Write Out Loud - Stories from the Frontline

I was the first Child of Hip Hop – Joyce Angela Jellison

writeoutloudboston — Wed, 06 May 2009 16:14:03 +0000

I was the first
Birthed
From the
Mouths
Of my
Furious mothers
And fathers
On city corners and
Project rooftops
I was the first
Conceived in a million brownstone basements and row home bedrooms
I was the first
Birthed on black and white composition pages with a #2 lead pencil
My mother’s water
Broke
During Spanish Class
And she told my father
Who told his brothers, now my uncles, now my fathers, now my aunts, now my mothers
I belonged to everyone
And they passed me along – adding to me – adorning me with words and beats that echoed Ethiopian Chants and the language of Christ
They formed me curiously
Snatching beats from jazz, rhythm and blues
And hymns from church
They made me in the image of themselves
Which they saw reflected in storefront church windows and muddy puddles
They were urban Gods now
I was the first and
They were careful with my beauty
Remixing me with purpose
Until I
Emerged simply
Too Beautiful for words and so they danced to my rhythms
Forming dancefloors
From cardboards
I was the story
Of life on the inside
And they stood on their heads to express me
Took to the streets
To praise me
Before my mothers was ho’s and bitches
And money was the name of the game
And The Game
Was the name
Of the new Griot
I was beautiful
And my parents
Battled over my
Composition
What should be said in the name of them
That could not longer tolerate invisibility
Or the stench of silence
I was the first
Child of hip hop
And I was strange for some to hear
But that was then
When my mothers
Was queens
And my fathers
Was kings
And Hip Hop
Was the Zion
That
Held us together
Beautifully
On project rooftops
City corners
And crowded dance floors
That was then
Before battles left our mouths
And words
Became bullets we used to tear flesh not pages
That was before
Mother
Was a ho
And being daddy was a game
That was before
Making record deals
Was more important than feeding me
Now I fear my parents have lost
The image of the original me
The child they birthed in angst
The one that gave them power
I was the firstborn
The original hope
I was the firstborn
The original high
I am still here
Awaiting patiently for my parents to reclaim me
Honor me
Take me to a rooftop
And shout me
Take me to dance floor and shake me free
It is not too late
I reside in the back of their throats, beneath their tongues and on the tips of their fingers
It is not too late
It is not too late
I was the first and I shall honor my father and my mother so that their days may be long and fruitful
What shall they do in the name of me, the first born?

The Business of Work Versus The Work of Change – a teacher’s confession

writeoutloudboston — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 15:14:58 +0000

