The Black Woman

?A good man is a good thing, but there is nothing in the world better than a good woman. She can be your mother, your wife, your girlfriend, your sister, or somebody you work next to. Don?t matter. You find one, stay there. You see a scary one, make tracks.?

?

Toni Morrison

Photo by Kwesi Sampa

Editorial

This semester?s issue of The Fahari Libertad is centered on the Black woman. We chose to center Black women for several reasons, the first being the recent passing of the legend that was Toni Morrison. She was a literary powerhouse and to read her works about Black women as Black women is to feel seen, to feel heard, and to feel for others outside of ourselves. Secondly, this semester our executive board is mainly comprised of Black women, so this magazine functioned as a way to honor one another. It was also a way to honor all of the Black women that we know and who have shaped us, which lead to the lovely idea of including our mothers and our favorite quotes of theirs later in the issue. Lastly, The Fahari Libertad has remained in all of its years of publication a platform that amplifies the voices of those meant to be voiceless. As Black women we recognized the truth in Malcolm X?s words when he said, ?The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman?. As member of the Fahari Libertad we recognized that it was our duty to hold up a microphone to Black women for this exact reason.

In a world that merits from Black women?s innovation and creating and very way of life that gives nothing back, we wanted to create something by Black women that celebrates them for their own benefit. For this reason we have chosen to focus on topics that affect everyone in our society but have a very specific and intricate impact on Black women specifically. Our mothers are our first teachers, and for many of us they are among the first people to know us and to love us. While everyone?s relationships with their mothers are different, the lessons learned from them are all integral to our development and growth as people. Examining these lessons and relationships can even teach us patience, forgiveness, boundaries or what lasting love looks like. Colorism is a universal issue that affects darker people across nationalities, races and ethnicities. But, women who are typically societally dependent on beauty standards for social mobility are uniquely susceptible to the dangers of colorism. We wrote love letters to Black women we knew, to Black women we may never have met, and to ourselves because we understood how important it is to know that you are loved when you have been taught to believe you should not be alive. We also wrote about the stereotype of the ?Angry Black Woman?because we know how Black women are perceived and the way our emotions are policed and sometimes it?s just a relief to get to be loudly and openly angry without having to defend that anger. Overall, We have put our hearts into this magazine and we would like to thank all the people who made submitted their work and made this magazine possible.

Forever unified and forever free:,

The Fahari Libertad. ?

?Cause through the drama I can always depend on my mama

And when it seems that I'm hopeless

You say the words that can get me back in focus

When I was sick as a little kid

To keep me happy there's no limit to the things you did

And all my childhood memories

Are full of all the sweet things you did for me

And even though I act crazy

I gotta thank the Lord that you made me

There are no words that can express how I feel

-Tupac Shakur

Yearbook Quotes fromOur Mamas

Yearbook Quotes fromOur Mamas

NELISTER RIVIERE

MOTHER OF KASEEM HUMPHREYS

?Keep Dreaming and Keep Pushing.?

TINA PIZARRO

MOTHER OF RAVEN PIZARRO

"Slow down, you'll be an adult soon enough."

BALKIS ROMAIN

MOTHER OF SASHA PARRISH

?Always make sure you have your own money. Spend his, but make sure you have your own. And he doesn?t need to know"

MISS. AMELIA AZETTA BOWSER

GRANDMOTHER OF IMANI

"Don't worry yourself to death chile."

SHIRLEY GAYLE

MOTHER TO ALEXANDRA GAYLE

"You don't have to be like anyone else, just be the one and only Ally Gayle."

OUMY DIENG

MOTHER OF MAME SOW

?It doesn?t matter what people think of you, it matters what you think of you.?

SHARON KING

MOTHER OF SAMANTHA KING

?Guard well the avenues of your mind.?

KEMI OGUNBIYI

MOTHER OF HABIB A

POOYIN

?It?s not a sacrifice if it?s for somebody you love.?

Dear Mama,

. . .

Black Mamas

What?s it like growing up with a black mother?

It?s like being protected in more ways than you can imagine.

She will give anything to make sure that you are good at all times

She has sacrificed her well being to make sure that yours is in tact

And will never complain

She has smiled and stayed strong for you in times of pain

She has built you up from her foundation of faith.

Your number one supporter.

She sees the light in you and checks you when you try to dim it

She shows tough love, but only because she wants you to be better

In this world, black people have to work twice as hard to find their place

And she makes sure that you pick up that pace.

She?s so powerful that she only needs to give you a look when you misbehave,

She has to face her own fears because you have yours,

So yes she is very brave.

She does the simplest things as a way to show her care

And she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you feel no despair.

She constantly puts your well being above herself

You won?t find that love or loyalty from anyone else.

She is where you get your beauty from

Both internal and external

She has her magical instincts, which are maternal.

She is the root of who you are

So, it is your duty to make it far.

By: Samantha King

Today, I spoke to my mom about her addiction history. Which is one of the many things that causes friction in my mind and disrupts the energy of this house. She shared with me her recent relapse story and there is where I found a strong sense of compassion for her and her journey. Although it always pains me to have these conversations, I am forever grateful for my mother?s transparency. She is always open with me about the thoughts and feelings that lead her to using again, so now I actively take note of those feelings and thoughts so I am not doing the same with vices that are easy to use for escapism.

Now that I am older, I?m able to see clearly how much the War on Black people in America (AKA the ?War on Drugs?) has a directly impacted the adults in my family. The issue is bigger than my mother being a ?bad mother,?this is a systemic plague that has ruined Black motherhood all throughout Amerikkka. I am able to see where she falls victim to a power she has very little education about. So I get it, and work to help heal families like mine. Like Prentice Powell said ?I am a product of pain,?and honestly I have grown to not be ashamed of this part of my story. I am growing to embrace and make use of the abrupt changes that comes with experiencing my mother battle with addiction. Everyday, I am striving to actively grant my mother forgiveness, empathy, and envision her ability to start all over again, no matter how many times she has relapsed. Compassion, I?ve found you. Addiction, I rebuke you. MOM, I will ALWAYS love you. -?

DeniseS.

