this is dedicated my sisters + their momma + my momma + their momma + her momma’s momma + her momma’s momma’s momma + so on…

today, my maternal grandmother would’ve been seventy-six.

on mother’s day in 2020, she passed on. my grandma carol was lovingly known to us kids (and we were always kids to her, even though, i was a know-it-all 19-year-old) as grandma lamb. we’d taken her to the hospital with a suspected case of COVID + it went the way it went for many of our elders that year. we all gathered in my momma’s living room — my momma’s big sister (my titi) + my big sisters (cousins) as we awaited the news we knew was coming. i remember a nurse giving us the opportunity to facetime her one last time + we let her know she was loved (although she was alone + i cannot stress this enough FUCK COVID) to not much physical response from her, but i felt it resonate + i felt her peace. soon after, my aunt gets the call that baptizes her as our new matriarch.

i remember everything moving almost in slow-motion, like the bleed of watercolors — a renaissance painting picturing the pain that possesses you. my aunt threw her phone + i saw the toddler in her stomp her feet; my mommy inconsolable without her mommy, watching her big sister fall apart; my sisters hysterical; myself, still. i feel almost buoyant as i walk across the living room to pick up my aunt’s phone. it sounds like im underwater as i ask i confirm the time of death + thank them for calling before hanging up. then, i felt grounded — the new weight of carrying her with me settled onto my shoulders. my father walks in + lights a candle by her photo with a drink, her first ancestral libation.

before the weeks my grandmother spent in the hospital, we spent lots of time together, more than we ever had since i moved out for college. when my school shut down for the pandemic, i had to move back into my parents’ house in newark + her spot was just a couple blocks walk away on the street i spent most of childhood on. a few times a week, when i’d leave my folks place to take a walk (and by that i mean smoke) i’d end up at my grandmother’s. she’d have the candy bowl stocked for my munchies-havin-ass (non-judgmentally!) + we’d talk shit + complain + play card games as we’d always liked to do. i tell her i want to get a real apartment in the city that they can’t kick me out of like they did in the NYU dorms. she shows me a wine glass that she’d painted a flower on the bottom of on her last day hanging at the senior center before quarantine. she promises it’ll be the first thing in the kitchen of my new home when i get it. at the time, i wasn’t doing too well in school + was in a pretty toxic relationship, but you couldn’t tell this woman i wasn’t perfect + couldn’t do anything.

in one of these weeks of bonding under lock down, my aunt brings my grandma her groceries + calls my mom. she tells my mom that she’s worried that my grandmother is more unwell than she’s letting on. my mom grabs her coat to race over there; she asks if i want to come then hesitates to let me know it may be scary. i put on my shoes to go without a word, my mom speeds off, + she pulls to park into the driveway crooked. we walk out of the car with it still running and into my grandmother’s house to her on the floor + my aunt by the door.

this was before we knew anything about COVID other than it was unpredictable + dangerous. my mom + aunt both protectively tell me to stay back. but i walk right in the door, sit by her side on the floor, + hold her hand. she starts telling me her symptoms + i remember vividly her saying in her way “oh, i hope it’s not that CO-VID,” with too much emphasis on that second syllable. i smile and reply, “no way!” we sit + talk shit like any other time until the paramedics arrive. they give me the face shield to slip over her face, my hand lingers behind her neck for longer than it should + i look in her eyes, “i hope it’s not that CO-VID…” i think to myself, silently. i knew then that this was the last time i would see her.

the paramedics ask us to retrieve her ID to send with her. i go back into her bedroom to find her wallet + as i open it a purple post-it note falls out. i pick it up and all it reads in big letters is — N Y U — i slide it into my pocket + it sits on my altar to this day.

our time together before her passing brought me back to my childhood, when we’d spent most of our idle time together. i’m the big dreamer of the family (some may say black sheep, but they love me in my weird so). i’ve often gotten pushback from my family for always choosing to take the rockier road less traveled + aiming higher than they’d ever thought was possible. my grandma lamb was the exception. maybe her libra sun just understood the desires of my libra moon + the drive of my libra mars. there is always a better way!

i’m not sure the point in writing this other than i felt called to. much like i felt called to my purpose as a healer in the wake of my grandmothers undue + untimely passing at the fault + failure of our fucked up medical system. i had to become HIERO because R***** wasn’t ready to hold all of that responsibility, yet! but this isn’t a time for anger + she hated when i cussed, so i’ll end this with some of my favorite memories. when these moments with her come to mind i am reminded of her undying, infinite, transcendent belief in me + i go on another day…

• she took me to my first ‘magic shop’ when i was kid + i started collecting ‘rocks’ which were actually crystals

• she encouraged my creativity in all ways + pushed me to draw even though i never saw myself as a visual artist + now i’m a graphic designer

• she’d throw us fabulous tea parties — no wonder i’m most known for my high tea events now!

• she was festive! created traditions for our family to celebrate every holiday, even on a budget, because she knew the spirit of joy is power in the darker times. she left us a lot to remember her by, including her thumbprint recipe — yum

• she’d go out for a cigarette break, bring me with her, + give me a new challenge each time — my favorite was counting how many times i could jump rope before she finished + at one point i got to 800-something

• after nursing herself back to health in her 60’s after having a stroke and relearning how to walk + talk, she quit smoking cold turkey and never ever looked back

• she always reminded my reckless self to take care of my body + my physical safety but never stopped me from taking risks. i still hear her voice when i cross a street without looking both ways

• she called me out of the blue one day when i was home alone from school, very (trigger warning) suicidal + about to self-harm, “just to check in on ya” + invite me to walk over and play cards, so i did that instead

• she’d get her hair done or a new shirt for a family function + you couldn’t tell her shit! that’s a real libra queen. after her + my grandfather split, she’d see him on holidays + dub his continued advances hilariously (lmao my mom just told me at the family pumpkin picking this year that her old friend who would come + do electrical work around the house was actually her EX! and after she passed, he’d drunk text my mom about how he never stopped loving my grandma — miss rice was never suitor-less, cmon now)

• she loved to laugh + thought i was the funniest thing in the world (even when my mom did not! haha)

• she was everyone’s grandma or auntie. there wasn’t a job or space she entered where everybody ain’t get attached to miss carol

• she always ad-libbed on the birthday song adding a extra “to you, to you” between each phrase

• she had a catchphrase; she would sign all us grandkids’ cards the same way for every holiday:

i love you to the moon and back

- and she wasn’t lying!

happy birthday grandma lamb! thank you for always believing in my magic…

happy libra new moon + hoodoo heritage month to all of yous!! talk to your elders, they won’t be here forever…

SCORE: stevie wonder xmas album - twinkle twinkle little me + one little christmas tree to be exact! + sweet caroline by neil diamond + gloria by laura branigan

AFTERWORD: i got a bunch of downloads today + could make this a whole essay about ancestral veneration, how working with your white ancestors as a biracial hoodoo is a practice in putting your privilege to work, the ways white people need to be working they ancestors to the bone for liberation, how the ways we are supported + encouraged as children lead into our skills + interests in adulthood, the deep connection when your caretakers sun sign is your moon sign, + so much more. BUT i really just wanted to talk about my gramma lamb — i’ll get to it another day! today i’ll settle for making myself some chocolate milk, putting a light n sweet coffee + a pack of true blue 100s on the altar, + crafting her a card with my hands. i hope you enjoy, gram!