Yesterday I cried and almost said fuck it – I am not teaching another class to another group of women who have nothing and seem to want nothing. I almost said they are what society says they are – bitches, ho’s and baby momma’s selling raffle tickets for their children’s fathers DNA.
I am even angry at their names – seemingly foolish attempts at solidarity – Shaquanna, Lativia, Armoni, names that bear at least to my ears an abandonment of history and revising based on resistance to education.
Who are we really? Are our first stories told in our DNA and our second stories borne in the names we are given. I share with the group I am named after Angela Davis – my daughter is named after Maya Angelou.
This is my anger speaking and now writing.
But this does not matter to me as I sit in my car and bang my fists against the windows – WHO DO I THINK I AM! I scream – Eloi, Eloi, Sabathani! Does my Father hear my lament and was there supposed to be guidance in this mission? Have I somehow gotten off of the footpath designed for me?
No, I do not feel forsaken – I feel mistranslated and for a moment my trail of breadcrumbs leading me back to self is untraceable.
I sat in my car and my heart sunk to the bottom of my feet and for more than a moment I did not want to move. But I know that in not moving I don’t honor those who have come before me and I must honor my home – my upbringing- I MUST do the work that has been left for me to do.
I write and teach for a living, simple as that. I go into places where the pristine, literary and lily white writers groups of Boston will not go and share with women of color the urgency for media justice. I teach that media justice will not happen without diversification of the media landscape. I teach that the diversity and change we seek is beneath our tongues and at the tips of our fingers. WE MUST HONOR OUR PAST AND WE MUST WRITE OUR PRESENT TO PRESERVE OUR FUTURE.
Two weeks ago, I taught a class at Project Hope and the women were a wall. I arrived 15 minutes late – damn GPS! – I live in a suburb of Boston and navigating the inner city is a challenge, but I try. Somehow, I think my suburban adobe invalidates my experiences for some and this something I push past. As soon as I arrived I asked the director to make some copies for me – this is what I do with all organizations, have them make copies and save them money by charging them less. Some organizations can’t afford to pay – I teach anyway – the mission is always more important that the money -this I thought was a good thing.
The class, at least the first one is not a discussion class – it is an introduction to the African Griot traditon – the same tradition that is continually echoed in song and action. We are the New Griots I tell them – but we must write our stories for our children to continue our work – to honor our original mother, Africa.
There are white women in the class and I look directly at them – yes, you must also be honoring your mother, Africa I am communicating. I communicate this same theory to my daughter who is half Irish and could pass for something other than black if she chose – but I have instilled in her through story, my story, our story – a love for self and she at 14, is about the work of change for good. Change is not just for self but for the circle that connects us to others.
I stood in this circle of women and they were not a fortress to hold me and somehow I slipped into the cracks of their minds and there I languish. Good intentions worthless, lessons worthless, realization I can’t change the world – priceless.
One woman began a dialogue on clothing and asked do I dress the way I was dressed all the time – and I say, yes when I am teaching. It was a suit. I feel trapped in suits and so to this, I lied. I usually wear jeans and a t-shirt and prepare to get dirty because teaching is dirty work.
But I find younger women are more open. When I stand before women who have not confronted the consequences of their choices – I am a demon. They judge a journey they have not witnessed and this is a distraction.
My dismantling begins. Why is her hair like that? Why does she speak like that? Who is she to tell us this?
And then I am resistant to the story of me – not in this manner. I shall share but not feel compelled to confess. I am a mother, a writer, a wife, a daughter, a survivor of childhood abuse, a college graduate (by the skin of my teeth) a small business owner, the author of three books – but tell me how is this relevant to the extrapolation of these women’s pasts and presents.
It is distraction and distraction temporarily soothes a soul resistant to change.
I will not stop the work – I must not stop the work – but Lord, I ache with weariness. How do I share our past and connect it to our futures? Is it too late for some – my husband says I can’t save the world.
I say can I save one person?
He smiles – because smiling breaks the solemnest of his beautiful face that reminds me of a carnal Christ.
This one does not speak- his stories are born in his walk, his quiet, his rough edged love that can soothe and disturb.
These women I am trying to teach how I tell them – there are organizations in Boston that will have nothing to do with you and don’t care of or about your stories. Your silence is a lullaby to them because you are poor, black, and needful.
Needful things are abandoned things.
You are left to suckle the tit of an inhospitable charity system that grows weak from your hunger.
How can I not push on with Cornell West saying one must be willing to live and die for the love of black folks….?
How can I not push on with my grandmother leaving me her story of walking in the hot Virginia sun with the weight of white folk’s laundry stinging her palms? In that story is my survival – my daughter’s survival.
Pushing past the business of distraction is my work towards change.

I have attached to this email some student critiques of my last class – hurtful, but I am putting it here – because transparency gives me relief.

I have attached to this email some student critques of my last class – hurtful, but I am puting it here – because transparency gives me relief.

What was most helpful/interesting about this session?
It was informational.
It motivated me to strive for the best.
Nothing
I found it introspective.
It got me to write.
It’s interesting that she’s so stuck in the past.

What was not useful about this session?
I didn’t understand what it was all about. There was no point to it all.
I didn’t like the stereotyping about Black women.
I didn’t like her posture and gestures.
She was so late. That’s not professional.
I didn’t like that she talked so much. That it wasn’t more of a discussion.
I felt disrespected. We deserve respect.
I was offended by her bad language.
Every time she talked about whites, she looked at a white person.
Wasted time while she sorted through her papers.

What changes, if any, would you recommend?
Conduct herself in a more professional manner.
Talk less.
She needs to present her stories with more respectful and appropriate language.
She needs to be on time if not early.
Be more prepared. Trish had to make copies for her.
Listen to us more. Let us say something.
Do some activities and not just talking.

