writing thru...oppression
oppression is the perfect killer: even if guilty, it cannot be convicted for the tragedy it enacts on the body. this is the statement i told myself that has carried me for the past year -- a year that has put my convictions, my identity, my work ethic, my morality, my health, my mind, and my heart to test. this moment, however, is not about the details of the moments that have passed. it is not about the many failures i have witnessed on my journey through Gethsemane. it is not about the victories that seem hollow after reaching the mountaintop. it is not about the silence that rings with dehumanization. it is not about performance for vitality's sake -- even when "performance" works more like chemotherapy than xanax. no, this moment is about writing -- writing that has carried me thru: from pew in an evangelical Pentecostal church in Stone Mountain, Georgia to stage at the first National Black Lesbian Conference in Atlanta to a secured data room in Bloomington, India