 months has been out the wazu ridiculous, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
To see people learn our history. To witness institutions changing policies. To watch my brothers and sisters unite. To be dead tired at the end of the day, but can’t wait till the morning to start all over again. To have passion burning inside of me. To be change.
To hear the words, “I appreciate your work.”
“I want to be like you when I grow up.”
“You are the most empowering woman I know.”
That is power, and strength, and beauty, and awareness, and faith, and hard work, and change, and...ACTION.
And I am an Activist.
And I am learning, and I am making mistakes.
But I am growing more rapidly than I ever imagined,
And I couldn’t be more grateful.

SOME TIMES I'M JUST

Tired...

Can I be real for a second? Some times I'm just tired. Of being tired. And I want to come on here and write about my "perfect life" and encourage you all to keep going, but some times I'm tired.

On days like those I usually turn to my journal instead of my blog. I may spend a few minutes scribbling in anger or exhaustion and the next time you see me or read my words, everything is just "PERFECT." Let me be real everybody. Are you listening?

MY LIFE IS NOT PERFECT.

And it get's so tiring trying to front like it is. I started this blog, initially, to encourage other people. But lately I've been thinking, "How can I do that if I'm not even being 100%?" My readers are my family. You all are my family, and I want to share my journey with you. Not just the pretty parts.

When you put yourself out there for the public there's a lot of discernment to learn. I'm constantly asking myself what I should or shouldn't post. How much of my life should I divulge.

IT GETS HARD.

So if I'm going to do this, I need your support. I want to share. I want to help. I want to be the sister you can turn to, to make your day better or verify that you're not alone in this world, but I need that too.

I need sisters and brothers who ALLOW me to share, without judgement. Who are in my corner whenever I need to vent.

Can I have that? Can you be that for me?

Some times I'm just tired. And I just want to vent. So here I am typing my frustration. I may have a bad day or week. Don't we all?

Writing is my breath. I breathe Poetry. This is where I exhale. I don't want to hold my breath anymore.

This post was all over the place but some times, that is exactly what I need. I hope you continue to ride with me and allow me to share.

I'll chat with you soon :)
~Naturallykbiggie