Throwback Thursdays are not actually my favorite thing. Look. I may catch the nostalgia bug every now and again, but unless there is some life lesson from my past knocking me over the head, I like to leave my past behind me as a practice. Don’t get me wrong. I love seeing pics of what YOU looked like in high school and such. But whatever. Meanwhile. For whatever reason, I was going through some old pics. It started with my admiring how cute my Aubrei looked in her school photo. Hon-tee. I remember vividly not ever looking cute in my school photos prior to senior year in H.S. Most of it was about having a crusty, under-developed self-esteem–which I’m sure I’ll get to sharing about at some point. But that point is not today. So, because I talked up my senior photo yesterday, I decided to post it for shits and giggles–plus the memories for me that surrounded it. Just getting my braces off. Wearing my dad’s hat and over-sized blazer. Thinking I was Lisa Bonet and such.
#TBT This is the best school photo I ever took. It was senior year, I juuuuuuust got my braces off and that was my dad’s Stetson that I stole and still have. I think that was one of his old blazers too. I always thought I was Lisa Bonet. It was a whole thing.
So then my friend Mike Jackson (promoter, not singer) posted this pic saying my doppelganger is Lisa Turtle. It kindof turned into a (very funny) thing. Peep Lark Voorhees face. She’s giving me the biatch you jacked my style *side eye* face. Gaaaaaah!
Which of course, led me to post some pics from my prom and a few memorables there. Like getting dumped by my super sweet then boyfriend because I was going off to college, he was a year behind me and didn’t want the pressure of having to keep up with whatever he couldn’t know I’d be up to. Believe it or not, it was a sweet memory. Although I gave him hell for the entire year and change we kept in touch afterward (as I was supposed to do) I appreciated his honesty AND self-preservation. But whatever. Nobody dumps baby right before leaving for college! I think I went to his prom too. I don’t remember. I was the nicest mean girl you ever knew. So. Ice, ice baby. Too cold to hold. Anyway. No love lost for TJ. He’s happily married with babies now. He was always the sweetest sweetheart. Love and light to he and his fam.
Which lead me to post the series of pictures that highlights what I had forgotten was a massive turning point in my young adult life. Maybe. I was Miss A Phi A.
I don’t have a picture of that night in my spirit brother’s black and gold dashiki, but the memory has been laying on the lengths of my consciousness since it happened. Hamptonites are just about notorious for their Ogden Hall fuckery. Oh the rude webs they would weave. It wouldn’t matter if Bill Cosby was doing a soft shoe with a band playing the spoons. The nicest people in the world will sit in Ogden Hall and talk right through whatever was happening on stage. Mad. Rude. You think ‘Showtime at the Apollo’ is bad? You ain’t never sat in Ogden Hall on a show day. They will boo and talk over your arse in a heartbeat.
I’m pretty sure I was petrified. I had floundered on that Ogden Hall stage before. Freshman year, I think. This particular night, the audience iceholes sent a girl crying off that stage. I think she played the flute? So. When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and walked out to center stage. I remember the lights being so bright and hot on my skin. I remember standing there looking out on all the brown faces in the audience. Some were watching me. Some were continuing their conversations from crying flute girl. Once I really thought about it, I told myself that I was greater than anything they could do or say. I determined that whomever was in that audience was going to hear every word that came out of my face. And they would be touched by it. That was my silent prayer. But they couldn’t hear my words if they were talking over them. So I stood there, center stage. Quietly. Waiting. Looking around at them, paying little attention to me…
So then, I put my fist up. My fist in the air was an undeniable symbol from our (Black Panther) ancestors that something powerful was underway and if you didn’t pay attention, Huey Newton was probably coming for you. And I stood there, looking at as many of my peers dead in their faces as I could. The auditorium got a little quieter, but not quiet enough. The talking and giggling persisted in some, and it was for those denser souls that I felt compelled to lift the mic to my face to say, “I’ll wait.” My voice resonated in such a way that the hairs on my own damn arms rose in attention. The entire exchange was exactly like a substitute teacher waiting for her young acting class to settle down.
From the moment I took that stage, something shifted in me. I knew why I was there and for whom I was there for. A message was being sent through me to be delivered and it wasn’t until GOD herself spoke the words “I’ll wait” through my mouth in a cadence that could have been misconstrued as thunderclaps, that the room got so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You probably could have heard a heart or two sink as well. My fear was gone. I had become someone else entirely. We’ll suppose, the poetic version of Sasha Fierce. It was an epic moment in my young life. Once every eye was on me and the room was as quiet as I needed it, I took a deep breath and performed my poem. This poem.
I am beautiful.
Yes, I am full of myself.
I should be. I’m beautiful.