As a child I was extremely weak My body easily crumbled And so I always felt incomplete. I saw the hospital at least once a week I was an inconvenience I was weak

I was never alone though Because Faith was something My mother would keep My mother made every trial work And made every defeat short termed Never cried never complained. Truth is we live in a world ruled By social norms and misplaced concerns But my mother was more of a man Than any man I?d met before

The strength that society blindly Places on menMy mother had it from the very start Black mothers have it from the very start The truth is they?re pushed to hold it Before anyone properly holds them

Growing up Denise was a character Compassionate but confrontational An empath but easily enraged Spiritual, but always carrying something dark Some thing she kept hidden away.

Denise a black mother A soul constantly on fire, but always seeking to cool someone else down. My mother, a hard worker that never complains a magician that made the impossible Possible A mother who cried for me Before she?d ever cry for herself Delani M.

?Nana?

?Cutie nosey??Her voice sang through the receiver. Tears pricked my eyes as a feeling of warmth made its home in my chest. ?Hi, grandma. I miss you so much?.

There was something about her voice that softened my heart every time. The way the thickness of her accent curled around her words and sang a melody to my beating heart. I felt connected to her, as though she was my kin spirit from another lifetime. But our relationship had always been rocky. We went through waves of peace and strife, frequently arguing because my personality was much too bold for her way of child-rearing. Her views were far too outdated for me, where I believed women were allowed to exist as an independent she contradicted with ?woman need man?.

When I was younger she always told me, ?No man will want a woman who cyah tek care of a house?, that he would not marry me unless I could wash, cook and clean for him. Much to my disbelief, she confidently argued that I was to have his dinner made, clothes washed and neatly pressed, while maintaining an impossible hourglass figure after working a 9-5 and rearing however many children he decided I was to bear him. Yet, in the same breath, she spewed bias. My male cousins, who were her pride and joy, had permission to live without rules and restrictions. They had all the time a clock could spare to gallivant with their friends and enjoy the sweet gift of life called ?freedom?.

I assume that is why my nana and I always fought; why I detested her until my late teens. Before I found logic to her reasoning I found her rules to be exasperating and unfair. But as a seven-year-old in a strict Jamaican household, I also understood that ?children should be seen and not heard?, and maybe never seen at all. It took me a while to learn that my opinion was as important as ?small talk?, or that I was always only a tone or facial expression away from a beating. I usually minded my manners; I took her words as gospel and swallowed my pride with a cup of mint tea.

Nana was a woman from the older days when hetero-normative and sexist standards ran society unapologetically. From a young age, she was taught to be submissive to her husband, to give her all and expect little in return. The bible was used to break her spirit, scriptures misunderstood by narrow-minded preachers taught her that she was nothing but a man?s footstool. And she adhered to the teachings well. When she married she became the picture-perfect wife. She cleaned from the crack of dawn, prepare three full-course meals a day, she even bore six children and rose them by the Christian faith. She did her best to meet all preset standards, so when grandpa was unfaithful and mistreated her, she became villainous. She blamed herself for his infidelity and made it her mission to raise us to be more perfect than she was.

?Dis is how yuh keep a man,?she would announce as her rough hands rubbed the blue residue of cake soap into the white material of our uniforms. Sessions in the kitchen were filled with strict instructions and occasional grunts of approval. As I watched her fingers pound flour into a thick paste she would peer up at me over the gold rim of her glasses. ?Yuh affi watch the pot and knead the dough right,?she told me as sweat trickled down her cheeks and the muscles of her arms flexed aggressively. She taught me how to shine a mirror spotless, scrape years of polish from old cement tiles and beat the dust thick drapes.

Despite how much I loathed her need to train us into men-pleasers, I knew it came from a place of love. Though she also broke me into her ways, she meant well.

- Brittanie Whyte

-Photo by Kwesi Sampah

Hold up your head higher than a motherfucker

Because you know there is no room for self pity, Pull your shit together

Because you know there is no room for disappointments, Take the initiative

Because you know there is no room for mistakes, Speak your mind Because you know there is no room for regret

She thinks of these things while busting her ass off working for the white man

Holding her breath, trying to keep her cool

Knowing that if she exploded, all hell would break loose

She does everything for her kids to have a decent life

However, it is still not enough

No matter what she does, she will suffer in the hands of the white man

Drilling holes into her soul, Breaking her down

Letting her know that her hard work means nothing

Unable to take care of herself because she?s too busy taking care of others

She thinks, ?What about me? Who?s going to take care of me??

- - Djamilatou Sondo

Mama

I would love to say that I?ve never seen my mum cry but I have. I have bore witness to the stream of hot tears running down her cheeks and the way her reddened eyes burnt my chest. Her crying made me cry. Regardless of the time, place or situation, whenever she would sniffle in efforts to swallow her pain, my eyes would become a reservoir of empathetic tears. The lump in my throat would suffocate voice leaving my hands to heal or hold her however wished to be held. The first time I saw her break down was somewhat traumatic and unnerving. She laid in the dark warmth of her bedroom, by the head of her bed sniffling to pacify her broken heart. Through the crack of her wooden bedroom door, I heard the anger and annoyance traced in the harshness of her words. It was because of my father, it was usually him. He had washed his hands of his family, refusing to give her money to care for us. The cupboards had been bare for three weeks now, there was a constant lack of food since her pay could only handle so much. Covering the rent, light and water bills while still filling our pockets with money for lunch was beyond taxing.

And now she had gotten into the habit of going without. She would leave in the mornings off to work without breakfast and starving through lunch just so that we could eat. I watched her come and go, leaving us with sorrow filled face, exhaustion heavy in the dark circles beneath her eyes when she returned and swept her ?bundles of joy?into her slim arms?we were always her bundles of joy. We became a source of strength for her. Her voice was raspy as she placed firm kisses to the sweaty skin on our foreheads and whispered into her mind how much she loved us.

I stood by her door, the loudness of her silence paralyzing my motion, ?Mommy?

My worry answered by her whimpering. With a twist of the knob I entered her room, immediately swallowed up by her distress. She was laying in a fetal position. Curled up like a young child on her streets, cradled by her pillows. She looked so small to me. I crawled upon her mattress closing the space between us, attempting to spoon her. In a swift twisting motion, she drew me into a tight hug and buried her head into the smallness of my lap. Her tears soaked my baby blue skirt as she heaved and groaned.

?It?s okay mommy,?I wept as I caressed her head with my hands. ?We?ll be okay?