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all my love + all my offerings

SCORE: WILLOW - <maybe> it’s my fault

ABSTRACT

• my personal non-monogamous experience + credentials;

• polyamory from the perspective of Black radical + feminist thinkers; +

• the current polyamorist zeitgeist + where do we go from here?

MYTHUS POLYAMORIAE {the myth of polyamory}

i don’t believe in polyamory, anymore.

i never wanted the white picket fence. my fairytale growing up looked a lot more like a commune. though i didn’t have that language then, there were many non-monogamous myths to model my menage-a-multi musings after. while prince charming + the sanctity of his castle never did it for me; i had cinderella + her achingly devoted mice, the mutual care of snow white + her seven dwarfs, the secret shared intimacy of the 3 mermaids in h²0, katniss everdeen + bella swan being the worst hinge partners of all time, plus other oddballs + outcasts to fantasize my freaked-out future onto in my formative years.

when i turned 13, i had my first boyfriend. he came from a home filled with trauma + domestic violence and, with my own upbringing not being picturesquely peaceful, we caught on like wildfire (a young aries + sag awhhh) and wanted to do better! when his family devastatingly decided to dislocate—i mean relocate—from new jersey to its sister state (florida), we delved deeper into our dawning devotion. both he and i were slated to start high school at summers end, i was sproutingly Sapphic, + our bond was secure enough to stay together + ‘act single’. effectively, this began my first open relationship!

with this, i was able to explore my Queerness + my sexual interests on my own terms. teens socialized as women are sexually pressured to perform for popularity + social capital. i was teased relentlessly because, although i rigorously dated + explored sensuality with others, i was not interested at all in penetrative sex (partly because my boyfriend + i had decided to wait to lose our ‘virginity’ together, mostly because it scared me + i aint wanna!).

my peers tried their darndest to reconcile my promiscuity + my ability to say, ‘no, thank you!’ in sexual contexts. so, they spread conflicting rumors about me. i was allegedly ‘a lesbian’, an ‘anal queen’, or a liar. there had to be a reason i wasn’t givin’ it up!! i believe it was the absence of relational desperation that empowered me then. i was not in lack in love + intimacy, i knew what i wanted and had honest conversations + took courageous steps to get it (for example, when the cheer captain that i hooked up with found out that i was also hooking up with the varsity quarterback who was her long-time situationship, i parlayed that into a three-way kiss at a house party in her basement—everyone’s happy! admittedly i had not discovered the ethical part of non-monogamy, yet, teehee).

my open relationship also afforded me a space to be held when my teenage exploits did not go as planned. once, another football player + i were engaging in some heavy-petting before a game. here, i experienced some of the worst coercion i’d ever had + got close to giving in and letting him penetrate me. it left me distraught, as everyone i’d hooked up with knew my rule and respected it — gratefully! this was the first time i had really been pushed + tested. i skyped my boyfriend in florida and cried to him about the incident apologetically, expecting him to be upset. oh, and he sure was angry but surprisingly not with me, at the guy who attempted to forced me to break a commitment i had made to my partner!

because of the conversations + protocols we’d created to hold each other through any jealousy that came up between us, this now 14-year-old boy reacted to my first sexual assault with a caring + mature posture that i believe was only possible in light of the preliminary relational work we’d laid down together. his last name was jolicouer (pretty heart) + i am still infinitely grateful for his softness. to this day, it remains the brightest shining gold-star positive example of non-monogamy on my report card.

our romantic bond ended when we were both around 15/16 (we’re still friends, HIII!! if you’re reading this xx). i then tumbled into various multi-year situationships in college with folks who mistreated me up, down, + sideways. the worst of it wasn’t the physical violence, it was how they’d invalidate and demoralize the sexual liberation that i was able to find as a young adult. they did their best to instill in me that my sensual curiosity was something dirty + wrong + animalistic that i needed to grow out of if i were ever to deserve love. but i knew better, with my teenage dream love affair in mind, i could never follow their rules + kill the non-monogamist in me. in 2022, i graduated school. i had the education + the jargon, now. from then on, i’d identify as a solo-polyamorous, pansexual.

TLDR: after 13 years (for about half of my life!) of being led innately to date non-monogamously; i aint new to this, but true to it!

THERE IS NO ETHICAL POLYAMORY UNDER OPPRESSION

i’ve experienced all the ways non-monogamy can liberate you, personally — mind, body, + spirit — when done honestly. i’ll defend it to the death of me. it’s polyamory that i have my doubts about. let’s get nit-picky:

POLYAMOROUS

“desiring or having consensual intimate relations with more than one partner”

‘amorous’ — c. 1300, “in love; inclined to love; sexually attracted,” from Old French amoros “loving, in love; lovely”, from Latin amor “love, affection, strong friendly feeling; one’s beloved,” from amare “to love, be in love with; find pleasure in”.

‘poly-’ — word-forming element meaning “many, much, multi-, one or more,” from Greek polys “much” (plural polloi),

‘*pele-’ — from Proto-Indo-European root “to fill,” with derivatives referring to multitudinousness or abundance.

NON-

a prefix used freely in English and meaning “not, lack of,” or “sham,” giving a negative sense to any word, 14c., it differs from un- in that it denotes mere negation or absence of the thing or quality, while un- often denotes the opposite of the thing or quality

MONOGAMOUS

"having or permitted to have but one living and undivorced wife or husband at a time"

from Proto-Indo-European root ‘*men-’ + ‘*gem(e)’

‘*men-’ — "small, isolated", from Greek monos, “single, alone,” manos “rare, sparse;” OR from Persian mandan “to remain;” Greek menein “to remain;” Latin manere “to stay, abide.”

‘*gem(e)’ - “to marry”, from Greek gamete “a wife,” gametes “a husband,” from gamein “to take to wife, to marry,” gamete meaning “sexual protoplasmic body,” 1880

from the root words of monogamy, i perceive it as meaning ‘to remain isolated in marriage/the sexual body’ wherein non-monogamy would be ‘the practice of not remaining isolated within marriage/the sexual body’. based on the etymology of polyamory, i would take it as meaning ‘to fill yourself with many loves.’ my personal preference for ‘non-monogamy’ starts here — polyamory is the non-committal idyllic; we are all in love. well, what about when we’re in trouble?

within the modern paradigm of non-monogamists, the distinction between polyamory + non-monogamy is as follows. non-monogamy is an umbrella term for any intimate relational configuration outside of traditional monogamy. while polyamory is a type of non-monogamy that is specifically non-hierarchical, wherein all lovers and relationships are ‘weighted’ equally. there is no ‘primary’ partnership regardless of relationship length, depth, or responsibility.

to me, given these definitions, polyamory is no more than a theoretical ideal which requires near utopian conditions to sustain itself. etymologically (and, i will argue, practically), non-monogamy insinuates a level of commitment which lends us the necessary container for love, under the oppressive systems of our time, to be enduring enough to continue striving for quixotic polyamory we all desire. some arrangement of non-monogamy is all that i’ve seen be realistic and stable in practice, as we all collectively grow towards more suitable conditions for truly free-flowing love. in fact, i’ve observed those more privileged within these systems (straight, CIS, male, able-bodied, wealthy, in-proximity-to-whiteness, etc.) inequitably faring better in their attempts at polyamory than their more marginalized counterparts, even in the same polycule! just as there is no true ethical consumption under capitalism, i believe there is no true non-hierarchical polyamory in a context where none of us are holistically liberated. frankly, i believe engaging in any kind of non-monogamy where there is not deep, consistent inter-relational investigation of these intersections takes us further from a radical politic of love + relationships.

