Say It With Yo' Chest: A Spoken Word Toolkit

POLITICIZED GRIEF SERIES

SAY IT WITH YO' CHEST A SPOKEN WORD TOOLKIT

Welcome to the Say It With Yo’ Chest toolkit. To Say It With Your Chest: “there is something profoundly and palpably defiant about that.” We thank you for speaking your truth, for taking time to tend to yourself, for giving voice to what is difficult, and for engaging spoken word and poetry as a practice of healing.

The Chicago Torture Justice Center (CTJC) works through a politicized healing model. We seek to heal not only from trauma due to Covid-19 and police violence, but also from incredible harm and loss in courts, jails and carceral facilities and from centuries of dispossession in our communities.

Poet Tiff Beatty speaks powerfully to this in the poem “Art is Bonfire" at the end of this toolkit.

We claim our loss, pain, rage, and resilience as politicized grief. We seek to heal by restoring ourselves and our communities, dismantling systems of harm, and creating new paradigms of care and accountability. Our grief healing is political and our politics are healing.

We created a few tools that can support deeper reflection and healing practice. You can use these tools as a way to continue processing and speaking truth to who you are becoming. You may be feeling grief, rage, sadness, longing, hurt, despair, dissociation, joy, hope, connection, peace, frustration.

Whatever you are feeling is okay.

The rest of this toolkit will guide you through Grounding, Reflection, and Response.

1 | GROUNDING

Through our breath, we connect with our bodies, our voice, and our power. Practice with this breathing meditation from Rev. Dr. Stephanie Crumpton.

Looking up, inhale and expand your ribcage.

Exhale, dropping your arms until palms meet your thighs.

Inhale, expanding your chest.

Lift your arms up, gazing at your palms as they meet.

Exhale, pressing down and out any air you do not need.

Inhale, gazing up and bringing your palms together.

Exhale, bringing your hands down to the center of the heart.

Notice these hands. Feel your pulse in these hands. Notice the heat in between your hands. Think about this moment, what you need to release. Remember this moment of being centered. This place of grounding is always here.

Ashe.

Art: Molly Costello, mollycostello.com

CHICAGOTORTUREJUSTICE.ORG | P.O. BOX 647, EVANSTON, IL 60204

2 | REFLECTION Words hold power. They can build us up or knock us down. Through writing, we can name the truth of our experiences, open up pathways toward healing, unlock our imaginations and tap into our longings.

Here is a piece of writing that holds liberatory potential for us!

Read the poem below and see what you think for yourself:

Still I Rise

By Maya Angelou You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room.

Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise I rise I rise.

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

How does this poem make you feel?

What does it bring up for you?

Circle any words or phrases from the poem that resonate. Do the words or feelings in the poem remind you of anything or anyone?

Which metaphors or descriptions in this poem speak most to you?

What themes stand out?

Read it again. Does anything new strike you this time?

CHICAGOTORTUREJUSTICE.ORG | P.O. BOX 647, EVANSTON, IL 60204

3 | RESPONSE Now it’s your turn: Begin a new poem or song about yourself. Use metaphors to describe the person you are and who will become. The writing prompts below may help as inspiration to get you started, but let your own questions take you wherever you need to go. From the heart, write what you are compelled to write…

1. Who have you known yourself to be? What song are you tired of singing?

2. What needs to be nourished within you? How can you honor/affirm your resilience and who you’ve been up to this point in your life?

3. Who do you want to become? What new words reflect who you are becoming?

4. What helps you shift from what has already happened to what is possible?

5. What is longing to be expressed through you? What draws you to that longing?

For some of us, getting our creations out in the world is healing.

If you're moved to share your piece, send it to us! We'll be happy to lift it up.

A closing blessing Today the World is Created

By Rabbi Brant Rosen Hayom harat olam On this day the world was created.

Baruch she’amar ve’hayah ha’olam Blessed the one who spoke and the world became.

So here is our prayer, as the world around us seems to wither and die, as the nights widen and days grow cold and crumbling leaves float down to the ground: Blessed is the one who speaks the words within, the words that kindle fire for the cold days ahead, a pinpoint flame shining through the darkness, waiting, just waiting for the moment that life will be re-birthed anew.

Blessed is the one who dares to speak words of hope to a world of hopelessness words that defy the fear and dread and despair, words that whisper to a bruised and broken soul: you will rise, you will rise you will rise.

Blessed is the one with the gall to speak the truth out loud, showing us the way to a day we never dared to believe would ever arrive, to a place we thought could only exist in the world of our dreams.

Blessed is the one who whispers to unyielding, impenetrable rock, coaxing out life-giving waters so that thirsting souls staggering on edge of death may drink and live to see another day.

Blessed is the one whose words shine light into the dark places where injustice dwells lifting the shadows of impunity so that all may see what must be seen so that all may do what they know they must do.

Blessed is the one who speaks where words are forbidden, who breaks the silence, who disturbs the peace, who speaks of worlds that might be knowing full well the cost.

Hayom harat olam On this day the world was created.

And today we commit ourselves to speak the words that will lead us to a world re-born anew.