Would you invite this speaker back to Project Hope?
Yes
If she makes the changes
Definitely not
I’d give her another chance
No

The Fable of the Fly – Joyce Angela Jellison

writeoutloudboston — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 19:38:59 +0000

Your secrets are buried in shit
so says the fly on the wall

an intermediary between
life and death

so says
this small but authoritative creature
in a whisper dry and
barely audible to the human ear
but still he is heard

just enough

suddenly he alights
breaking the tepid air and stale calm with his razor thin wings
causing
shards
of humility to
at once prick and soothe my calloused skin
leaving it moist even dewey

now the heat is more attracted to me and
clings
unreasonably
causing me to tiptoe as I seek the room that
holds
lies best
the place designed most appropriately for deception
the bedroom?
the bathroom?
the kitchen?

The home
my place of rest
becomes cloying and restrictive
the windows are painted shut
and still the fly
watches
gathers
words in his tiny fly hands and finds escape – some hole or crack
that only he can access
he exits while
laughing
at the notion
of
walls speaking
and folks
remaining silent

Leg to foot to pavement – by Joyce Angela Jellison

writeoutloudboston — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 21:34:25 +0000

leg to
foot
to cement
covers
distance
in proper time
there is
the push of wind
against a back damp from exhertion
still the running
the need to cover ground
pulls leg
to move foot
to pound pavement
and the cycle continues
for some
this is enough
the distance is covered by sheer desire
to compete and win
compete and win
compete and win
with distance wearing the soles of your shoes to mere strips of rubber bound
by a priveleged determination – a determination that allows room for failure if it should occur

then there are the others
who travel
distance in planes
from lands
roasted brown like nuts are roasted on cold afternoons in sprawling city parks
these lands that bear the humility of suffering
the wrath of an unrelenting sun that balances her body on crumbling red earth
a place where fickle clouds hover menacingly, rarely
yielding water

the Africans as they are collectively called
come
and
run
with their respective
villages
connected to heart
to leg
to foot
to pavement
and they cover distance with wind cooling backs also damp from exhertion and, now fear

it is this fear
that steadies their breathing
and gives balance

the fear
of returning home
with less
and so they run with mother, father, uncles and aunts running
in spirit along side them
with ancestors within them
village
to heart to leg to foot to pavement
village to heart to leg to foot to pavement
Kenya
Ethiopia
Nigeria
running packs
having discovered a way
to win freedom
we watch and calculate the last time an american
ran and won this race
1982 or 1985?
leg to foot to cement
is not enough
there most be more
to cover the distance
seperating
the have
from the
have nots

Sacred Space or Seperatism – a response to a generic letter from the Editor of Lola Magazine

writeoutloudboston — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 17:56:57 +0000

Hello Kara,

Thank you for responding. I actually have read many issues of Lola, but there is no point debating what I still insist is neglectful if not reckless journalism – but that is my opinion and it is based on the many years I’ve spent in the newsroom starting as an editorial assistant and leaving as an editor with over seven years of newsroom experience gathered at over five dailies under my belt.

Story idea – how about an essay?

Sacred Space or Seperatism? when women of color create spaces for themselves because they feel uncomfortable/silenced/marginalized in white majority occupied spaces that are less than welcoming is this sacred space or seperateness? Should these spaces be constructed or deconstructed?

I direct an organization, Write Out Loud: Transforming Our Lives Through Writing Our Truths, that works with women of color to encourage them to document their stories and use those narratives to diversify the media landscape that portrays us as little more than bitches, hos and baby mommas (actually that is a title of a course I teach) more than once I have been asked if this workshop is for white women or men or rather can they attend? My answer is sure, but why would you want to attend? I ask this question to see if this experience will be a sideshow event for the participants – in which case the workshop is not for them. I have spoken and taught at Regis College, Cambridge Community Services Program, Crittenden Womens Union and Project Hope.
These places are also sacred spaces, holding women who are silenced and marginalized because of their economic, social, and political non-status.
The essay would measure the balance of sacred space – what value does it hold for particular groups? Is it seperatism or not? I began my organization because I did not feel there were writing havens for poor women of color – places where the stories were valued and the so called “hood” chicks could settle in and be at home with pen and paper.
I have had white women in my classes – but my mission has been to connect with sisters and them to connect with me in order to preserve our stories in the tradition of our foremothers, and forefathers – we are the New Griots and we bear tradition and stories – so that is the pitch – what is sacred and what is seperate?