-Brittanie Whyte

Mama Knows Best

I?ve spent my lifetime thus far

Being told that my oceans should only amount to water droplets

Hush raging child

Surrender to the pat on your back

and the scolding falling from your mother?s tired tongue

She knows better than you

She knows you better than you know yourself

That is what she conditions your malleable brain with

Mixing and molding your adolescent brain

Who were you growing up?

Who will you be tomorrow?

How fast will you become this person?

Mama knows best

She sees the hunger for knowledge and belonging in your warm eyes

She will forever feed you life on a gold spoon

Chardonnae Simpson-

Fear & Love

To my amazing mom

My inquisitive eyes shone bright and exposed the fearless soul encompassed within Fear entered your heart when the realization hit that you gave life to something the world fears most:

Strong, black, and female

And since then you've spent your life trying to protect your black daughters

From being crushed in this world.

Hoping that the right mannerisms, the right language, & a silenced voice Would be enough of us to safely set out into this world

I respect every aspect of your being

From the way you gracefully navigate through life

To the way you have unconditional love for your family and all others around you

You give me courage to forge a meaningful life for myself and my future family

I promise, my inquisitive eyes & unsealed lips is no match for this world when paired with The courage you've passed down to me, and the courage passed down from your mother and her mother

I am ready

Because of you I can enter into the trenches of this world with my head held high, proud of myself, my skin and being a woman

Jahpickneyfrombklyn

Letters to Black Women

To be young, gifted and black, Oh what a lovely precious dream -Nina Simone

-Photo by Kwesi Sampah

Dear Black Women,

You are strong. You are beautiful. People try to bring you down, to degrade you, but know that you are amazing, that you will overcome the barriers society puts on you. Know that your color doesn?t define who you are. Know that people ain?t shit. Know that people will try to make you feel less than because the society we live in is ass but still then, look in the mirror each and every day and realize the beauty within yourself. Doesn?t matter how light or dark you are, yes you are beautiful. You are even stronger because you have dealt with more, overcome more than most people have to go through and it is sad that it is this way. But stay strong and know that if you stay positive and you have self love you won?t let anyone make you feel less than. You won?t let anyone label you with stereotypes because you are more than that. You will break every chain others place on you and your family. You will determine your own destiny instead of letting people predetermine it. You are stronger than any white woman. You are fierce. You aren?t angry but instead passionate. You aren?t too fast, you are an innocent growing child. You are more than a piece of ass because you are thick, and just because you are thick doesn?t make you fat. Your hair is natural, not a mess, not ugly but beautiful. Each curl, tight or loose, is an expression of who you are. Stand proud for your ancestry is important. Don?t let anyone take that away from you. Make sure your voice is heard. Make sure you realize your beauty and above all share that love, grow as a community until you are able to fight off that ignorance. That ignorance that keeps you tied down, that ignorance that the men in white house pose on you. Break those chains. Break them well. In time it will change but keep fighting beautiful. You are a brown skin girl. <3

-Kaylynn Ceresa

Leave The Box Braids To Me

I wore my box braids proud of my fingers having yet again fixed my crown

As I unlock my phone to see yet another woman Swaying hips, box braids wearing, and tanned skin, with hoops danglinggggg A white women

Being urban as she called it while Popping Pink Gum Her career was dull and she wanted more definition

I guess she figured a little blackness would give her white some color I guess that maybe, some tight cornrows would do it

Don?t ask me why exactly, I stopped watching after she called them bo derek braids

Now I look at my locked black screen confused

I look at this locked black screen sad that yet another person of privilege took from a person of color

Hate that it would boost her career, while I would be shamed She was urban and I was unprofessional She was ahead of the trend, while I. was. never. in. it.

I find myself quoting Solange Knowles way too often these days She says don?t touch my hair I say don?t touch it Don't touch it, don't touch it Don?t touch my blackness

It?s as if my black is only beautiful if it?s not on me, so don?t touch it

Black is not something you can reinvent, so don?t touch it My black is always beautiful on me, so don?t touch it Black is always beautiful, so don?t touch it Not everything you touch turns into gold

So leave the box braids to me -Mame Sow

why are Black women always expected to share shit? why we can?t just be? folks expect us to share every. damn. thing. with them Our: labor joy anger ?insight? steez culture our pain and trauma our bodies our lives. and somehow still expect us to be silent all of these things, simultaneously, around the clock. contrary to all the bullshit: we are Not free of charge, and we ain?t for free because what do we get in return? why we can?t just be?

Brianna Alberga

-Photo by Kwesi Sampah

Ode to the Black Woman

My beautiful brown skin girl

You endure so much in this world

And I just want you to know that, I see you.

The world is blind when it comes to your beauty

They want what you have, but they don?t want it truly

It is your melanin that they envy From your thick hair that defies gravity Your broad nose

And naturally plumped lips

They try to make you feel small And aim to kick you down when you stand tall Sometimes it manipulates you into feeling less than You are always imitated

But the essence of your beauty can never ever be duplicated.

My beautiful brown skin girl

You endure so much in this world

And I just want you to know that, I hear you.

The world ignores your cries and pushes your buttons,

When you reach your limit and speak your truth

They call you angry and bitter They try to shut you up They neglect you and do not try to protect you Then pick at you for being independent

When they tear you down, you pick yourself back up

You are always strong

Even when you feel weak Even though you?ve been done wrong You manage to walk around with grace

I know you are tired of being forced to always have a smile on your face.

Your resilience has become a skill..

My beautiful brown skin girl

You endure so much in this world

And I just want you to know that, I love you.

Even when you don?t feel like you are worth it

Even when others like to hide it

They make you feel like the feeling is unrequited. You are love in its purest form

You exude it and you give it.

Even when no one tries to receive it

Or it isn?t given back

You love so hard and are a source for nurture. But you deserve a love that doesn?t require you to suffer

You are worthy of being embraced and uplifted

Because you are divinely gifted.

My beautiful brown skin girl

You endure so much in this world

And I just want you to know that, I am you

And you are me too.

I understand your unique struggles And your incomparable magic

The world tries to stop you shining They try to police you and control you like a possession

They don?t know that you are multifaceted

And that you will find your way in any direction.

Power is in your destiny

It is already engraved

The world may try to put you last

But they must?ve forgot, that?s where the best is saved.

