In My Head by Emma Sher, Caleb Justin & Canaan White
Following the film the about Audre Lorde, her experiences as a Black, queer, German woman prompted us to take a deeper look into our own lives and experiences. Despite the fact that we are all different, we realize that we have all been impacted by the lack of representation in various aspects of our identities.
A Table for Two by Emma Sher
A mom who didn’t need to read me stories of Fearless princesses fighting off fire breathing dragons Instead she told me stories of the days she Slept on the beaches of Greece Lived in abandoned storefronts in Venice Fled to the French countryside Panhandled for money to get home There was no doubt that a woman can do anything
A mom who straightened my hair before every morning of 6th grade Tailors my dress at a moment’s notice Candlelit, cloth napkin dinner every night Love of beautiful things, elegance and style
When we left my dad the first thing she bought was The Pink Toolbox To build fairy houses And install air conditioners
The first night sleepover in the carpeted dining room She must have been so scared But mom and I were on an adventure I giggled with a flashlight illuminating my face from below I wonder how she felt in an unfamiliar home Young replica of herself swallowed by the sleeping bag beside her The first night of taking on the role for two
She grew a girl who knows there is no limit to the feminine A woman who drove across the country alone Encountered bears with a pocketknife-clenched-fist Bathed naked in streams, rivers, and lakes Brushing over the risk Because the possibility for fun is too alluring
Me Against The World by Caleb Justin
A life where I’m trained to surrender Born into a world, where to most, there is no value within me Born into a world where I have to teach myself the importance of love, and that it truly does come from me and within Cliché does it sound? Yeah. The truth it is though? yeah. For a while it was just us too, but really it was just me. I was her back bone, and I am still. Me a baby born with laughter, joy, smiles, and unconditional love. Not knowing that all of that pure, loving, and angelic energy was instilled in me just to be tampered with. So it’s just us two, me having to be her strength because the world has failed her. Me a toddler having to repair her open wounds, pain, and her scars because my father had left her, because her father had left her, and because my nana had failed her. She only knew to accept the love that she was given, and that love was nowhere near the love that she deserved. So me a teenager having to give her that love. But then I ask what about me, a teenager? I can’t possibly carry all of this responsibility, weight, and expectation. I’m only a teenager. For a while we had many issues because she didn’t understand my love, to her my love was ungodly I guess our only disconnect was the fact that I knew how to love. It may be different, foreign, and to most unusual. But I still knew how to love Maybe that’s why she didn’t accept me for a while? Projection. And maybe I’m just making up excuses. But I still understood. I understand that she didn’t have the love growing up, and so I understood that with me there was unconditional love, it’s just she only saw what was foreign in me. How can you be happy, comfortable, and living in a foreign environment? Anyway, it’s me once again, but now I’ve entered my young adulthood, I have been given her childhood baggage and trauma, my father’s baggage and in his trauma, with the weight of the world on my shoulders. A couple of generational curses to break, with no one to teach me. You see, Representation that matters. A Black woman in America was failed, and has now conquered, but was failed. She didn’t know how to teach me better. A Black gay man in America, doesn’t want to fail, but how do I conquer now? I learned with faith, with wanting better. But who is going to be there to teach me to have faith, and to want better? It’s just that representation matters.
Pass The Pen
by Canaan White
books won’t tell unless written by us stories don’t travel like they used to word of mouth means little when your language is obsolete you praise freedom of speech but do we even have to freedom to speak?
whats rooted is the strength you cannot see no space for blind mockery or deceit we will not stand for it like Rosa Parks and much like sheep, you’d have us continue march to the beat of your drum but your stale rhythm lacks swing cancelling or half telling what we bring to the table fails everyone including you it sheds light on what we both lack and the poor efforts you make on our behalf
black folk have and will always belong but u live to flip that but the truth is in the color it also lies beneath the skin & the beast within is sure to come alive if u refuse to release the pen in order for us to breathe life into our circles into our histories prioritizing healing to allow peace to begin