Thank you,

Joyce Angela Jellison
writeoutloud.synthasite.com

- Show quoted text -
On Tue, Apr 14, 2009 at 7:53 PM, wrote:

Hi Joyce,
Thank you for writing. As an editor, I value both praise and criticism, and seek to make every reader feel heard. I do want to let you know that in the 14-plus months that Lola has been published, we’ve featured many women of color from various industries in our pages. I’m not sure how many issues of Lola you’ve seen, but our diversity is something we pride ourselves on.

You might have also noticed our Good Deeds section, in which we feature volunteer opportunities and spotlight worthy charities in the Boston area. In fact, I believe we’ve featured the Women’s Lunch Place in the past. I’d invite you to pitch us stories for this section, or our 10 Things section, wherein we profile local women – from all walks of life. Or perhaps True Story, our essay section, wherein women tell personal stories about a variety of struggles and issues. Our last essay was by a woman who struggled with infertility. Our beauty issue dealt with a woman suffering from financial uncertainty who underwent radical surgery. We try to strike a balance with Lola, and while we enjoy superficial fun – I think most people do – we also cover deeper issues.

If you have any specific story ideas, I would certainly welcome them.
Best wishes,
Kara.

——– Original Message ——–
Subject: [SPAM] Real women – real things we cant live without
From: Joyce Angela Jellison
Date: Mon, March 30, 2009 5:33 pm
To: editor@lolaboston.com

Dear Editor,

I am the founder/director of Write Out Loud:Transforming Our Lives Through Writing Our Truths. WOL works with women of color who have been silenced poltically, economically,and socially – we work with women to engage them to document their narratives and use media resources/tools to diversify the media landscape.
I must say – as a former journalist – now media justice activist – your latest beauty issue as well as other issues have been a bit too much to absorb. What message are you sending about women?I just see dresses, beauty and women stating they cant live without their poodles named lola, lunches on Newbury Street and True Religion Jeans. The only time I ve seen a woman of color profiled she stated she could not live without sneakers and Slades- really, sister – living in Dorchester – I would have thought you can live without social justice.
In my work with women in this city – I can tell you – they cant live with out these things – Justice, equality, jobs, access, empowerment, choice, fairness,decent housing, sacred spaces, broken silences, economic and political representation on Wallstreet and in Congress.
Do you only profile beauty queens and snap pictures of lovely ladies on Newbury Street? I ve seen beauty and it was not a woman who must have her facials and hairdone – it was a woman telling me her story at the Women Lunch Place, down the street from Newbury Street – she was homeless and hopeful – sharing with me what wanted for herself, what she could not live without – funny, she never mentioned a spa or expensive lipbalm – she just wanted peace and visibility.
I feel publications that insist on beauty issues rather than humanity issues are contributors to the media injustice that prevades and degrades so many lives, especially women of color.

Thank you,

–
Joyce Angela Jellison
Director
Write Out Loud:Transforming Our Lives Through Writing Our Truths
writeoutloud.synthasite.com

–
Joyce Angela Jellison
Director
Write Out Loud:Transforming Our Lives Through Writing Our Truths
writeoutloud.synthasite.com

An EXPECTED Generic Response from the Editor of Lola Magazine

writeoutloudboston — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 00:11:31 +0000

Dont you love it when folks of privilege, i.e. white women who honestly believe they are changing things, that they are the new revolutionaries and so much different from the feminist elitism of their mothers, afterall they would never call someone a nigger (outloud) and they dont have a black maid (she is mexican) and they voted for Obama (thank god for his white mother and he is so clean and neat. Why cant they all be like him?) and they have black friends (but none have that nappy hair thing going on)- these women actually say things like, “we have featured women of color in the past…” – as if that is all that needs to be done to change shit. Women of Color are not accesories to be sprinkled here and there to pretty pages in fluff magazines that want to appear fair but not actually do the work of fairness and sustainable justice. I dont want to hunt for black folks like they were Easter Eggs or find some pin sized picture of black woman on page 93 next to adds for shoes and job wanted. I want visibility. This editor questions how many issues I have read – in other words, you blinked and missed the coloreds….I have read enough to know there has not been enough representation of women of color so I launched the WOL email protest. A month letter, I got this generic response and if you read a little further you will my response.

Hi Joyce,
Thank you for writing. As an editor, I value both praise and criticism, and seek to make every reader feel heard. I do want to let you know that in the 14-plus months that Lola has been published, we’ve featured many women of color from various industries in our pages. I’m not sure how many issues of Lola you’ve seen, but our diversity is something we pride ourselves on.