By: Samantha King

ESOTERIC

EMPATHETIC

QUEEN?

Very few know that you?re a treasure

We fail to show you pleasure

In many ways

Mainly mentally

We have to enhance you and Make that a tendency Many fail to understand you?re a treasure

Little do they know they missed an adventure

ENDURANCE

QUEEN?

Throughout history, you?ve been ridiculed

Like the bully messing with the genius on the swings They want to shine so they belittle you Man you suffered no wear and tear ...

Babygirl you indestructible

Keep moving, dreaming, and pushing

The race has just begun

QUEEN?

You show undying love to those that are unworthy

Sometimes you have to relax and celebrate you

You are worthy

Help me understand you and I will come through

All your feelings are seeping out at every breath

Like a sponge, it soaks through

Misconstrue

Many fail to realize all you need is some loving

I am an outlet for your feelings

Let?s get you plugged in

LOVE LETTER

Dear Black Women,

I am writing to you to see how you?re doing. I don?t do this much but I felt like you had to know that someone finds you special in many ways. The untouched wisdom you have provided me over all these years. By the way, I love you mom and all that you have done. Throughout my life, I noticed many young black women feel underappreciated or they aren?t desirable in society views. I am here to tell you that you don?t need someone else's approval to realize that you are a gem. All you have to know is society is intimidated by you and only ever look at your flaws. This magazine is made to celebrate your strengths and only that. I hope you enjoy it.

Sincerely, Kasseem

I understand

I understand. I understand the sacrifice. I understand the burden. I understand the neglect. I understand the impurity of your purity. I understand the pain. I understand the hurt. I understand the hope. I understand why. I understand why you don?t see that I understand. I understand why they underStan. I understand why they want to understand you. I understand why they underStan your beauty. I understand why they want to underStan your mind. I understand why they want to underStan your strength. I understand why they want to underStan your physique. I understand why they want to underStan U. U are life. U are the light. U are the will. U are the key. U are who they will kill to be. U are the most elegant spiritual being. U are therapeutic to the air. U are the core of the definition of love. U are your own U. U are qUeen. -Cafari

Art by @Jahpickneyfrombklyn

Black Diamond

Dear Black Womxn of Every Creed and Color,

In case you needed to hear it from someone:

Black Diamond

Everybody loves the end result

But they don?t want to know how you were made

But I know you?re the ace of spades

Black Diamond

I know the pressure they put on you

To work twice as hard just to get a seat at the table And when you don?t enable they call you crazy and unstable

Black Diamond

You?re ready to go twelve rounds with the oppressor You take the worlds bullshit and move in stride Prejudice and bias you?ll fight and never abide

Black Diamond

I know what the masses want me to believe Loud, angry, alone, felonious stereotypes perpetuated But your internal beauty and intellect counters the uneducated

Black Diamond

Despite everything you?re put through it maintains a perfect facade

Scratches, blemishes never penetrate the surface And I stare in admiration as you march the world with purpose

My Black Diamond

I aspire to possess an ounce of the strength you encompass

For that your battle has become our war As all I want to see is for my black diamond to soar

-Habib Apooyin

I love you as you are.

I love you as you hope to be.

I love you as what you are becoming.

I love you wide nosed and thick lipped.

I love you flat backed and weak kneed.

I love you thick, thin, and fat.

I love you loud as much as I love you quiet. I love you for your strength.

I love you when you cannot be strong. In loving you I have learned to see in you, things others might miss.

I see the exhaustion behind your strength.

I see the hurt behind your anger.

I see the trauma behind your judgement.

I see the love behind your worry.

I see what healing others costs you, I see what healing yourself has given you.

In seeing you,

As in loving you, I learn to see and love myself.

-Sasha Parrish

You have been mistreated, unappreciated, and beaten.

Went through all forms of atrocities that seems to keep repeating. A treatment, is needed, to stop the destruction of our Black Women. Like coffee in the morning, you give me a delightful feeling. Mocha skin looks good in all four seasons I foresee myself admiring your beauty so don?t bash me for thinking. That mocha, she know... vibrates a heavenly meaning. Who are goddesses? Well it?s Black Women. -Jaidiver Morales

My mother and older sister have taught me the value of my blackness, while society and other people have deemed my blackness as unacceptable. Without their love and guidance, I wouldn?t be proud to stand tall in the skin that I am in, or love my coily hair and the way it bends and twists in different directions. This poem reflects conflicting messages I?ve received about my blackness and hair from peers, bullies, family and friends. I?m sure other black women can relate! It exemplifies how society constantly tells black girls and women how they should look and act when in reality, they should be allowed to be their authentic self.

Black Girl

Black girl, you can?t play with us

On this side of the playground Black girl, your skin is too dark You?re not like us Black girl, you must be from Africa Because that?s where all black people come from Black girl, you have long hair Because you must be mixed Black girl, you?re not like the other Girls who are anger and bitter Black girl, can I touch your hair? Because it&#39;s not like mine Black girl, you?re different For a black girl

Black girl, you have a right to be angry Because people think they know you Black girl, you?re from every continent And every country Black girl, your skin is sun-kissed Because it?s the deepest shade of brown Black girl, your full lips are beautiful

And round Black girl, your hair twists and bends Because it defies gravity Black girl, you?re precious Because you?re you and No one else -Shaniah Grant

Photo by Kwesi Sampa

In a fury, she had managed to make a full cover of the living, dining room, and bedrooms twice. My eyes followed her cautiously. Her slick gelled bun slowly furred around her hairline and beads of sweat crowned her head. We were around five minutes behind schedule, I watched angst dilate her pupils as her feet scurried across the cold tiled floors, her hands grasping and tossing things into place. She was a storm in moments like these, so I stood in the nearest corner by the door bearing the weight of my school bag, lunch pan, and my brother?s heavy baby bag, trying my best to avoid her path.

?Where?s his bag??she questioned without once sparing me a glance. ?On my shoulder,?I exclaimed, shaking it delicately to sound the rattle tucked deep into the side pocket. The noise grabbed my babbling baby brother?s attention, his chunky, drool-covered fingers, clinging to the straps of the pale mint green material. ?No, Anthony,?I soothed as I pried his digits off the seam line.

?Okay, let?s go.?

I sighed with relief as she grabbed her bag and pushed the stroller through the narrow doorway.