i pull this quote from bell hooks’ (1948) ‘feminist theory: from margin to center’ in her chapter on ending female sexual oppression. for the whole of the work, bell argues that intersectionality is the missing piece in much prevailing feminist thought of the time + urges us that the insights to correct ‘dominator-culture’ (white-cis-hetero-patriarchal-capitalism) will come from centering the perspectives + experiences of those on the margins. she pulls this nugget from ethel spector person then emphasizes how ‘changing the norms of sexuality is a precondition for female sexual autonomy,’ and therefore sexual freedom is a relevant issue within feminism. bell also pulls from germain greer and other white feminist thinkers who ‘believed that the assertion of the primacy of sexuality would be a liberatory gesture.’ however, to the tune of all other prevalent white feminist stances, it falls short of the moon of liberation and lands among the stars of privilege — seeking to have just as much power to dominate as their white male peers.

under dominator-culture, the conditions that would produce a level playing field for ethical polyamory to be properly put into practice continue to evade humanity. the gender wars are ever-worsening wherein wealthy + white women now have the power + access to build infrastructure to oppress men, women, + other genders; prolific global anti-blackness is persistently parasitic to our physical ‘preferences’ in dating; reverence of the nuclear household feeds the oppression of children who grow up to be adults with negative attitudes towards sex + people; ‘the inferno of the same’ + xenophobia kills our ‘eros' through eroding our erotic interest in the other; the push of pornography + technology normalizes us towards anti-social + parasocial habits within our interpersonal communication; + a growing sense of narcissism in the public gives us a general apathy towards our fellow man as wars rage on (byung-chul han (2017),‘the agony of eros’). our business-as-usual attitudes, as we grab our iced coffee on the way to work + pay taxes that fund the very violences that we claim to be politically against REINFORCE. THESE. SYSTEMS. as does telling your girlfriend of 6 years that they need to ‘regulate on their own’ so that you can exercise your autonomy with your newest boo (more on this later)!

attempting to be polyamorous (rather than just casually dating multiple people, which i think we forget is still an option!) before we personally investigate how we have yet to completely vomit up the filth that these structures we live under feed us, then our dating style remains a cog in oppressive systems — no matter what you call it! i believe + have observed how the pressure to posture radical + decolonized enough in polyamorous dynamics causes well-meaning folks to fall back into their base instincts + regressive programming in order to ‘get theirs’ in love. your jealousy, your possessiveness, your fear — none of it exists in a vacuum + it is often compounded by your marginalized identities. someone who is in loving relationship with you will sit + negotiate with you through this rather than placing the burden of ‘rationality’ + regulation at your feet alone. love itself is an innately intoxicating + irrational force.

reacting within our fight or flight when we are low capacity in relationship can make us seem ‘unliberated’ + unlikable. my favorite unlikeable female character of all time is sula, of toni morisson’s ‘sula’. as the novel title suggest, sula is a narcissist through-and-through, + writer shanna miles goes so far as to call her ‘sula the sociopath’:

sula is a Black heterosexual woman who grows up in a household where her grandmother is the sole provider even though her daddy and granddaddy are still alive. their family is raised so impoverished; her grandmother lays herself down on railroad tracks + disables herself to be able to provide for her family, since the men around are only worried about satisfying their own desires. sula does not strive to be a sacrificial lamb for her family + community to eat from — she cums + goes as she pleases — but this does not mean she was free. just as it did not mean the Black men, her elders that she followed in the footsteps of, were free either.

sula used her powers of coercion + manipulation in her youth to get what she wanted, no matter if she hurt other Black folks or Black women less resourced than she. ultimately, she dies alone — yes, because she is selfish — but also because she is a woman; a Black woman; a poor, old Black woman. the fear of this possibility is what drives many marginalized folks into compulsory cis-hetero-monogamy. whereas their privileged peers can revel in their deluded, dissociative compulsory polyamory as long as they’ve got the means to support themselves. that’s how dominator-culture gets reaffirmed by what theoretically is a liberatory action, yet practically is an individualistic one.

IN LOVE + RUPTURE

in this excerpt from alice walker’s collection of short stories ‘in love & trouble’, a Black woman marries a man 10-years her junior + their relationship devolves which drives her ‘mad’. in her ‘madness’, she goes searching for his mistress + reason why he no longer engages with her intimately. the mistress, evidently, was the Black liberation he was dedicated to and that she did not have the access to understand. in her grief, she destroys the books, the ideas she cannot comprehend, their shared bed, + herself in one fell swoop of ignorance + desperation.

heterosexism, or compulsory heterosexuality, is the real enemy. in ‘no turning back: lesbian and gay liberation of the ‘80s,’ goodman et al. defines it as:

the widespread equation of heterosexual practice + heterosexism has caused some separatist feminists (derogatory!) to argue that the practice of Queer relationships is innately more liberated. this is of course untrue + has allowed for relational violence to the tune of patriarchal dominator-culture to permeate through Sapphic + Queer spaces unchecked. i now see this happening with monogamy + non-monogamy. monogamy is simply an option, much like the wide spectrum of sexual orientations. oppression begins when monogamy becomes compulsory, and patriarchy makes it such. this phenomenon i’ll call ‘monosexism’ (yall niggas better quote me, dont play wit me im a hoodoo i will hex you!). monosexism can find its way into non-monogamy just as heterosexism can infect Queerness.

the pattern i have seen plague polyamory is as follows. as previously stated, persons socialized as womxn fall victim to the ‘passivity’ of heterosexism + those socialized as male to the ‘dominance’, respectively. we’ve all seen the one man and many womxn polycules, where the womxns’ needs are shrunk at the service of the whole unit. this can make the womxn in the longest-term or most-responsibility-holding relationships (e.g. wife, nesting partner, baby mother, etc.) much like sula’s grandmother, hindering their own self-fulfillment + relational wellbeing in order to remain in relationship to the male hinge partner. then, when there is tumult within the polycule, i do not believe it to be fair that this womxn who is being effectively work-horsed (and mammy-ed, if Black!) is expected to emotionally regulate as much as another partner may be able to wherein less of their means of survival are tied to the success of the relationship to the hinge. the highest privilege in this world is a regulated nervous system + when you are mutli-marginalized the scales are not tipped in your favor. thus begins a conveyor belt of relationships, the old one being thrown away once it becomes too complicated, in favor of the NRE (new relationship energy) of it all.

having been in dynamics where i (socialized as a woman) was the hinge for multiple partners, have observed my socialized-as-male partners + metamours being more willing to speak up for themselves, oftentimes overshooting and becoming too possessive or controlling for the dynamic to continue; while my socialized-as-female partners + metamours stayed quiet on their needs until it exploded into resentful reactivity when they could no longer hold the form they’d shrunk themselves into. essentially neither the passive nor the dominating approach was sustainable. non-monogamy doesn’t work when any of the folks involved are attempting to play a role or fit the relationship into a box. this is where i believe the ritual of ‘relationship anarchy’ offers us another step forward. the term was coined in 2006 by swedish writer andie nordgren + is model for relationships based on traditional anarchist principles of anti-capitalism, anti-hierarchy, + mutual aid.