You might have also noticed our Good Deeds section, in which we feature volunteer opportunities and spotlight worthy charities in the Boston area. In fact, I believe we’ve featured the Women’s Lunch Place in the past. I’d invite you to pitch us stories for this section, or our 10 Things section, wherein we profile local women – from all walks of life. Or perhaps True Story, our essay section, wherein women tell personal stories about a variety of struggles and issues. Our last essay was by a woman who struggled with infertility. Our beauty issue dealt with a woman suffering from financial uncertainty who underwent radical surgery. We try to strike a balance with Lola, and while we enjoy superficial fun – I think most people do – we also cover deeper issues.

If you have any specific story ideas, I would certainly welcome them.
Best wishes,
Kara.

Niggers aint candied sweets by Joyce Angela Jellison

writeoutloudboston — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 16:22:05 +0000

This poem came to me like labor pains – I could space the breaths out by a stop watch – the times I had to pause and contain my hurt, and pain – inspired by sitting in the Cantab Lounge listening to Harvard Students, Emerson Students battle for a place on the “Boston” Poetry Slam team in the safety of Cambridge – within ten minutes two quasi progressive ponytailed, wild haired white poets used the word Nigger casually within in their poems and the audience – with about six other black folks, did not respond with anger or discontent. It was causally accepted. I could not sleep that night, or the next not until I birthed this poem.

I got to tell you
I have a problem
With white folks and black folks with historical/cultural amnesia
Holding the word
Nigger
Like
Sugared candies
in their paper thin, razor sharp mouths

My ears bleed resistance
And my black skin feels like a wet blanket
On my bones
Sucked
Dry by memory

Nigger
Dr Charles Drew
Laying crushed on the side of the road
His blood
Blossoming in red dirt becoming invisible
This will be
The first
Rose
To be left on his grave
Nigger
Emmitt Till
Returning to his mother
And only she
Knows his face
Beneath
The ravage
Only she can stand the scent
Of him
The rot
So thick and heavy
It can be tasted
Nigger
Martin Luther King
on a balcony
breathing deeply the warmth
of spring
yawning wantonly
her mouth wide
so enticing
you could if so inclined, lay on her flowered tongue
and dream the dreams of innocents
nigger
stands
his back to worries
struggle
inhumanity
just for a moment
nigger takes a deep breath
perhaps laughing
or praying
and feels the bullet
lightly touch the tip of his ear
it could be mistaken for a kiss

before he collapses
into a blinding light
he believes he has been stung by a bee
silly nigger
mistaking bullets
for kisses
and bee stings
Nigger
Medgar Evers
Dancing
Dangerously
Between
Justice and injustice
Misses a step
On a Southern dirt road
Masquerading as a dance floor
Now this nigger is
Curled like a lotus petal
In his
Mournful wife’ palm
Nigger
Ida b wells
Writing
The rope
From the necks
Of

Niggers
Too stupid
To stay in their place
Crossing
Shifting
Intangible boundaries
Without knowing
With
Unsure footing

Niggers
Are ripe for year long hunting
Even animals
Mourn
For niggers

Etheridge Knight
Angela Davis
Gwendolyn Brooks
Shirley Chislom
Mary McCloud Bethune
W.E. Dubois

Niggers
Niggers
Niggers
Mother
Fathers
Uncles
Niggers
Ancestors
Niggers
Are not sugared
Sweets
To be held in
In paper thin mouths
To lay dead
On dirt
Roads
Bleeding roses
To swing
As rotted
Fruit
From barren trees
Niggers
Are not
To be forgotten
Lost in
The gaps
And pockets
Of dishonorable mouths

More blogs you need,should,be inclined to read….

writeoutloudboston — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 00:55:56 +0000

Coffeeandgender.blogspot.com
A Womyn’s Ecdysis
Amanda Morgan: blog
and we’ve replaced statements like ‘it’s all good’ with revolutionary cries
BioDiverse Resistance
Bird of Paradox
Black Looks
Brown Black and Queer
Dear White Feminists
Diary of an Anxious Black Woman
Feministe
Flip Flopping Joy
Kenyon Farrow
nixwilliams
Nobody Passes
Not Your Typical Girl
Poetic Propoganda
Self-Organizing Man
Taking Steps
The Angry Black Woman
The Femme Show
The Gimp Parade
Traningrad
TransGriot