No one on Earth looks like me.
Sure, there’s beauty in the world.
But none,
comparable to mine.
I am beautiful.
My hair may not be straight
Like greasy hay sticks.
My hair curls when my fingers pull through it.
My hair is called kinks or pugs or gnarls or snags.
The many colors of my hair are more beautiful than any rainbow.
and I need no leprechaun to tell me so.
My hair has character. My hair is beautiful.
My nose may not be pointy like the tip of a witches broom stick.
My nose bends and is flat.
My nose flares to smell the night air
And turns up to show disagreement.
My nose has charisma,
My nose is beautiful.
My skin is what folks envy most.
It’s creamy and brazen, burnt and bronze.
My skin is tan or needs tanning
It’s natural like fine wood and doesn’t repel the sun.
My skin takes on every hue of this great Earth.
My skin is natural, my skin is beautiful.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.
Yes, my eyes may not be blue.
But my eyes I share with my God, cause his eyes are brown too.
My eyes have seen torture and torment.
My eyes have seen pain.
My eyes have seen this world begin and end.
And My eyes will witness our people become great once again.
My eyes have seen and made history.
My eyes are beautiful.
My language is real.
It reflects who I am and where I’ve been.
It’s the language of Kings and Queens cause that’s what we are.
It’s the language of survivors and the language of stars.
The way I speak, much like the way I look is beautiful.
It’s me, and I am beautiful.
So you can call me names and feed me lines.
Say I’m wrong and ugly.
Say I’m a savage or a killer.
But you see, I was told long ago, when I was yo master…
That I am beautiful.
The most beautiful being on Earth.
No one on Earth looks like me.
Sure, there’s beauty all over the world.
But none, comparable to mine.
I am beautiful.
My hair, my nose, my skin, my eyes, and my dialect.
I am… beautiful.
-e-
It was funny because when the words “Oh Yes, I am full of my self. I should be. I am beautiful.” first came out of my face, it was almost to a resounding snicker. Like who this dashiki wearing chic think she is?! It wasn’t until I got to, “my hair may not be straight like greasy hay sticks… my hair curls when my fingers pulls through it”, that they got it. Once the last “I AM Beautiful” left my lips and reverberated through the theatre, I remember feeling so exhilarated, I had to catch my breath. Then, unexpectedly, they all rose to their feet. I got a standing O for reciting a poem I wrote about the beauty, interest and character of being “Colored” and all the beautiful packages being “Colored” comes in. I wrote a poem about all the things I was told or heard growing up that was supposed to make me less than or ugly pursuant to whatever somebody who wasn’t me thought was beautiful at the time. I told a story over a silent rhythm about the power in our differences. About all the natural beauty my eyes didn’t even know existed until I stepped my toes on HU soil. Of course, bathroom selfies, butt pics, XXL, King Mag, and twerking hadn’t been invented yet. So.
I had no idea how powerful of a statement I was making at the time–for anyone other than me. But I know for sure I was a vessel in that moment. I won that pageant btw. I also had the opportunity to take that message of being beautiful in the skin and nose and eyes and hair we got to people across the country in two other pageants, winning Regional and (almost) National titles. But alas, that was the only one of the contrillion poems I’ve written in my lifetime I ever prepared and performed in any meaningful way. That’s a whole other story for a whole other day. I guess the good news is after I found my voice on that stage, I changed my mind about pageants completely. By the time I graduated I had placed top 4 (and Miss Congeniality) in 3 Miss America Preliminaries. There’s a whole thing about that too. It’ll be in my memoirs, I’m sure.
Okay so, that’s the story behind my poem “I Am Beautiful”. I’ve never publicly disclosed such things. I told you I like to keep it moving in the present, unless the universe is beating me over the head about something. But what the hey. It’s Throwback Thursday right? Anything to get me out of blog hibernation. Turns out, once again, it’s not even about me–it’s about the message I was put here to share. Which turns out, I’m not exactly sure what that is. Just some food for thought. I will say, as I’ve gotten older I’ve discovered that “I AM Beautiful” is less about pushing back about what is perceived as blackness or coloredness (or otherness), as it is about owning everything that makes you unique (and you) and thus, beautiful, regardless of what anyone else has to say. I also know there is a photo with a black and gold dashiki I need to take at some point in my continuance…
I’ll leave you with this affirmation. Say it to yourself whenever the mood hits you. You can tweet it too to share the love with others.
My otherness is magnanimously beautiful in a way “pretty” can never be. With my true eyes I see my true self in every way that means… “Arise shine, for thy light is come. I AM that I AM.” And so it is. #IAmBeautiful #YO
Osho Lovianhal (light the love in all) friends,
-e-