relationship anarchy is all about making commitments not based on traditional expectations or by past commitments but rather being led by each persons’ current needs with an emphasis on community + mutual aid. this is actually where i’ve seen monogamy (or, rather, monogam-ish dynamics) operate as a tool that brings everyone involved, regardless of privilege, closer to fulfillment + depth in love. relationship anarchy still boasts non-hierarchy as one of its tenants. i am dubious of it because it reads a lot like ‘i don’t see color’ to me. i would love to live in a post-racial + post-colorist society, but the reality is that we do not yet + it hinders us to not acknowledge how these differences are tangible. i see relationships the same way. under capitalism, the partner that you share a home + living expense with will likely be much more emotionally reactive to the relationship ending or being deescalated than a partner that you do not share this responsibility with. that has little to do with your nesting partner unlearning their jealously + learning to look at love not as zero sum. however, resources ARE zero sum under capitalism. often, folks are wildin’ off of losing the resources a relationship has committed to providing them more than the relationship itself.

sex + relationships seem to scare us all out of our radical masks — relentlessly chasing polyamorist ideals of non-hierarchy + individual autonomy can trigger even the most communal among us to react individualistically; perpetrators of sexual violence re-stoke the carceral fire in even the most theoretically staunch abolitionists; + restorative justice for relational harm more often than not turns from community call in to call out feeding the cancel culture content machine. these are not simply personal failings.

we’re not talking to each other enough for anyone to be secure in romantic relationships; be it monogamy, non-monogamy, polyamory, or relationship anarchy. i think of octavia bulter + her afro-futurist mind. her novel ‘fledgling’ follows a young Black vampire, shori, trying to repair her life after her maternal + paternal lineages are massacred. it is found out later in the book that this harm was perpetrated by her own kind, another vampire family. this triggers a meeting of the ina council (the governing body of the ina vampire species) which includes representatives from 7 families who know + love the harmed party sitting down with 7 families who know + love the party who committed harm to decide how best to reconcile as a community after this rupture. it is also lovely to note that the vampires and their human symbiotes are non-monogamous in nature. throughout the council’s negotiations; racial, gender, + class biases arise. these attempts to skew justice are thwarted by the sheer efficacy of their governance structure. ‘fledgling’ was published in 2005 + reflects restorative justice practices that are just now being implemented by non-profits across the country — octavia was a visionary ahead of her time! the young disabled Black girl victim, shori, comes out on top in the council’s decision by trusting + respecting that the system in place will deliver her retribution — something i’ve never seen happen in our society.

this is what is meant by first building the necessary conditions to have secure, liberated, loving relationships (regardless of the model!) before delving into it. much like me at 13, freedom is found through a lack of desperation from knowing that your cup will remain filled by staying honest + trusting in the principles of the covenants you’ve made. thinking back to my etymological definition of non-monogamy — ‘the practice of not remaining isolated within marriage/the sexual body’ — this, to me, must include plans for care + connection to be maintained when there is low capacity, relationship deescalation, break-ups + more. only once this is established can we begin to be inspired for what polyamory — ‘to fill yourself with many loves’ — can look like with sustained, equitable kindness + love for all involved. i do not believe we are there on a collective scale, yet. big daddy dominator-culture is still everyone’s metamour + he’s fucking up the vibe!

we’ve got to start being honest about our capacity to sustainably live lives as radical, anarchist, + liberated as we want to be. radically accept what you have capacity for + work to build your tolerance for un-comfortability. that is what will be required to topple these systems + create more equitable ones. BUT WE NEED SYSTEMS. WE NEED COMMUNITY. institute checks + balances for your partners outside of each other, so you all can remain cared for when capacities get low + folks are not at their best. check your privilege in relationships, monogamous or not. this looks like investigating if each of your actions pushes the collective paradigm closer to dominator-culture, as the litmus test of its liberatory quality. this requires you to be a student of radical politics across the board. if you’re not actively investigating what decolonizing gender, sexuality, health, money, love, + wellbeing looks like ALL. THE. TIME. then you’re not polyamorous or non-monogamous — you’re just a fuckboy (or fuckgirl or fuckthem) with fancy words! your relational decisions cannot only be at the service of your individual autonomy.

im not saying polyamorous is a bad word, in fact, it is very needed as an ideal to strive for — a future we can’t know yet —built with learnings from experiences we don’t have the words for yet — it’s an amorphous being. i’ll keep shooting for my moon-struck poly picket fence + so should you, but, no…

i don’t believe in polyamory, yet!

but if we work together to support ALL people equitably, in having the capacity to access their own true desire + empower them to communicate it holistically, y’all might prove me wrong… until then, call me a NON-MONOSEXIST RELATIONSHIP ANARCHIST lol

i leave you with a poem:

MO{U}RNING PAGES

have i totally lost the plot?

have i fallen from grace or been cosmically displaced

with a grief so tight it constricts + a rage that spits

+ i can’t commit or even get some dick

the wound, it persists

to puss + scab into a chrysalis i wish i did not exist

in a liquid state + i’d’ve been escaped

if i thought it was too late to take you with me—it’s a pity…

it’s an angel! i’m looking at this from an angle that could never flatter us am i better without us? i have never felt so stuck

+ held.

someone rang the bell! im tapped out next step not mapped out + i can navigate us back home oh i wish i never had to be alone

to restart i hear god through you as we were one

the dark will never overtake our setting sun

im on the run

id do this with you over anyone but what’s next for us?

is it is or is it not zero sum?

we are undone + now

what will we become?

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all my love + all my offerings

DEEP RIVER

when the silver linings’ just a sliver

the flow still, it delivers

in quick glimmers on tidal waves

you’re my idol, babe

considered both our killer and caregiver

to boil, from a simmer

with the rigor it takes to ice a glade

it’s worth some time away

oh, the mountains themselves will quiver

trying to damn a river

so i shiver, at bay and wide awake

o the rush, it cannot stay.

AFTERWORD: i’m writing about bodies of water + codependency + colonization again… the thing about enmeshment is it’s avoidable with a consistent spiritual connection + protection. no matter how deep in the waters we go, even if you let me drown, you’ll always be my hero. my mentor told me of a tale of a dam and its damn disruptions and the dangers of trying to divert the righteous rush of a Californian river. we thought we knew better where it should flow and now, we’re running out of water. Maferefun Oshun o! Iyami Aje! i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: Zissou — Hayley Williams “but the monsters are you and i…”

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ABSTRACT

• a timeline of the last few times i’ve died;

• what has been killing me + my posthumous insights; +

• how you can support me in my current life.

