WOKE and Tired

Now I see why they say ignorance is bliss because being “woke” is exhausting as f%#k !   It means that when you hear  throwback songs, you recognize the misogynistic, pedophilic lyrics and can no longer stomach R.Kelly’s   Bump and Grind, or you freeze when you catch Biggie’s lyrics “Kickin’ the doorway in the fourth floor, all I heard was Biggie don’t hit me no more.”  ( Like damn dude, you doing all of that because she cheated?)  It's side eye to guys who want you to call them Daddy or think a woman's pubic region should be completely bare...like dude really, I'm not 10!
 It means caring about rights…your rights, LGBT rights, women’s rights and civil rights. It means that you become painfully aware of  “isms” and the harm they cause others. It means microagressions become MACRO. Then having to decide whether to respond with an all out read or a clever clapback.

It means that instead of just blaming people for their  problems, you analyze all of the systematic factors affecting them. You think globally,  lay awake at night with images from the news, even though you know the media distorts EVERYTHING.  And once you know, you can’t un-know, which creates this sense of responsibility…to act. 
Speak up. Educate. Participate. Advocate. 
See what I mean?  That shit's exhausting. Guess I better rest up because the next 3 years 11 months will require all of that and more.

Jumping the Gun: More Fipple problems

It's almost six o'clock on a Saturday and I've just been able to peel myself off the couch...kinda. I was so excited to finally see my new fipples, which look like they will be great once all these stitches dissolve. This was exactly one week after my surgery. My surgeon removed all of the bandages and instructed me to lubricate all of my wounds.

With bandages...don't they look perky? Relax they'll drop some later, but they are smaller

He used skin from underneath my foob to create the fipple

Here I am all oiled up. Can you imagine wearing a bra over this?

He forewarned me that it would be tricky finding the right bra for now, and for some reason, I didn't quite absorb that until I tried to actually wear one. On one hand I was told not to wear anything that could flatten out my new nipples, like the sports bras and  tanks with built- in bras I've grown to love. Then with my lovely  stitches in the uncomfortable spot underneath my breast, no underwires, or hell, any kind of bra. With my green light to go back to work I surely couldn't show up with my headlights beaming. So day one I wore a cupped Victoria's  Secret bra to allow room for my fipples. Unfortunately my day was filled with anguish. Firstly, I was back to driving and turns and backing out hurt all over. Secondly, that expensive ass bra sucked! It cut right into my sore spots, and it wasn't as supportive as my surgical tube top, so every time I bent down...ouch.
 After work I did what he had suggested in the first place, I got some nipples protector cups; the same ones for breast feeding mothers. i wore those with my go to sports bra and it was a better. However, by the end of the day, I was sore from the nipples protectors. Those things are not meant to be worn for 9 hours! So here I am exhausted from only 3 days of work, and uncomfortable unless I'm laying with pillows propped under my arms. It's surprising and disappointing to me
because week one went so well with the bandages and the tube top. No bra= no support, bra= support but flat nipples, or support but pain to my stitches. So I'm laying here for this reason and because  I'm tired. It I may even be slightly depressed; not at my fipples, because they are awesome, but because I'm not 100% and everyone that knows me, know I hate to slow down. I just have to remember that this is temporary, and by summer I'll be more back to normal. Damn Patience!

On Martin Luther King’s Birthday

With the release of the movie Selma, I’ve seen many social media posts of people being surprised by MLK’s adultery. My first thought was that it was no secret. Sure, they didn’t share this with us when we were taught in school, but I really thought folks new about this. My second thought was that he was indeed a man, a human, someone capable of mistakes and intentional wrongdoings. But it’s hard for some to conceive that about this figure, whom we’ve dedicated a national holiday to, whom we built a monument in honor of , whose lines from the “I have Dream” speech are embedded in our memory since elementary school, and  for many the only  positive male African-American figure they were ever taught.

            I mean think about it… this man was thrust into leadership at 26 with the Montgomery Boycott. When he led that march in Selma he was just 36 year old. I am 36 years old today, and there are already times I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders with the responsibility I have to our youth. I could only imagine living under the constant fear of death for my family and myself, to have my home bombed and still have to go and speak to people who look to me for leadership and hope. And I’m sure that sense of power was equally ego-boosting, so much that, yes MLK “hollered back” when women smiled his way, or showed  up at his hotel room. Groupie love isn’t just for musicians and movie stars. These flaws serve to remind us that although we have our weaknesses; we are capable of incredible greatness, a greatness that cannot be erased I am still in awe at not only the strength of him and his wife, but of all the others who trusted his leadership, who believed when there was reason to doubt, who risked their lives and freedom for us.  I dedicated one of my poems called Our Legacy to them:

 “The Legacy you leave starts today,

 And you can say

That you don’t care,

But you are only here

 Because Martin and Malcolm both died

 At the age of 39

For the sake of equality,

 Because millions marched and protested

 In the name of freedom

And now you owe it to them…
toy carry on our legacy.”

What legacy will you leave?