she couldn't get over the "tightness" of it. she
was always amused whenever i washed it...begging me
to let her watch it dry.
...what am i? hottentot by way of the black hair follicle?

i am a black girl with nappy hair. i really do try
to wash my hair when she isn't around...
but more often than not, she is lingering...
i think she pays attention to when flakes start to
surface.
its so weird...somehow her odd behavior is making
me not feel normal.

but i am normal. dammit. i work a normal job
with normal folks, where we take normal hour
long lunches, and make it a point to complain
normally. why is she so captivated?
bi-monthly, i anticipate two hours of annoyance.

"wait...its drying too quick. re-wet it"
..."so its always been this way?"
"its crazy...this really is two different
heads of hair in a matter of minutes"

we were cool.
we are cool!
real cool!
together we wish demise on all patriarchy...
smoke blunts and eat cheesecake....
joke about how we were going to explore being lesbians
with one another...
we even knew each other's bank account info, depositing
funds whenever the other is in need.

she understands my thoughts, and i take the time
to listen to hers. i genuinely care.
her rhythm is different, but i knew that she
enjoys moving her limbs. she is free...
always. and i know that she is supposed to
be...always. i appreciate her for who she
is, and who i want to be.

i love her. i love her hard.
...we are sisters.
but somehow she always makes me feel like
an attraction when it comes time to wet my hair...

i've come to loathe what it takes to accomplish
a clean scalp.

i don't trip when her long yellow stringy
strands are everywhere in my apartment.
i'm used to cleaning up stuff that is out of
place...no biggie for me.

she is my pusher.
she does her job and does it well.
i am always being escalated and elevated.
she takes me to higher levels...


i love and admire her so much that its okay
that i hate her only twice a month.
i figure that's pretty normal.

family values

the man that i love is black.
he refers to himself as a "country
boy from alabama". he is the hardest
working person that i know. his mother
is a retired schoolteacher, and his father was
a postal worker. Just to keep busy, his father
chooses to run the early morning route for the
local paper. they are good people that raised
a good man.

and i'm a good woman. although my memory
of them is faint, i think my parents gave me
a pretty solid foundation. i moved to the states
at the age of three. quite confused, i left behind
my beautiful young mother. she was my loyal playmate...
and she loved everything about me.

the most vivid
memory i have of us is her brushing away my black,
curly bangs out of my eyes. she would always jump
back and cover her eyes as if she were being blinded.
she'd scream that i was too beautiful to stare at.
i would jump on top of her struggling to force her
hands down. "open your eyes! look at me mother! i am
not too beautiful". she would giggle and grab me...
while tickling me she'd always end the frequent session
saying "you're exactly right, no such thing is too
beautiful. you, my dear, bless the earth".

i only remember that my father had black hair. i think
i have hair like him. my husband adores my hair.

tomorrow my family and i are going back to visit my
original home qatar. i left when i was three, and i
haven't seen my parents in 26 years. they had no desire
to leave, and i was not to return until i got my PhD.
we do keep in touch daily...through letters, and more
recently email. i am their oldest child...i have younger
sisters that i have never met in person. i stare at their
pictures daily. our same bright eyes...olive skin...and
curly black hair helps me to better remember mother and father.
we surely bless the earth.

it's weird, any stranger will know that these people are
my family...whether judging by pictures or in person.
its obvious. i see how my sons look like me, but most
people do not. they look like their dad...he and i
look nothing alike. although sometimes i wish we did.
i want any random person to know that my boys are mine
without having to say a word. it's nice to resemble
who you love.

either way, my parents will be thrilled to see me tomorrow.
i am now a doctor.

God gave me a song.

my father is rich
with houses and land
he holds the power of the world
in his hand.

-

crayola would call her skin sienna.
the most accurate blend from mom and dad.
whenever she smiled her entire body lifted...
she became taller. in exchange and out of
gratitude, you grew too. without saying a
word, her eyes told you everything that
you needed to know. her secrets...her pride...
her concern...when they spoke, you watched to
listen.

despite her foul mouth, flailing and aggressive
limbs, scrapes and scars, courtney's perfect
and undeniable beauty overruled her razor sharp
edges.

strangers only saw a stunning little girl.

....

my father is rich
in houses and land

-

dad's practice was amongst the top.
after buying a spot on old national,
everyone knew my dad was rich.
LOWERY esq...attorney at law
only dad's name on the modest canary colored sign.
he's my dad...so everyone knew that
i'm rich too.

my house was custom built.
dad chose the plot, and we
created our very own neighborhood.
dad. mom. my brother. and me.

6 bedrooms
5 bathrooms
2 stairwells (one spiral)
1 guesthouse
1 apartment
1 pool

that was home. this was my world.

dad taught me the bulk of my lessons outdoors.
i learned to cut the acres of grass just like him.
i practiced outside alone to play basketball just like him.
he even taught me how to cut hair.
i would practice on my little brother's hair...now all the men
of the family get shaped up by me.

mom loved me hard.
and dad was raising me to be just like him.
strong.

....

mom's gone now.
she died not too long ago.
dad had been killing her for a while now.
he's too strong.
yes...she did raise my brother and i...but
its really always been just me and dad.
we yell the loudest (he taught me that).
i trust mom's in a good place.
she was good.
obedient and good.


she whispers:
i've been washed in the blood
of the crucified one
i've been redeemed

.....

it's been dad and me for a long time now.
i am losing more of him each day.
his soul is vanishing...even quicker now.
i know that my brother wants to be anywhere but here.
he misses mom.
and i do too.

the house isn't the same.
scattered, outdated law papers...
a refrigerator filled with leftover takeout...
mildewed bathrooms...
this isn't home.

my father is rich.
and i have no clue where to begin.
but i too need redemption.
i need my mom i barely knew.

the morning after....1 year later

i need to define myself...visually.


rjr said "i let go...and when i do, it's good"
..."i learned how to not get in my own way"
...."but that's my process, it works for me".

okay. i'm pretty sure that this works for me too. ?
it's becoming hard for me to deem the work i produce as "good".
when it comes to me...my judgement is increasingly foggy.

..."i mean i do honor techniqure, but i know my limits"
i don't.
"many of the most formally trained artists must unlearn what their
hands now do instinctively. they have no style".

well this is perfect for me!
i know nothing...so i know everything.
right on track right?
completely and utterly right.
(neither left nor wrong).
it's all right.

its alright.

........
hmmm.

whoa.

....exactly the chosen family i wish to be apart of.

a haiku for you.

her light is blinding...
brilliant colors dance around...
i am overwhelmed.

again.

same man.
different show.

the first time it was raw + pure.
i was touched in a way that i had never
been touched before.
i couldn't speak + tears wouldn't stop
falling from my eyes.
he touched me.
he changed me.

i became a fighter.
my very own cheerleader, believing
that i would change the world.

he did + he touched me...
so i would too.

....
this time the intimacy had lifted.
with us being in a bigger city...
and having more people surround us,
i was distracted.

it just wasn't the same.
i do still feel his tenderness from the first time +
i am changing the world.

...it only took one time.

thank you pierre.

this is probably the only time white women will be featured on my blog.
enjoy!

.

Attraction inspires and influences a lot of what i do.
...or want to do.

i wonder how things would pan out on a daily basis if
i operated around the opposite. reacted from disgust.

....
the same i suppose.

i understand.

it's just me.

i am looking to no one
to be with me every inch
of the way.

it's the pam show.
(the best audience is none at all)