Some Women Dont Get it – A Response to the WOL Email Protest

writeoutloudboston — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 19:13:01 +0000

What is this writer saying – “Stupid women you bring this on yourselves – dont demand more? ” Geez, this letter makes my headache! I DEMAND MORE FROM MEDIA! JUSTICE is not negotiable…

Hello Joyce,
>
> I appreciate your outrage and share your disapproval in regards to this
> piece. But, the New York Times does not have to publish Cosmo. The Boston
> Globe is owned by the New York Times Company, which, as you pointed out,
> publishes Lola. Additionally, recently on the NYT blog, some women saw fit
> to make themselves look foolish and stupid by twittering about how
> ‘great-looking’ our president is- something that is inappropriate and
> disrespectful in light of his position. Certainly, there is a problem
> throughout the media in regards to the attitudes towards women. But, the
> more serious problem lay with how women insist on seeing themselves, even
> those with letters after their names.
>
>
>
> -Rachel Miselman

My Response

On 3/31/09, Joyce Jellison wrote:
> interesting – I dont think women make themselves look foolish by
> commenting on how great the president looks – he is not a partriach -
> he is afterall, just a man – many comments were made about the
> appearence of Sarah Palin – those folks werent foolish. I do insist
> there be diversity in the media landscape – but if you dont agree,
> fine. I am not here to editorialize, if you disagree fine – but the
> absence of choice and beauty driven media leads many women along a
> path of ignorance.
> I expect and demand more from the Globe…join me or not. The revolution
> will continue ….
btw- I demand more from my media – so while I cant explain the behaviours of other women, I do know I want media justice that represents fairly all women – not just white, pretty, rich women – but black/brown, poor, silenced, women – not as baby mommas, bitches, hos – but as whole beings – if media is to particpate in representing views there must be counterbalance – Lola does not example counterbalance – neither do the other Brahmin Bulls of Media. I worked for over seven years in a newsroom – often I was the only black person in the newsroom – media justice means inclusiveness – I can only deal with one thing at a time – I dont excuse any media outlet for lacking counterbalance and I dont blame persons who are drawn into allure of stupid questions and empty stories.

Letter to Editor of Lola Magazine-Join the WOL email protest

writeoutloudboston — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 00:55:09 +0000

The most recent issue of Lola Magazine, a general offense to vagina owners and lovers everywhere, is this month especially vapid – The Beauty Issue advise women “The economy may be unraveling, but we can at least brave the recession with groomed nails and brows….”
WTF! This is the message we send women just as Rajashree Ghosh writes in India New England that Women Bear the Brunt of this economic downturn. Please join the WOL email protest and let Lola editors know this type of journalism is indecent and irresponsible. Read my letter below. You can email Lola at editor@lolaboston.comDear Editor,

I am the founder/director of Write Out Loud:Transforming Our Lives Through Writing Our Truths. WOL works with women of color who have been silenced poltically, economically,and socially – we work with women to engage them to document their narratives and use media resources/tools to diversify the media landscape.
I must say – as a former journalist – now media justice activist – your latest beauty issue as well as other issues have been a bit too much to absorb. What message are you sending about women?I just see dresses, beauty and women stating they cant live without their poodles named lola, lunches on Newbury Street and True Religion Jeans. The only time I ve seen a woman of color profiled she stated she could not live without sneakers and Slades- really, sister – living in Dorchester – I would have thought you can live without social justice.
In my work with women in this city – I can tell you – they cant live with out these things – Justice, equality, jobs, access, empowerment, choice, fairness,decent housing, sacred spaces, broken silences, economic and political representation on Wallstreet and in Congress.
Do you only profile beauty queens and snap pictures of lovely ladies on Newbury Street? I ve seen beauty and it was not a woman who must have her facials and hairdone – it was a woman telling me her story at the Women Lunch Place, down the street from Newbury Street – she was homeless and hopeful – sharing with me what wanted for herself, what she could not live without – funny, she never mentioned a spa or expensive lipbalm – she just wanted peace and visibility.
I feel publications that insist on beauty issues rather than humanity issues are contributors to the media injustice that prevades and degrades so many lives, especially women of color.

Thank you,

–
Joyce Angela Jellison
Director
Write Out Loud:Transforming Our Lives Through Writing Our Truths
writeoutloud.synthasite.com