CHICAGOTORTUREJUSTICE.ORG | P.O. BOX 647, EVANSTON, IL 60204

ART IS BONFIRE Erased Her face replaced the numbers of her case Her body was found in some trees on the west side of the D So no need to guess her race Her current tone is much deeper than darkest parts of space Though melanin is irrelevant when all we’re left with is a barbecued skeleton She may have died knowing carbon monoxide doesn’t have a smell or taste She may have been raped She may have known his face But we may never know Because there’s still no suspects No DNA tested No one arrested Where is the justice Where is the justice Where is the justice I know to you the question may sound kind of Tired But I still wanna know how my sister ended up in this fire Guess that’s why I got this urge to set everything on fire And I can’t even lie could care less if I die Cuz a shorty told me that and he was only 7 or 5 Last week there should have been a riot on the south side But we waited for 7 more to die And we still ain’t set a damn thing on fire So I refuse to reason These detectives and corners and morgues anymore I’d rather burn this whole death operation down to the floor But first I came to burn These worthless churches Converting gods to servants We call them preachers but really they’re just merchants Selling a service to anyone willing to purchase And a picture so simple It’s perfect Jesus is magic The reason for the season and every single sad bit Even the father to your bastards Your new drug habit Yeah he used to be my savior too It was cool while it lasted But I’m so past that shit Cuz the fact is I don’t wanna be saved I’d rather save all these black kids Or die trying cuz We’re living in hell This shit is so backwards Seriously I’m asking if the fire was struttin down the street lookin fine as she could be Would you chase her and holler Would you give her four quarters if she was on the corner begging for a dollar Would you give her a job Blue or white collar Would you follow her lead become a fire starter Would you burn your city like your name was Wayne Carter 500 degrees

By Tiff Beatty Would you burn Your own skin Would you take it Way farther Would you burn your own skin Your face in the fire firsthand Would you wait for your friends Or would you look to the sky talk to God and make amends Give up everything close your eyes and go in Would you burn for your sins Would you burn for your people Would you burn if there was a chance they would have to treat us all equal See all my people in the fire and I swear we ain’t seen you yet Yeah my people in a fire And if you ain’t here we don’t need you Yeah my people in a fire And if you scared we don’t need you We came to burn Until the cops bruised our bones Burn Til pharaoh leaves the throne Burn Til they bring all the troops home Burn Til we know longer feel alone Burn Because burning is the only way to go See we came to burn entirely Burn this unsacred society These patriarchal hierarchies These classist habits and symbols of status This madness of corporate ladders Money mentality profit is all that matters Money mentality profit is all that matters Money mentality profit is all that matters Ask Jesus Christ profit is all that matters Tupac Shakur profit is all that matters Ask Malcolm X profit is all that matters We voted for change but somehow they still got us In these fuckin chains Tell me how they still got us Change the name of Kunta Kinte To Inmate 537648 on the outside These Toby’s really think we escaped We all just hanging onto this belief that we can free if we can just see Looking less African as one of our advantages And abandon these damn savages Chase these degrees and grade point averages up and out the hood Cuz that's where they’re attacking us Except we’re lynching ourselves now This shit is so backwards We might as well burn the flag has been captured All the good Christians are gone Remember the rapture So if we all heathens headed to hell Let us burn before we die If we burn ourselves alive Maybe we won’t be so afraid to burn after we die And anyways I kinda feel like the afterlife is like saying psych After a lie When the damage has been done Might as well turn to fire

CHICAGOTORTUREJUSTICE.ORG | P.O. BOX 647, EVANSTON, IL 60204

POLITICIZED HEALING: How poetry can help generate hope.

HOPE IS A DISCIPLINE. - MARIAME KABA

POETRY IS NOT A LUXURY.

- AUDRE LORDE

For me these two quotes come together and I see poetry as my discipline and poetry as a way to generate hope. I really look at this through the lens of spoken word, not just written word. And I think that Black people in particular are at the forefront and the vanguard of the spoken word, always and forever.

I read a Facebook post that talked about how Black people use the word “be.”

Because there is no word in the English language that really can communicate the past, present, and future tense all at the same time. And so African American vernacular uses the word “be” to do just that. Although it may be seen as improper English, when you say: “He be eating,” you know that he has been eating, he is eating, and he always will be eating. And when you say: “He be on the block,” he been on the block, he is on the block, and he will be on the block. So I want us to embrace those quotes about hope and about poetry about the word and about the spoken word, and about who we are as people, and the power that we have in us as individuals, as communities, as families, as organizations, as institutions, as political movements, global movements. These things are all tied in together.

- Tiff Beatty

EXPLORING "ART IS BONFIRE" (FULL POEM ON PREVIOUS PAGE) It’s a metaphor, really, to talk about how this work that we’re doing is work that we put our whole selves and we burn our whole selves until there’s nothing left because that's all there is. That’s what we’re here to do. We only get one life, and so we use art as a way to generate a lot of energy, and to try to make things. To make things differently, or to make new things, and or try to share a connection.

- Tiff Beatty

AFFIRMATION We are resilient. We know that our people have always struggled amidst horrifying conditions. And that keeping the circle, within immense grief, immense pain, and immense injustice is something we know how to do. So we are here in that tradition.

We are carrying that on.

- Aislinn Pulley CHICAGOTORTUREJUSTICE.ORG | P.O. BOX 647, EVANSTON, IL 60204

This last page is for you.

Your brilliance, ideas, and visions.

What gives you hope? When do you feel resilient? How do you feel your power?

CHICAGOTORTUREJUSTICE.ORG | P.O. BOX 647, EVANSTON, IL 60204