OUR EULOGIES

living life as a revolutionary requires some self-death doula-ship — i have to kill myself quarterly, it seems.

when you have a calling, there is no hanging it up, unless it is by your own neck. even then, you’ll just have to do it again and, as i am discovering, again and again and again.

thank you all for being here today. i had a very dear relationship with the departed, so i’d like to tell their stories here + now.

they were born in the hood but were kept off the streets. they were raised real well by a real good family, even considering the white mom of it all. in their hood, 1) they were a tomboy, 2) they were a nerd, 3) they were (occasionally) a ‘white girl’. only when they spoke and let out a big word or their stutter slip. they’d giggle + fight back + revel in the playful jousts that only come from a child-like-comraderie + a bone-deep belonging.

by high school, they had their first visit to hospice. now getting their schooling in the suburb neighboring their hood, they found their Black ass in the minority. dance + spirit were all that kept them alive.

la premiere mort was a surrender to their surroundings. this fade to white was doubled down with a 4-year full-ride to a ‘liberal’ PWI. in the bustle of business school, their movement lost its rhythm + time. they got a 4.0 and then Raelyn died.

Raelyn’s descendant was Thee High Priestess. They, the great gatekeeper, who effortlessly straddled the line between realms — both a corporate sellout + a community servant. They rest in power now, too.

“bring the money over the line!” they said to no avail.

aint no reforming the system when you still so caught up in it! so, they left six-figure-purgatory + went on the road to trap psychic readings, herbs + mushrooms with their lesbian lover (iconic!). unfortunately, the aforementioned lesbian lover was White^TM + left Thee, newly freed, High Priestess on the side of the road. jobless and houseless, yet never helpless or hopeless — Thee High Priestess burned themself at the stake, a pyre. theirs was a fire i still see when i close my eyes. while they were alive, Thee High Priestess founded HIERO + upon their death, reincarnated into this being.

HIERO is sacred, HIERO is holy, HIERO is radical, HIERO is Black, HIERO is Queer, HIERO is a hoodoo, HIERO can’t keep a real job, HIERO has held you up, HIERO has taught you, HIERO has brought you home to yourself, HIERO is dying, HIERO needs your support.

hey, community, i’m HIERO.

OUR AUTOPSIES

my nigga im gonna be so real i am tired of martyring myself. but truly, i have no other choice. i be dying because the systems were always meant to kill me. at every crossroads i make the choice to move in love + in my values. i have found that it continually leaves me more materially destitute + spiritually abundant.

for example, in my last position i worked for an ‘empathic employer’ (spoiler alert: if you see this on a job application — RUN!). i even had community members who worked with this place before WARN ME before starting. yet still, i aligned myself with this POC-Queer-Justice-Impacted-NYC-Bred small business that did not have the money to pay me what i was worth because i believed in ‘the mission’. after eating some questionable business practices and staying on past my contract, i noticed i was ACTUALLY being underpaid! in fact, i had been being underpaid for WEEKS. i explained that i could not complete any more work until i was paid what i was owed + offered my new contract terms. to which i was reassured that i would get within the week. and then, within the week, I was fired!

and so, after a decade of community organizing + work at all levels — corporate, non-profit, small business, startups, grassroots, freelance, + entrepreneurship — i have deduced that it ain’t no way to keep your soul intact when you subleasing it out all willy nilly for somebody else’s dreams, at least for a conduit like me.

this aint even counting the interpersonal violence i’ve experienced because i dare to be bold enough to chase my desires and take risks in love + friendship, much like i’ve done in my career. read some more of my poems and you’ll hear those stories, too (i.e., pseudo-Christian-CIS-Het-extractive-capitalist-exploitative judgement of my polyamory or sex-work leading me to being abused, stalked, defamed, + straight-up psychologically tortured by those i’ve deeply poured into, repeatedly).

yet, still i serve.

OUR REPASS

frankly, this is my first time asking for aid so plainly. without your monetary support this iteration of myself WILL DIE.

i am running out of money. i am watching my mental health deteriorate. i lose my will and then i find it again almost weekly. i know i am on the cusp of something deep, collective, + revolutionary.

i currently offer my home as a space for communal gathering + healing.

i refuse to sellout + use my degree to support businesses that aid in our oppression (i.e. all of them that pay taxes + the 501c3’s, too!) with my labor, so my income streams are extremely limited.

i never turn away a community member in need of food, shelter, or my services (i.e. medicine making, spiritual consults, etc.) for lack of funds.

i don’t just stop at mutual aid, i am working to build alternative systems of care, such as the Community Welfare System, in my neighborhood.

this will not continue happening if i die.

i know yall will not let me, so—

i need $25,000 ASAP.

to bury these bodies i got in the morgue that aint nobody coming to claim, to heal + fortify the body that i currently exist in, + to continue my work that serves you all. so, please, bring a dish — this repass is a potluck.

my collection plate

now, bow your heads + let us pray…

amen. ashe. word.

WHY WAKE UP EARLY FOR THE BEACH? (ENDLESSLY, YOURS)

thank you for loving me right

and every late fucking night

into every morning, actually in the afternoon

if i thanked you forever, it’d still end too soon

~

thank you for reviving me

thank you for being alive with me

we were living

thank you for giving

endlessly, yours

until i found my own light

again, encore

when the time’s right

maybe then, im sure

if only in hindsight

for now, there’s more

~

took a photo from an angle i never have

before and im grateful for that perspective

a quick blurry shot, but i’d never regret it

~

one day well wash the film together at the bay of our shores

and until then i am

endlessly,

yours.

AFTERWORD: the most beautiful thing about nonmonogamy (if you’re doing it fr) is the ability to adjust and deescalate back into equilibrium when the cycle of our moon brings too much chaos to our waves. i wrote this at the beach with my lover for their birthday last year, we had ‘broken up’ just a week before and still i couldn’t imagine not being there on their special day — it has become one of my most special days. this year, on their solar return, we were reconciled with a depth i never could have imagined when this was written. we may need to adjust again, now. i’ve learned, why wake up early for the beach? i love you just as much in peak sun, as i do in sunset or at night when we’ve missed the days light. we will again wash up on our shores, just wait for our moon to pull the tides back in. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: Water — Syd

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#RIPRealJobs

here lies a bitch who never cares for her body

not aware of her body

and the pain it endures

she mainly ensures

that she is she polite + well-liked

and despite this good fight

as we look in the pews

you’d expect a grieving few

tears in their eyes

yet to no surprise, we realize

no one’s noticed that she’s died

now, the onus is on you guys

she tried…

~

generous

to bring money across the border

venerous

with all her love she was no hoarder

~

disparu

en dessous

on se perd de vu

it was time

but we will lie

and say “gone too soon”

her seeds will forevermore be in bloom

AFTERWORD: i graduated! from 9-5s!! 🎓 (read: i got smoked 🤭). After a decode of community organizing and work at all levels — corporate, non-profit, small business, startups, grassroots, freelance, entrepreneurship — i have deduced that it ain’t no way to keep your soul intact when you subleasing it out all willy nilly for somebody else’s dreams, at least for a conduit like me. quit your job + come hang out, you’ll see, that’s the way we get free. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: January 28th {or December 18th ;), as i call it} — J. Cole ~ “the real is back, the ville is back … don’t give em too much you, don’t let em take control … if you ain’t aim too high, then you aimed too low!”