After my parent?s separation, my sister, Paige, had become my second ?mommy?. Whenever our mother took on extra hours to cover the bills, Paige was in charge. She had to make sure I ate, took my baths, finished my homework and never missed the taxi to school. She was also in charge of taking care of Anthony, our baby brother. She bathed him, combed his silky curls, and put him to bed by eight every night. We shared some of the responsibilities, occasionally I would make his bottles, change his diapers and pack his bag with all he needed for a full day away from home.

Most mornings, at a quarter to seven, we made the difficult trek to the top of a hill where an old school sat. It had recently been transformed into daycare, and because mommy was friends with the owner, Anthony got to attend at a discounted price. Other lucky mornings, our aunt would keep Anthony all-day. She would pick him up and we would go our separate way to school. Because of our age difference, Paige was often mistaken for Anthony?s mother. He a year and a half and Paige was sixteen, so often times she was greeted by the crude glares and nasty remarks of passersby.

?Prime young gyal,?one old woman would say.

?Whorin?,?another would retort. ?Some a dem gyal yah love a man, dats why she ?ave pickney and ?ave fi min?him alone?.

Once she was spat at, but she never seemed to be phased. She kept her chin held high as she clutched to Anthony and held my hand, hushing me with a brief squeeze of her fingers whenever my lips parted in her defense.

She loved to carry Anthony on her hips, his mouth wetting the white receiver on her shoulders, I think he brought her pride. He was a happy baby and everyone loved him. They always saught to hold him and his arms were always wide. He was willing to go to anyone once they gave him a smile, as a result, we became extremely protective of him. Paige, who many regarded as his ?bodyguard?, was always just a few feet away eyeing everyone cautiously. She insisted that they wipe their hands before they held him and never kissed his face.

?His skin is sensitive,?she?d announce with sternness as she stood akimbo with a large pack of baby wipes in her hand.

She would give his caregivers strict instructions every morning before we left, and when he was sick, we would spend an extra ten minutes just so she could tell them what medication he needed, what dosages and at what times. And when it was time to leave, we would both cry. I, because I would miss him, and she because she trusted no one to care for her baby. As her eyes welled, a sweet daycare employee would say, ?No min?mama, we?ll take good care a him. Just like yesterday.?

After much coersion we would leave Anthony, his fussing face peering over the woman?s broad shoulders as we walked away. We would walk in silence down the hill, Paige constantly looking back with a look of longing written in her brows.

-Brittanie Whtyte

?Come on man! We need to go! Get your bag now! You have your snacks??

I got the chance to sit with 13 world renowned black artists that resides all over the world at the 2019 Black artist Retreat in Manhattan. I was fortunate enough to have the chance to moderate a discussion between those artists present at the event. From Chicago to Memphis to London to Johannesburg, there was a common link amongst all of us that made our bond with the black women stronger. Some of us didn?t have fathers around during adolescence, myself included. Some of us were forced to cut off the toxicity their fathers brought to their childhood. Despite all of the trauma that?s brought to the forefront, the conversation was positive, because it centered around the women in our lives that held it down ten fold. Mothers, grandmothers, and aunts were praised for the sacrifice and work they put in. As the conversation switched to our mothers, I could feel the energy in that group switch. Even these successful people who?ve made something of themselves has that moment of realization that this common experience of strong women having an impact on our lives. A moment that stood out was the chance to sit with Corinne Bailey Rae, a popular vocalist out of London, and she described just how important her mother was to her in a way I?ve never heard before. She said ?My mother raised me in a way that made my morals sustainable for the rest of my life. Unfortunately my father couldn?t raise me the same way, so I had to make the tough decision of cutting him out of my life.?She explained her feelings so eloquently that I made me think about my own relationship with the black women in my life. The black women influenced my life to a point where they?ve instilled a sustainable way of me wanting to be the best person I can be,and for that, I?m eternally grateful for ALL of my black queens out walking on this earth. Habib

Apooyin

Corinne Bailey Rae, 2019 Black Artist Retreat

An Ode to Black Womxn

I am more than grateful and protective of our ever-flowing resourcefulness, our natural and nurturing presence, and our keen way of holding space for those around us to heal.

For our divine and unconditional love? even in the midst of our darkest seasons.

For our potent resilience.

For providing the world with the antidote before they even knew what the antidote was?

For keeping families together when they are falling apart.

For making it our duty to stay deeply connected to our root; our Godlike wisdom and provide spiritual guidance to those around us like no other.

For always making a way.

We don?t give ourselves enough credit and the world gives us NO credit. Something?s gotta give!!

We gift humans on this earth a taste of what it feels like to be in the presence of an authentic woman?s flame AND heaven at the same damn time.

Please don?t forget to be your own safe haven before overextending yourself into being the world?s backbone.

Ignite your own fire and to refuse to let anyone, I mean ANYONE tell you to do otherwise.

We bare too much of everyone else?s pain, it?s time for us to rise in spite of its weight.

Let it all go.

We are MORE than worthy.

It is time for us to be our own healers. They will all catch up when everything comes crashing down and they will need us? like they always do.

In the meantime, and every day after that, pour into you boo. Don?t let them eat away at you.

I love you.

-Imani Faith.

An Open Letter To the Old Me Who Naively Loved You

Mom says that when we were a baby, we?d leave the worst bombs in our diapers. She and dad would laugh as he called us his little stinker. It?s the fondest memory we hold onto, even though it isn?t truly ours.

To Daddy?s Little Stinker, Let me start out by telling you something you may not accept for months, if ever. It was not your fault. None of what he did or failed to do was your fault. Still, you?ve been feeling different lately. There are so many questions, so many big feelings to process for a ten year old. But let me be clear little one - after this experience, you will be changed for the better.

It all began that one morning during your last year in elementary school. The evening before, you had camped out in your living room with mom,Steven, and Jacqueline to have a family movie night. You had fallen asleep watching Pocahontas but woken up to the ring of your doorbell the next morning. Jacqueline was the first to awaken. Being the big sister, she inquisitively looked out the window and, to her surprise, saw two police officers standing at the door. She immediately woke mom up to tell her what she saw. At first, mom didn?t believe Jacqueline but you and your older brother of only a few months confirmed her claim once you both looked out the window. The doorbell rang again and mom put on her robe as she went downstairs to speak with the officers. As you and your siblings looked outside, you noticed a man who seemed to be hiding by a Con Edison pole near your home. Jacqueline recognized him and told you who the man was. Instantly, Steven ran downstairs. ?Is that really my dad??Steven asked mom in excitement as he pointed to the man cowering by the pole. Sadly, she said yes.

