This Is Me Trying
Creating myself and my debut Poetry Collection
Toni Morrison once wrote “You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.”
This is me trying.
In less than a week I’ve deleted over 70,000 emails from a handful of old accounts, thrown away A LOT of the unnecessary things around my office that blended into the background, descaled a tea kettle, and I’m starting the process of throwing out a lot of clothes that no longer fit.
This is me trying.
Edward and I went to see Spider Man Across the Spider-verse the other night and I finally took a moment to change purses. See, I have been so attached to my super cute, small, lightweight Coach purse that I bought before I was diabetic that instead of changing bags when I was diagnosed and needed to carry a meter. I stuffed everything into a space I’d outgrown. I’d been stuffing and being frustrated for TEN months.
I realized that I had never cleaned the purse out from the last time I used it, just put the necessities in the next bag and kept going. So, now I’m practicing the healing art of clearing out and cleaning up.
As I’m writing this essay, I have two separate pharmacies to call about medicine that is either ‘lost’ or out of stock and I need to do that shuffle, beg, explain, dance that us disabled and chronically ill folks have to do. I can’t avoid it so I often put it off. It’s currently 2:13PM, and here I am KNOWING I need to make these calls and lighting a peace of mind incense to get it done.
This is me trying.
After I call and rile my medicine to the best of my ability, I have to go back to my planner and project plan for the rest of the week. This is where I will plan out everything I want and need to do and try to gather my energy and circle up prayer, and chanting and Ancestors, and Spirit Guides and Warrior kin who have my best interest at heart so I can war for my purpose. My collection “Low Bridge, High Water” is coming out in September.
This is me doing.
This is the song and dance of every day, every week, every month. A balance of being a writer and also being a chronically ill and disabled person. This is me having more energy than usual. This is me having been able to reasonably feed myself and do the things the past week or so. This is me having gotten back mostly acceptable blood test results last week.
This is still dry drowning.
This is also knowing that in this race I crawl more than I run but I still have the finish line in sight. This is me being aware of how heavy I have been and knowing that that weight isn’t sustainable so I’m cutting and clearing and rinsing out wounds I thought were healed but they were just conveniently scabbed over.
This is me finding out that one of my medicines is on ‘long term backorder’ and I will most likely have to have my doctor go back to the drawing board and give me something else. I’ll try every pharmacy in about a 30-mile radius to see if anybody has anything left over so I don’t have to play the switching game. When I’ve done that, I’ll take an inventory of my energy, but I really hope to be able to work on some final revision of the manuscript and move on to formatting because did I mention my book is coming out in September?
I don’t repeat that to be cocky, I repeat that because I’ve been counted out, as a child, as an adult, as Black woman, as a Disabled Black woman. I’ve been counted out as the daughter of a single mother, as a person who for a long time didn’t fit in a lot of places. I fought for this season the way I’ve fought for my life.
The beauty of it is that I’m doing this on my own time and in my own way. I was unsure for a long time. Afraid for everything I knew I was becoming and everything I knew me or this book could and couldn’t be. I wanted the book to be perfect and even though in my heart I knew I wanted this to be the first release of Lucy Press, I have heard so often that I needed an outside publisher to help me. I needed to submit to contests and wait. I needed to let someone else ‘handle’ things for me. I needed to follow the process and order of operations.
Last month when I was staying at The Last Resort Artist Retreat House after I finished performing at the “In Our Own Words” season finale reading event with Zora’s Den, I knew.
I knew this book was coming. Not in that passive way I had talked about it or changed that name a bunch of times or tried to shoehorn it into what I thought people wanted or expected. I knew it was time. High off of the response from my fellow sista writers and feeling the rush of performing in person for the first time since long before the pandemic. I know in a settled way that this was happening. I could either allow this thing to flow out or I could block this blessing. There was no in between. Here is one of the poems I performed that night:
My iron saturation was four percent, I was a couple weeks out from having a minor surgery and I’m still a few more weeks out from finding out if I need to have more blood infusions for my iron. Thankfully I don’t move strictly on logic.
I was told, I was shown, and I know that even if I have to crawl from here to September that book is coming and then I’m going to tour. I’m going to ride, fly, pray, conjure, light candles and walk in the wind my ancestors push my back with to show up with and for this book baby.
That said I am open for readings in person and virtually. No venue too big or small. Also, because I want to keep community with other chronically ill and disabled people as we crawl towards our dreams, I’ve created a Chronically Co Work situation that will take place over Google Meet and Zoom. Free of charge but donations lovingly accepted if you are in a place to give.
Here is the sign-up sheet. You will receive emails with dates and times.
If you are looking for a collection to get into while you wait for Low Bridge High Water. The amazing Dr. Khadijah Ali-Coleman, current Poet Laureate of P.G. County Maryland, Executive Director of Hurston Wright Foundation and a woman who is multi-talented and who has consistently showed up for me as a writer, creative and artist has released The Summoning of Black Joy
I’m excited for this collection. If you can please support my sista writer, it would mean so much to me.
Until next time, take extraordinary care of yourselves and each other.
Congrats on the book!! Also, can I include your co-working offering in my so very virtual newsletter?