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red paint

i had a dream that your bike was black

it’s not a fantasy or scheme to will you back…

red hot and heavy

now slow and steady

peering through the cracks

out of moves and attacks

faulty clean breaks pad the darkest side of our moon

if we never escaped it would’ve still been too soon

one who is like god

submits to the divine

so ahead of ourselves

in our own minds

no use to lie

i used to lie

by the all-seeing eye

all truth in due time

i listened to something new for the first time in a while today

i’m twisted! i can make you game when you don’t even want to play

now many miles away

i don’t want you back

we can put this to bed

but i had a dream your bike was black

now i can’t stop seeing red

AFTERWORD: I rarely regret much, but this one here keeps showing up in my dreams. Arcangelo San Michele — the name answers the question “who is like God?”… Pristine. I’ve seen it. Completely. I pray to it occasionally still and i feel i always will. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: A whole damn playlist for this one…

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on dying free

i prayed for an easy death,

so when life is agonizing

i know it ain’t time yet

~

i salivate in my dreams

a thirst and lust to

exist in the seams i weave

~

i am the not the first trumpet,

the melody drones

and we groove on through our set

~

i smell of rue and hyssop,

decocting synergies

from a still-half-full cup

~

i felt it and you haven’t

internal echoes

touched, dragged, moved, mélanged and bent

~

i foresee the transition,

looking ahead now

through the eyes of my children

~

my senses without dissent,

dying for the relief

once the candle is spent

AFTERWORD: Assata Olugbala Shakur. 1947 in Flushing, Queens. 2025 in Havana, Cuba. Some headlines — “fugitive Black militant” — “convicted revolutionary” — “activist turned refugee” — “the FBI’s most wanted domestic terr0r1st” — “cold-blooded c0p k1ll3r” — “Black Panther Party & Black Liberation Army member” — “Black icon who escaped US captivity” — “she who struggles” — “they who are grateful” — “God-mother” — “Poet” — on and on and on. i hope to earn half these titles, i hope to be remembered as half the woman Assata was, i hope to die right, i hope to die free, and most of all… i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: Natural Mystic — Bob Marley & The Wailers

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*check out my other offerings*

FOREWORD: i never do forewords because i want you to experience without my input. however, i’d like to introduce STUDIO SANQ — the muse of this poem, and REGURGITATED — my new poetry series to follow my last, WORD VOMIT. both of these new offerings are spaces to purge, start from scratch, and put out fires before they are burning. i hope you enjoy!

SANQ (sound and now quiet)

sanctuary

i’ve burned down the house!

sankofa

who needs who now?

—

as above so below

every time i yell i end up alone!

—

a saint unhearing

restraint! unclearing

safe yet wearying…

—

to paint

while building

to hate

while thrilling

it is an untrustworthy channel

a mirror! that disappears behind a camera

—

sang

vampiric and unseen

selfish and unclean

losers and winners

angels and sinners

—

to want means what?

to haunt means to love

—

cinq

five for freedom

five for change

sound and now quiet

a hot white rage

—

fool’s gold is still pyrite

if you cannot live

well

at the least

die right

—

the sirens blow for the sirens’ show

take a bow and lower your bow

we all know…

—

sweet archer my dear

open your eye! the coast is clear

to cry and move through fear

not in it

—

listen!

these are your children

and you’ve gone deaf mommy dearest

give it a rest! the waters at its clearest

still sinking in tune

‘i love you’

when no one is left to hear it.

AFTERWORD: the shadow is always present: the most violent parts of ourselves, the power we have to cause harm and destroy — anti-Ashe, if you will. what came first? the chicken or the egg? but it’s already an omelette. it may not be your fault, but it is your responsibility. don’t roll over and die, just cry. trauma lives within me; the fire stokes and settles. the siren is at bay. sound and now quiet; a hot white rage. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: Akete Obba Obba Seniyé. Obbala Eee Tiddé... — Olorún & Lázaro Ros

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JUST IN TIME (LONG OVERDUE)

~~

a presence

like a return

not desperate, but a yearn

~

like candle wax dripping,

hot! yet doesn’t burn

like a surrounding,

tied by the rings of saturn

~

like a lesson

that reminds you you’re still a student

like a message

to rest when you know you could do it

~

like the waning before a new moon

like if racing didn’t finish so soon

~

like rolling out your neck

and getting something unscrewed

like how the words come back

when you realize you know this tune

~

it’s a holding space in mind

for two complete truths

loving you came just in time

yet is long overdue.

~~

AFTERWORD: loving is my favorite thing. it’s the reason i write anything. lots of my work is written in retrospect, archiving the beauty of a connection. in fact, lots of what i’ve shared here was finished yearssss ago. this piece is the first time i’ve written about love while i am in it. i’m happy to end WORD VOMIT comfortably in the present. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: TBD i’ll come back when it comes to me…

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AND SOMETIMES, WHY (Y)?

(U)

always so grateful to miss you

us too

cause green is only made with yellow and blue.

(O)

always so grateful to miss you

i know

the song that plays when i kiss you and go.

(I)

always so grateful to miss you

we tried

on the train home after another goodbye.

(E)

always so grateful to miss you

just please

send me a sign in quite the dream.

(A)

always so grateful to miss you

now wait

let’s just start at the top again, okay?

AFTERWORD: a little angst for ya. ‘because green is made with yellow and blue’ makes me cry every time and i wrote the fucking line. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: lithium — evanescence

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wanna watch me dance to the score of this post?

I DON’T PLAY FAVORITES (ONLY WITH YOU)

~~

beloved;

as a child,

yellow was my favorite hue

yet for a while,

i prioritized anew.

~

sweetest-heart;

to be loved,

i claimed preferences untrue

in keeping up

with a standard set by who?

~

paramour;

when we met,

yellow covered your whole room

quiet’s’it’s kept

i realigned to match with you.

~

my dearest;

you’re gone and,

i’m still here in gratitude

saturated in

our sunset; a fleeting, yellow muse.

~~

AFTERWORD: i’ve always struggled with the concept of favorites. favorite song? depends on the day. favorite lover? chill, i practice non-hierarchy. but i can be swayed towards preferences for a period of time. is this not a muse? as a child; i remember picking favorite foods, eating them until i got sick, and never finding the same excitement for them again. so, now, in an attempt to preserve and sustain that fervor, i try not to gorge myself when i acquire a new taste. this poem is about a flavor that i always seem to crave. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: morning blue - gaidaa

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foymo (fear of YOU missing out)

~~

i want to be seen

i wish you could experience everything with me

~

i want my lovers

to observe my other lovers

in close view of my friends

shared with my collaborators

under the gun of my comrades

at the supervision of my family

through the eyes of my ancestors

~

i know i am always watched over

and i want to be seen

~~

AFTERWORD: i’ve never really experienced fomo, i am most often where i know i should be. however, i do suffer from i-wish-you-were-here syndrome very often—let’s call it foymo. it comes up most when i travel. something in my sagittarian-sun psyche is simply certain that the vibes could always be elevated my my niggas’ presence. the innate desire to share is also very poly of me. grateful for community, yall the namesake of this publication. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: circus — britney spears

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BUCKINGHAM PALACE (A PICTURE OF DEATH)

i love myself

for letting me go

for braving the discomfort to give us a show

so my spirit can know

i love myself

for getting gelato

for picking the window seat on the flight home

now i’m like a pro

i love myself for accepting succour

i love myself for receiving favour

i love myself for noticing

two young Black girls

with their little afro puffs

carelessly walk by this palace

wishing that their crush

was just a bit taller

i love myself enough to notice

enough to slow down in this,

warm lively moment.