The officers had come to inform mom of a Family Court hearing she was to attend in the coming months regarding child support payments. Mom, seeing how happy Steven was, asked the officers to continue speaking with her so that you and your brother could have a few minutes to be with the man who walked out on you years ago. They agreed and mother called you downstairs. You were very nervous but with Jacqueline?s encouragement you made it down all fourteen steps to the doorway. Steven waited for you to make your way down and you walked together to the man who was said to be your father. After a few moments, the tall man hugged you guys and made plans to take you to the park once you changed into more appropriate playing clothes. You and Steven instantly ran upstairs to do as he said. Once you returned, he was gone. You couldn?t have known that that was only one of the times he would let you down that year.

The next time you saw him was at the Family Court hearing, the same day of you and Steven?s highly anticipated fifth grade carnival. You both had been talking about this carnival for months with your friends at school but somehow, you were even more excited to get another chance to see ?dad?. Mom dressed you and Steven very well for the occasion. You wore a beautiful new pink dress and new white shoes. Grandma Jackie accompanied you all that day, since you and your brother wouldn?t be able to enter the courtroom. You made it into the building and after rigorous safety check ins, you got to the lobby of the courtroom. He saw you. It was obvious this man didn?t expect you or Steven to be there but mom knew something you and Steven hadn?trealized yet - this could be the last chance you and your brother had to see and talk to him. As you now know, she was right.

As directed by mom, the man sat with you and Steven. Initially it was awkward but with mom?s prompts, you began talking. ?My favorite color is green, like the color of that tree,'' you said as you pointed out the window. ?I play basketball!?Steven said. In such a short period of time, you two began to share all of your favorites and passionate dislikes to this man you had just met and in mere minutes, he was more than a stranger. He was a friend.

It came time for the parents to meet with the judge. You and your brother waited patiently withGrandma Jackie until eventually they came out. Your dad walked up to you and Steven and pulled you guys aside. It made sense to believe that mom had given him permission to speak with us privately, but no one could?ve known what happened next. He smiled and promised to call you both that night with plans for the weekend. You and your brother smiled tremendously and went back to mom. In all the excitement, you didn?t think to realize that he never took down your house phone number. Nonetheless, you ended that day by returning to P.S. 159 for the remainder of your carnival. The popcorn was almost finished, music winding down, families leaving. It was a scene that would?ve made any other fifth grader who missed the event incredibly sad. Yet somehow, you couldn?t stop smiling. Your classmates would come up to you and tell you all about the ridiculous fun they had but it didn?t matter. You had spent time with the man who was supposed to be your father and he liked you so much, he wanted to continue to be in your life. That was worth more than any carnival game or treat your peers indulged in.

That evening, the phone didn?t ring. The next day, the phone didn?t ring. That weekend was spent in the company of your siblings and mother, just as any weekend before him had been. You told yourself many things. ?He must?ve lost our number?, you thought as you began searching him up. With the reluctant help of mom, you finally got ahold of his office number at work. Most times, you were sent straight to voicemail but sometimes you were just lucky enough to reach the company operator. Each time, you?d still be forced to leave a voicemail. Two weeks passed and still no calls were returned. Steven grew frustrated with you for continuing to pursue a man who ?obviously didn?t want us.?His feelings, as you?ll come to realize, were completely valid.

Let me say again, it is not your fault. This is just one of the many times in which you will have to learn that you cannot control people, and their shortcomings are not a reflection of you. These lessons apply to the deadbeat dad who will always be the first man who was supposed to love you but didn?t. To your first boyfriend whom you will wholeheartedly give yourself over to, just to learn the hard way that he was never deserving of you. To the people who would rather walk away than fight beside you. And somehow, you will learn to forgive them anyways.

Your life does not end here. I?d argue that this moment is where your life truly begins. After this experience, you will find the inner strength to rise and fight to become the person you aspire to be, someone the tall coward at the Con Edison pole would regret not knowing. You?ll be an honor roll student throughout middle school and high school. You?ll be incredibly involved in your community; volunteering to work with senior citizens, working part time with elementary and middle school students in their afterschool programs, teaching middle school students how to play basketball. Somehow you?ll find the time to be active in many extracurricular activities; playing volleyball and basketball, performing in every musical and talent show you could audition for, running your high schools first ever newspaper, editing and filming for the school television show. You'll discover new affinities and love being a student of life. You?ll be the first in your family to even attend a four year school away from home, let alone thrive in one.

So sweetheart keep your head up. Out of each dark storm comes a bright and beautiful new day. You may face some very hard challenges but each will shape you into an amazing young woman. You will develop a sense of understanding, resilience, tolerance, compassion. You?ll find motivation in the tough times to do and be better than the ones who hurt you. You?ll learn that every man is not like the one who was supposed to love you first. This?ll probably make more sense when you meet a man in college who is truly dedicated to your happiness, success, and peace.

So my love, cry. Scream. Hurt. Feel. Experience your emotions but do not live in them. Breathe.

When you?re ready, and you will be ready, rise up again. A world of possibilities and experiences awaits.

Love, The Woman You Are Destined To Be

Our Anger, Justified, Misunderstood, Ignored,Trivialized

?Anger is better. There is a sense of being in anger. A reality and presence. An awareness of worth. It is a lovely surging.?

? Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye

Photo by Kwesi Sampa

The Angry Black Woman

Blessed with an alluring presence, Blessed with the glow of the sun,

Blessed with divine grace, You illuminate the world with your passion

You move with integrity, bearing the pain of those who cannot bear their own

This world has morphed you into a specimen for their speculation, Left unprotected in this world you are left open to the scrutiny of all, They try to penetrate your mind and unlock your divine spirit with force

Eyes of lust and desire; void of love

Accompanied with wandering hands that wish to indulge in your essence

In turn those same hands contort into tight wound fists that wish to contain and control

All seek for your love, validation, pleasure

Leaving you bearing the burden of all, slowing draining your divine glow

Yet the question that the world seeks an answer to is Why, oh why black women, are you angry?

