Weightless

Writing Right

When I was in my late teens I wrote a short story for my church newsletter. The title of the story was “Unstable.” It followed a young woman dealing with the struggles of being tempted and navigating her social space in the church as well as wanting to experience life yet wanting to “live for God” aka follow the rules of the church to the letter. Melanie, the protagonist was based on me, and I pulled characterization from my imagination and loose representations of people in my youth group. I remember that the story was released in segments because the newsletter could only be kept to a limited page amount.

When each bit was released, my friends and those a few years younger came rushing to me begging for a preview of the next segment. People tried to guess who I based characters off of and wanted to know if I would turn it into an audio series. “ I want to be Dawson,” someone stated. “ I’ll be Melanie” another person chimed in. I remember thinking “ this is what it feels like to be an actual writer.” I had so many ideas, I wanted to write a collection of stories based on the varying perspectives of the characters in Unstable. I wanted to put them in graphic novel form.

I wanted to create a youth magazine highlighting a specific young person with an in depth interview and a Q&A section about topics that were hard to discuss in the mediums with which we were provided etc.

I would rush through homework assignments so I could work on ideas and create possible storylines. I found myself however taking pains to create stories that felt “safe.” I wanted desperately to write about sex and spirituality outside of the confines of Biblical ideology and desire beyond church teachings. However I knew that “Unstable” was as “edgy” as I could get.

I wrote secret stories and ripped them up because I knew once the Pastor read them, I would be reprimanded or even thrown out of the church.  In a bittersweet unexpected turn of events, the pastor informed me I was not allowed to distribute anything outside of what was submitted to the newsletter. Shortly after the final installment of “Unstable” was published, the newsletter was discontinued altogether. I remember the desire I had to write consuming me and I convinced myself I should give up any notion to write about taboo topics. So I wrote songs and poems and stories about God that I shared with friends and family. I also wrote dark stories, and love songs and poetry about depression that I kept hidden and eventually threw out.

Fast forward about six years or so later when I left the church, one of my first thoughts was “ I can finally write without fear, I can write my stories without a filter.” Yet I did not really realize that over twenty years of mental conditioning would have such an elongated visceral effect on my  creative psyche. Much of the material that inspires my writing is rooted in the experience of having been raised in an extremely strict environment that also was my community, and for a time, a place I willingly participated in and wanted desperately to be embraced by.

The complexities of these intersections has been my excuse to not go deep and reveal the effects they present. I have once again recreated and repackaged that familiar fear.  Recently I reflected on several black women who are creating art in their various avenues who have a similar background to mine. Ava Duvernay went to a catholic school from elementary school until high school graduation, Michaela Coel attended a Pentecostal church for four years and Angel Haze was raised in one. All of these women have discussed how these experiences have shaped the way they create their art. It is not a source which should be shunned or rejected. I have pages both physical and those in my mind displaying these experiences and those I have had which would have made the young girl who wrote Unstable blush ( or she might have been proud) due to the brashness of their content.

These stories breathe heartbeats. So I will share them, even though they are uncomfortable and some are taboo, but life is all of that and more.

Swimming Lessons

                                                    
                                                         
                                                                SWIMMING LESSONS


                                               
                                                         
                                                                   I found myself


     Floating in the abyss, wafting in the ripples of your love, drifting on the taste of your tongue     

    And I began to wonder

                                      What if; I drown?



    Comforted in the cocoon in the possibility I realized there is no safety net

     And trust is my only life jacket.



   I wrapped myself in a cloak of preservation, for which I had not yet been fitted.

      
And instead of saving me,
                                          It chaffed into my skin and punctured my heart.
                                   


    Guided by the melody of vocal instruction, I learned to bend and twist accordingly

                   Breast-stroke, back-stroke, butterfly.



               All the while I held my breath in anticipation

                        Of knowing that you wanted to keep me from dying

                             As much as I wanted to risk my life for you.



My limbs lengthened, grew heavy and expelled strength as if to honor my resilience.

  
             Cool water and gentle winds transformed into ocean waves, cyclones, and created

                        An emotional hurricane.



 I panicked as the sharpness in my chest and throbbing in my head revealed the undeniable truth.

                            I.  Was. Sinking.

                                                             

                                  Into you.

                                                       Through you.

                                                                           Because of  You.

                            

                            The one who taught me to snorkel through the barrier reef of courage.

                                                        You,

                         Who helped me surf the rushing, roaring, raging currents of emotion.

                                                        You,

                                  The one who should have been.

                                                          You,

                                        The one I hoped would be


                                                   My Lifeguard.