AFTERWORD: i wrote this on the last night of a trip to london that was sponsored by my super-toxic-racist-ex job. you can really feel the colonial evil seething from the earth there huh? after having avoided all tourist-y bullshit for the entire month-long trip, i found myself—in the final hours—wandering around near buckingham palace and decided ‘why not go and see it?’ i wrote this in my journal as it glared at me. i don’t think it was meant to be a poem, but it is. bonus points if you can tell me what classic novel i stole the ‘a warm lively moment or a picture of death?’ quote from. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: natural mystic — bob marley (the whole EXODUS album really!)

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you can watch + listen along to this essay’s visualizer on YouTube!

ABSTRACT

• The medicinal flower, Hibiscus "roselle" sabdariffa and embracing my role as a Conjurer, “two-headed” doctor;

• Misconceptions in the pursuit of purpose and how the Japanese concept of ikigai has been westernized; and

• What this essay series seeks to explore and offer.

A ROSE(ELLE) BY ANY OTHER NAME WOULD SMELL JUST AS SWEET

What’s in a name? Deities —— gods, plants, and I and I alike —— acquire many namesakes across cultures and through time which reflect the multiplex of that entity’s power and impact. Hibiscus sabdariffa (hibiscus) is widely referred to as roselle and a variety of other regional markers including ambasthika, bisap, Florida cranberry, gongura, jamaica [ha-MY-ka], karkareeh, lemon bush, oseille de Guinée, Queensland jelly plant, quiabo-róseo, serení, sorrel, sour tea, and zobo throughout history.

Hibiscus has been a companion in inviting intimacy and sensuality into my life and the lives of my clients through the flower’s ability to re-instill virility and connection to the heart. I have communed with many herbs, roots, and fungi in my herbalism and root worker tutelage and have built an intuitive understanding of their spiritual usages. Now, in deepening my relationship with the plants, my path has veered to seeking practical knowledge on their physical healing properties. In this sense, hibiscus operates as an aphrodisiac via creating the ideal conditions in the body [e.g., reduced anxiety, increased blood flow, emollience (skin-softening)] for sexual performance and lovemaking. Leveraging both of these perspectives to build and sustain health is the work of natural, or holistic, medicine.

“Continuity exists throughout the body, interwoven at every level.” T. Carmine Van Deven, Doctor of Osteopathy, offers context on the purpose of his chosen course of medical practice. He continues, “it is important to acknowledge the impact that emotional, mental, and spiritual health have on both function and structure… patterns of thoughts and feelings may be profoundly influential. The entirety of who we are is manifest in our physical being and its underlying motion.”

I was born to acknowledge this ‘underlying motion’ which I refer to as spirit. Yet, in my medicinal plant self-study, I allowed myself to be intimidated staring at the multi-page-long list of chemicals active in hibiscus alone. While ‘traditional’ physicians and medical research often fixate on synthesizable compounds extracted from medicinal plants, hibiscus is unique in that there have been numerous human-studies conducted using the natural flower tea itself. According to Leslie Taylor, ND, in Hibiscus Flower: Nature’s Secret for a Healthy Heart, “research has been funded on this natural remedy because all these different chemicals work together synergistically and provide greater actions and benefits together than the single chemicals provide alone.”

“SOCRATES: Yes, Meno; and again, we are in the same case: in searching after one virtue, we have found many… but we have been unable to find the common virtue which runs through them all.”

Although the knowledge that anthocyanidins found in the hibiscus calyx alleviate ailments caused by oxidative stress may be useful on a medical exam, I know that the wisdom of the whole rather than the sum of its parts will be a familiar, frequent, and comforting grounding point in my healing studies and practice.

THE PURSUIT OF PURPOSE

Ikigai is a concept first utilized by Japanese psychiatrist Mieko Kamiya in her book Ikigai Ni Tsuite, or On the Meaning of Life. Ikigai breaks down to iki meaning ‘life’ and gai meaning ‘worth’ and has been popularized in the West as the summary of your life’s purpose.

This surface level understanding has been perpetuated in continuum with Western society’s systematic and prolific appropriation of Eastern culture that can only result in a commodifiable gross-reduction of its source. This phenomenon is also partly due to a Venn diagram designed by a Spanish astrologer being broadly misattributed to ikigai and marketeered by ‘life-coaches’ and ‘wellness-gurus’ alike. The four circles of the Venn diagram represent what you love, what you’re good at, what the world needs, and what you can be paid for, while the overlapping point at the center purports one’s true calling. This necessity to discover and accomplish a definitive mission in life can bring on frustration as expressed in girlsss <3 just wanna have fun!, a poem of mine. In Ikigai Ni Tsuite, Kamiya lays out multiple considerations for navigating one’s many guiding principles and personal drives. In the old Hoodoo adage, it’s a lotta ways to skin a cat!

From the Yoruba religion, Ifa:

"As the Sun rises to fulfill its purpose without being asked, so should you rise to fulfill yours." - Odu Ogbe Irosun

Dr. Van Deven supports this by suggesting, “one of the most important aspects of the human experience is personal evolution… This includes accepting and embracing new and sometimes radically different perspectives, ideas, and belief systems that empower health and embody love.” In fact, “illness invites these opportunities.”

I was inducted into holistic medicine by a lifetime of seemingly undiagnosable suffering, mistreatment and apathy from ‘traditional’ doctors, and a particularly painful urinary tract infection. With enough self-education around the harmful side effects of dismissive antibiotic treatments, I made the decision to treat myself naturally with hibiscus tea! After a couple of weeks of struggling with dosing and discipline and doubt, I consistently concocted and consumed something that remedied my discomfort with my own hands. I know the feeling of empowerment and liberation bestowed on me in that moment is the closest notion I have of the path I am destined to walk. And it is all the purpose I need, for now.

DR. PRINCETON (PRE-PHD)

SCORE: Reincarnated – Kendrick Lamar

I was born into the Black-American liberatory and healing tradition of Hoodoo. My first-given-name (Raelyn) served as my initiatory prayer: a portmanteau of my grandmother and father’s names (Evelyn and Rashon, respectively), both conjurers in their own right. In my franken-etymology of Raelyn, Ray means beam of light or guiding light and Lynn in Gaelic is from the lake, gave me early insight on the purpose I had inherited from my lineage.

“‘What will one answer the messengers of the nation?’ The Lord has founded Zion, and in her the afflicted of his people find refuge.” Isaiah 14:32

Another of my namesakes has been Thee High Priestess. Personally and professionally, I have been known to adopt aliases which align with my life’s trajectory. Currently, I am walking the path to fill the lofty title of Conjurer, or more specifically, two-headed doctor. In Hoodoo, being ‘two-headed’ refers to an individual’s ability to access, assess, and alleviate ailments of both the physical and metaphysical bodies. Professor Yvonne P. Chireau explains in Black Magic: Religion and the African American Conjuring Tradition,

“‘Some people calls ’em two-headed doctors,’

explained a black woman in early-twentieth-century Washington, D.C., using a common term for specialists who cured using natural remedies and spiritual power,

‘That’s because they knows two kin’s o’ medicine.

They can see both ways.’”

Professor Chireau reminds us in her chapter Medical Doctors Can’t Do You No Good that a holistic outlook on healing, taken into our own hands, is something that has been historically innate to Black people.