-Jahpickney from Bklyn

Art by @Jahpickneyfrombklyn

"Behind The Stare?

Microaggressions, subtle but present Waiting and waiting for the words to escape your mouth.

?Speak your mind!?, but all you do is stare.

As if how I look is a problem that you cannot find the answer to.

NO!

This nappy hair does not have the same roots as you.

& NO!

I?m not mad at you, I?m mad at your ancestors

And how you think what you have is not a product of what they did.

And how you act like what mine had to go through Doesn?t benefit you to this day

But still, you say,

?Slavery was almost 200 years ago. Why are we still talking about this??

Because everytime I see a board of professionals, there?s only one or two black people there...

Because everytime I turn on the tv to watch a show, There?s only one or two black people there.

& God forbid that I?d ever disagree with anything you say

Because your response would be, ?You people.?

& God forbid that I would ever verbalize how much I love my hair and my wonderfully dark skin Because your response would be a stare of curiosity, confusion, and a hint of disapproval.

A stare that screams,

?there?s no actual way that he could think that looks nice.?

Because either you are scrutinizing my differences or you?re ignoring them. As if my life being heavily affected by historical events is not worth your notice.

You roll your eyes when the topic of racism is brought up in a class you never thought you?d have to talk about it in.

You have to sit there and listen as the educated Black minds of the present speak up for the silenced Black voices of the past.

You hate that the tools given to humanity are useful for us, too. You hate that the women of the Black community can now use their voices boastfully, so you call them angry.

You hate that the presence alone of a Black man demands respect, so you find a weapon to make them run the other way.

You hate that we were able to make it into the most desired office in America for two terms so you sent Goliath.

With his giant racist comments and his giant wall and his giant aggression against people that have put in more work for this country than he ever has

But still, you stare.

Because you know that your giant depravity will be overtaken by our giant royalty

So you stare

Because you know the David on the inside of us will rise to do the impossible.

Moses O.

I?m About To Get Disrespectful. -Sasha Parrish

I have been angry for much of my life but I?ve been feeling it quietly.

It sits in my chest, this anger, coiled around my beating heart.

I don?t think it has any plans of leaving.

It was born when I realized that the world would not see me as I was, And that there would never be a good reason for this, and it might not end.

I?ve grown familiar with this anger; we argue constantly. We aren?t enemies.

My anger taught me how to write words into poison, It always knows the most hurtful things to say, but I do not say them. And so, we struggle.

My anger does not understand and confusion makes it stronger. It lives to be perceived and feared, In it?s world neither shame nor consequence exist.

I am it?s only barrier.

It pushes its limits, bubbling up from my throat disguised as frustration. I swallow.

It grows green with envy at the sight of white mothers yelling with abandon, hurling insults and only soothed by the sound of oncoming sirens.

That must be freedom, my anger thinks from its Ribbed prison and glows with rage bringing heat to my cheeks Until it is quieted by my cool grating breaths. So my anger waits, and waits, and waits.

I think it might be time to let it out.

In a world seemingly absent of courtesy, That expects so much and returns so little, My anger could thrive.

Finally it could unbind itself from my heart, slither out of my throat and bind my hands into fists.

I?d reign it back in of course, It?s reckless abandon could do me more harm than good.

I?ll give it a little room not too much. In the meantime, I?m about to get disrespectful.

Photo by Kwesi Sampa

Why can?t I speak English?

Like it?s just talking, simple communication right?

Just be cool I thought to myself growing up

Later in life wondering, what the fuck does that even mean. Cool. Tf.

Fuck English, oppressive ass tongue

My thoughts bend inward and outward fluctuating like time or interest rates .

They aren?t able to catch up with my vocals n shit.

It?s like I rather speak in my head and hope that telepathy exist. Cause dime, my black ain?t valid, my indigenous ain?t valid, my Latinidad ain?t valid? Fuck outta here.

Up until recently I Identified as Hispanic, a name created by Britain 2.0. That?s a dub.

I speak the language of the trees, the plants,and the animals; I speak the language of love, life, hate, product of institutions; I speak black, white, Latino, gay, straight, me, you. The language of the universe.

But Maybe that?s why I have social anxiety and would rather revert back into the the small cracks and crevices hidden under piles of chaos and solitude.

Like being me ain?t under constant siege; consumed by my inability to find an oasis within me, I myself know lies somewhere dormant, dwelling in darkness.

You see to my knowledge, my mind is everything and everywhere. I am not but a vessel of the universe. The embodiment of all therefore absolutely nothing.

Nahhhh I dragged it, but did I?

My sword similar to my cerebral cortex don?t function under the pretense of the law. My shit laced with venom, methodically permeating through your arteries, reaching your central nervous system, melting what you thought was reality, and converting that into creation or destruction or whatever the fuck.

I might catch a case off what I just spit, Pero yo no hablo ingles so I plead the fifth.

Wake the fuck up.

I feel such a sense of emptiness within me

This pit of loneliness that I can?t seem to escape

It engulfs my thoughts of creation, Overpowering the process of mental evolution turning in reverse

Toward pain and hate and sorrow

My interactions seem meaningless and numb

My present seems superficial

Why am I here?

The melodies that sing in my head aren?t of joy and happiness but drought and deserted paradises.

Life seems to thrive off of sad tragedy and unfulfilled destinies.

Ugly black clouds looming overhead unseen yet present as the air we breath.

Distracting us from ourselves and what we why we are truly here.

We ain?t here to hate, hurt, we are here to understand, learn, love, live.

Wake the fuck up!

Funny how you can?t have one without the other in any regard but there must be a balance.

You can?t let darkness over power the light

But I may have already, what do I do now?

Maybe I try to climb out this tunnel of despair and anguish. Or Do I become this darkness, let it consume me, gaining its powers, bending it to my will.

Does my light lie at the edge of darkness?

Or...

Wake the fuck uppppp!!!!!

