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