Natural medicines such as hibiscus are manufactured for scalable distribution into standardized concentrated extracts which degrade some of the delicate bio-compounds that are responsible for the flower’s additive therapeutic potency. The Japanese concept of Ikigai was simplified in its western popularization into a workable framework which miscommunicates its key nuances. The pursuit of purpose urges us to attach ourselves to a single field and throw all of our energy behind maximizing (and often, burning out) success in that individual function, when the most impactful people are often polymaths. Choosing to study natural medicine and walking in my two-headed purpose is not a negation or concentration of my multifaceted identity, but an echo of all of my past selves bringing me closer to my highest.

I hope the bits of my journey that I share here are received as a roadmap to your next calling.

I leave you with a poem—

PRODIGAL

i’m doing the deed;

getting the job done.

spreading divine seed,

you niggas my god-sons.

“DR COOCHIE” tea recipe

try your best to source organically-grown wild-crafted dried herbs

• 1tsp pau d’arco bark

• 1tsp uva ursi leaf

• 1tsp barberry bark

• 2tsp white willow bark

• 2tsp hibiscus flower

• (optional) 1tsp damiana or some other herb to calm anxieties

directions: steep in an 8-oz cup of hot water for 8 minutes (or for longer and dilute!) and enjoy 2-3 times per day, as needed until symptoms fully clear!

it is NOT FDA APPROVED don’t sue me … but i got testimonials on testimonials ;)

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Medicine

• Alternative medicine: Definition, examples, benefits, and risks

• Carmine Van Deven, DO, T. Osteopathy Explained: How This Science Can Improve Your Heath. (2024). New Hampshire: Well Being Journal, Vol 33. Osteopathy Explained: How This Science Can Improve Your Health - Well Being Journal

• Hibiscus Flower Tea - Nature's Secret for a Healthy Heart

Hoodoo & Black Spirituality

• Black Magic: Religion and the African American Conjuring Tradition

• The Bible.

• Ifa Religion Beliefs - Learn about the concepts of Ifa Spirituality

Ikigai

• Ikigai Ruined My Life - Dave Kang's Octopus Life

• https://ikigaitribe.com/ikigai/ikigai-is-not-a-venn-diagram/

• https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20170807-ikigai-a-japanese-concept-to-improve-work-and-life

Misc

• https://www.tumblr.com/islandmusic/751784236633161728?source=share

• Meno.pdf

  ---

'hey, community!'

thee high priestess’ blog ~ prophetic musings from thee lingo god ~ everything you need to create everything you want

By HIERO

TAKING ACCOUNTABILITY (BUT IT’S NOT MY FUCKING FAULT!)

~~

“you gon’ be a problem when you older…”

an odd ‘compliment’

i’d hear behind my shoulder

yet

when it was all over

i did grow to be colder

~

“you gon’ be an issue when you grown…”

ah i understand

my future has already been sewn

man

i do shit on my own

but i hate being alone

~

“you gon’ be something else when you 18…”

jesus fucking christ

nigga, is you waiting?

like

no point abating

rebelling is relating

~

“you gon’ be a problem when you older…”

well all grown up

i don’t even think i know her

fuck

a self-destructive, flaky loner

i’m the problem and older

~~

AFTERWORD: i believe the first time i was told some variation of this piece’s sobering quote was in a dance class, in a skintight body suit, in my 10th year. i wondered from then on who’s “problem” i would be and what “issues” that i would cause as the “something else” i was to become. was she really so alien? such a burden? such a liability? i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: quatre heures du matin - lous and the yakuza

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GIRLSSS <3 JUST WANNA HAVE FUN!

~~

i don’t even know

what kinda life i wanna lead

and that’s fine

but it’s not fine

to keep pretending like i know

at the very least

to myself

or i’ll never figure it out

which wouldn’t be so bad

never figuring it out

if that’s something

i can learn to be comfy in

the confusion

but the constant

anxious

search for purpose

serves me none.

~

i be tryna measure and contemplate my contributions to society,

but bitch…

are you having fun?

~~

AFTERWORD: this is not a poem–it’s word vomit. it was a channeled journal entry of mine that had enough meter, rhythm, truth, and rhyme that i thought it appropriate to share here. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: dr. seuss - tierra whack

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THELIPSTHETEETHTHETIPOFTHETONGUE

~~

your voice is honey

drizzled deep in my chamomile tea

your lips are the only

sweet treat, i’ll eat

your tongue is the strongest

aphrodisiac i’ve known

your teeth, my tattoo artist

your smile is my home.

~~

AFTERWORD: i wrote this when i was 16 and infatuated. it’s the feeling that led me out of the sanctity of my ‘virginity’. i often read this poem during performances, but at the end. to lighten the mood and let sweet feelings descend. well i think the last time was my last sugarcoat because i’m beginning to cringe at that last line about ‘home’. also sorry if the voiceover is messy, i was called to record it while snuggling in bed with my sleeping lover.. teehee! i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: killing me softly (with his song) - the fugees

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BECAUSE IT’S BETTER WHEN YOU GOTTA EXPLAIN IT

~~

this poem is about swing-sets.

~

this poem is about love. this poem is about my love, and how it’s changing as i mature. this poem is about codependency. this poem is about my relationship with my mom. this poem is about my relationship with my dad. this poem is about my relationship to myself. this poem is about feeling so deeply it spills over everything. into harm, into rage, into words, into sounds, into movement, into infinity. this poem is about my ex. this poem is about my other ex. this poem is about my other ex. this poem is about a little girl with mood swings.

~

this poem is about swing-sets.

~~

GIVE SOMEONE ELSE A TURN

~~

sometimes i think

if i yank the chains hard enough

i can control the swing.

~

also really

you’re not going high enough

unless it suspends and creaks.

~

and now i see

that my legs are long enough

so i don’t need you to push me.

~

i remember the rush—

~

hopping off at the top

tuck-n-rolling, then starting over…

now the pendulum makes me nauseous

and i know i’m getting older.

~~

AFTERWORD: i wrote “give someone else a turn” on a swing-set in san francisco. i think it has a very clear message, but every time i perform it, the crowd seems … confused. yet, they always claim to resonate with me as a poet because of this poem. So, frustrated with this dissonance, i wrote a piece to act as its foreword and that became “because it’s better when you gotta explain it”. i hope you enjoy!

SCORE 1: nobody gets me - sza

SCORE 2: thick skull - paramore

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I WAS MOSTLY AFRAID OF THE SIMILARITIES

~~

when you hurt

i won’t take away your pain

i am no medicine

~

my words will never drip

like morphine

from my lip

that won’t kiss away your scars

~

this is no experimental trial

to suppress your demons

unlike cancer cells

what’s growing inside here is benign

~

your obsessions and compulsions

won’t be quelled by my soul’s serotonin

my heart is no xanax script

i won’t calm your anxiousness

~

you won’t be addicted to my security

you won’t overdose on my comfort

they’ll be no detox for my memory

no rehab for my touch

~

though i won’t be your cure

i will love you.

~

you’re not sick,

you are human.

we are both only human.

~

this is different.

~~

AFTERWORD: this here was written in 2016 by a baby me coming to understand co-dependency. is it any wonder that i am a healer now? i hope you enjoy!

SCORE: are you that somebody? — aaliyah

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