-Esmerlin Delacruz

My Crown

I love thunderstorms

The melodic rain beating down on my window

The thunder's low comforting rumble

The lightning gently caressing from the sky down to the earth

I love thunderstorms because they made my home feel safe

I could sit in my window and feel the anxiety of the storm but in these walls

I was kept dry and safe

I loved thunderstorms

Until middle school boys said that my hair was a thunderstorm

?It makes you look like you were hit with lightning?, they said

Like my hair was meant to be pin straight but the storm blew it into a curly tangled mess

It was then that I hated thunderstorms

I straightened my hair

Then suddenly the harsh pelting rain drop insults

Turned into sun beams

My hair looked beautiful

And became full of compliments, hair spray, And heat damage

But the smell of those so called sunny days wasn't the same

It smelled burnt

Smelled like chemicals

Smelled like its was a raw ore, smelted into an acceptable form

I missed the smell of the wet earth

Missed the sound of water pelting down on my roof and grass Detoxifying

My hair was a drought that needed a flood

A flood that I brought in my senior year of high school my tame sunny, cloudless day because a hurricane

I loved it

Those middle school boys that turned into high school boys

Acted like elementary school boys

As they combated my confidence Pretzels

Childish sour dough was flung into my hair and I would calmly pull out each pretzel that landed

Put it neatly on my desk and at the end of class I put them into the garbage

Both the pretzels and the boys

That day my winds were so strong that my hair became even curlier

I was drenched with the rain of my confidence Confidence that would strike lightning in my eyes

I created new walls to keep me safe from the storm

But not so I could hide behind them

They stood as a threat

Daring those silly boys

To come and put on more pretzels in my hair, My crown

-Raven Pizarro

Colorism

It had occurred to Pecola some time ago that if her eyes...were different, that is to say, beautiful, she herself would be different.....Thrown, in this way, into the binding conviction that only a miracle could relieve her, she would never know her beauty. She would only see what there was to see: the eyes of other people."

-Toni Morrision The Bluest Eye

Photo by Kwesi Sampa

The Self- Hate of a Young Black Girl

I remember when I used to hate me

I used to try to wash my skin away

Used to want to be of lighter skin Because being dark made me seem rough And being light would make me seem soft. Felt as dark as the night sky

But I wanted to be the light of the sunshine Then maybe when people saw my dark lips, They wouldn?t assume that I did things Things that are unspeakable for a girl that young I wished I was the type that had guys sprung

It was always the worst when they turned me down or just ignored my existence

Because my skin isn?t ?fair?

I always felt less beautiful when around the light girls

I used to talk down on people who looked just like me because I hated myself and my appearance in this world. People believed I had weave and assumed that I had to be mixed Because apparently you can?t have long hair while being a dark skin chick. The media always portrayed girls like me as aggressive, ?ghetto?and unappealing

And with that stigma constantly in my face I had to go through a lot of healing. With time came change

My thoughts about myself rearranged It took a lot to accept me and the things I couldn? t change

But I finally realized that my beauty radiated from within I realized the sweetness that actually did come from my melanin. My skin tone is now accepted but with pictures of people oiled up and dressed down

Now everybody wants a piece of the ?chocolate?.

By: Samantha King

Photo by Kwesi Sampa

I google beautiful women what do I see?

A sea of blonde hair and blue eyes staring at me

I google beautiful women what do I find?

That in this world of beauty I've been left behind Lips too big Nose too wide Too this, too that So I stand aside

Beneath the shadow of a standard that ill never meet A slave to the race of beauty that batters down my feet

A black queen, I'm a goddess, yet I fight for my crown Taken by those whose birthright was to come put me down Bullshit I rebel, but my screams go unheard Another angry black woman they can lump in the herd But I won't be defeated, I won't be beaten down These big lips this wide nose they connect to my crown So you can take all your standards Your eurocentric ideals you can pick out who's perfect like we picked in the fields. I see my power my beauty I see beyond all the lies And not even google can change that No matter how hard it tries -Angelina Bell

Photo by Kwesi Sampa

?Is that really your daughter??

Three months postpartum and my daughter is making her debut appearance in Walmart. My friend Bianca, my new bundle of joy, Rozaliya and I came for diapers and wipes. Somehow we ended up with a cart full of snacks that I don?t need. I?m waiting in line and it?s finally my turn to go to the self check out booth. The self-checkout attendant comes over to us and is doing everything she can to peek into my daughters stroller to get a glimpse of my baby girl. When she finally gets a good look, she mentions how beautiful my baby is. ?Thank you!?, I said proudly. She said, ?Wait, she?s your daughter??My friend and I look at each other with a confused look on both of our faces. I say, ?Yep! She?s all mine!?The self check out attendant turns around to my friend and says ?She looks more like you.?Let me remind you, I am a dark skinned woman, my skin is rich with nothing but melanin. My daughter and my friend both have light skin. My friend looks back at the lady and says, ?I?m her aunt, I?m not her mother.?Finally, the Walmart attendant looks back at me and says, ?Well, her dad must be pretty light.?

At this point, my blood is boiling. How dare you go out of your way to make me feel as though my daughter looks nothing like me simply because we have two different complexions. Rozaliya, my daughter, definitely favors her father, there is no doubt about that. However, I want you to close your eyes and imagine a world where African American people come in a million shades of brown, not just one or two. Now open your eyes, take a step outside of the four walls that you call home and understand that this is the reality. African American people are the most diverse group of people on this earth, and even one family can come in a mix of different skin complexion. - Masseta Dieng (Mame's aunt).

Beauty -Raven Pizarro

Her light milk skin

Lovely and gorgeous

Like the summer sky

Her mind must be delirious

As she is always drunk on diamonds

My luscious chocolate head Lathered in honey and beauty With a thousand dreams soaring together Sings with no tongue And lives like a black shadow

Skin aching for raw sun Breast aching to sing symphonies

Same Blood Same Skin Different Color

But Both Beautiful

Meet The E-Board

Chardonnae Simpson Position: Editor Imani Burnett Position: Student Advisor

Samantha King Position: Public Relations

Kasseem Humphreys Position: Graphic Designer & Treasurer

Sasha Parrish Position: President Mame Sow Position: Vice President

Alexandra Gayle Position: Layout Editor

Habib Apooyin Position: Editor

?Poetry is a political act because it involves telling the truth.?? June Jordan

Raven Pizarro Position: Secretary

Phenomenal Woman

By Maya Angelou

Thank you for reading -Fahari Libertad Family

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I?m not cute or built to suit a fashion model?s size

But when I start to tell them, They think I?m telling lies. I say, It?s in the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I?m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That?s me. I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It?s the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I?m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman,

Photo by Kwesi Sampa