Jun 7, 2025
You owe it to yourself to be you.
- endlessrebel
seen from South Korea
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seen from Yemen
seen from South Korea
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from South Korea
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
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seen from South Korea
seen from United States
seen from Japan
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seen from South Korea
seen from China
You owe it to yourself to be you.
- endlessrebel
Check out my first poem for genreurbanarts.com. I touch on gentrification & crime in the city of Atlanta from what I've seen & heard over the years in between leaving the city for school. It's crazy y'all, but it ain't the end. That's the point. I want for us to change it with our powerful voices.
Please click the link & read my poem. It’s all from my heart:
http://www.genreurbanarts.com/they-aint-our-neighbors/#more-1914
I am a poet & short story writer from Atlanta, Georgia. I am also an up-and-coming organizer and a graduate student. Additionally, I work in media as well as character education.
Look at those words below. They almost made me cry as I stopped & read them before taking a picture. Please take a look. I wanted to capture memories of home.
Share these photos with the world.
Peace. Love. Truth. Justice. Freedom. Liberation.
“they weren’t neighbors.
they couldn’t be.
they wouldn’t let them be
because they were just
occupants
with an expiration date,
which happened to
be whenever those people in
suits with big money
and big ass empty voices decided”
Read the rest: http://bit.ly/2mBlyqy
The picture right below shows the kudzu that a naked Black woman was left in on Proctor Street after being killed. Her body was decomposing when they found her. Wish I knew her name. Can’t even remember if it was on the news. Heard of a few similar situations close by.
I grew up around the corner from there. Everyday on my way to work after coming back to ATL from the University of Georgia for the summer I passed by this area, & I always thought about that woman. I felt torn as an organizer for our cause.
A classmate was killed at a Family Dollar across the street to the left of this wall.
Not too far away from this scene, right behind my great grandmother’s house was the home of the woman in the mural below, Kathryn Johnston. I heard all of the gunshots the night she was killed by police officers who later planted evidence. Sounded like a machine gun went off. I remember ducking on the floor with my grandma because we thought someone was shooting in our driveway. But this 92-year-old woman was getting killed on the bullshit tip. I’ll never forget it. I was scared as hell. Police brutality at its worst. I wrote my first letter to a political leader about this particular unjust situation at the age of 12. Mama wouldn't let me send it though. I understand why now. Catch a snippet of the story below.
"Kathryn Johnston (June 26, 1914 – November 21, 2006) was an elderly Atlanta, Georgia, woman who was shot by undercover police officers in her home on Neal Street in northwest Atlanta on November 21, 2006, where she had lived for 17 years. Three officers had entered her home in what was later described as a ‘botched’ drug raid. Officers cut off burglar bars and broke down her door using a no-knock warrant. Police said Johnston fired at them and they fired in response; she fired one shot out the door over the officers’ heads and they fired 39 shots, five or six of which hit her. None of the officers were injured by her gunfire, but Johnston was killed by the officers. Police injuries were later attributed to “friendly fire” from each other’s weapons.
One of the officers planted marijuana in Johnston’s house after the shooting. Later investigations found that the paperwork stating that drugs present at Johnston’s house, which had been the basis for the raid, had been falsified. The officers later admitted to having lied when they submitted cocaine as evidence claiming that they had bought it at Johnston’s house. Three officers were tried for manslaughter and other charges surrounding falsification and were sentenced to ten, six, and five years."
Tall grass close to one of my best friends’ house.
Tazor.
Cairo.
An 81-year-old woman was hit by a stray bullet here at this house while playing cards on her porch, & we didn’t know who did it for a while. I heard the gunshots & turned off every light in the room when it got dark each day until they found him so I wouldn’t be an easy target.
Proctor.
The street that raised me.
A view from great-grandma’s house.
Granddaddy was a crack addict. Here’s his van. Really miss that man.
I remember hearing those loud, thick tvs boom as I walked by with my grandma as a kid in this area with all the drinking & laughing. They knocked down one of the buildings. This is what’s left.
I used to skip & sing ‘it’s Fall’ with my grandma on our way to the MARTA bus stop or on one of our infamous “tours of the ghetto” as she called them.
We gotta take back the Black! Our future deserves it.
effortless. sublime. lit. it should feel like sunshine when it first hits your face after the clouds clear. it should come from a genuine place. it should be honest.
the people in your circle are so important. please click the link & check out my thoughts on what i think i true friends’ love should be. more reflections to come✨
I can’t be cordial with anyone who tries to play with me about my feelings. Folk really try to mask it, but it’s ugly as fuck when it comes out. When they try to play it off in your face, it feels so crazy, right? They act like it ain’t shit. I try to be real clear on where I’m at with people. It’s just disappointing when the ones you love most refuse accountability.
2024 — the year of the endlessrebel🥶 (if I owe you a poem, dm me please🥰)
when you don't know what lines to read in between you always get it wrong. just leave some things where you see them & move along. some of it just ain't worth even the initial thought.
endlessrebel
Need someone to proofread that paper? I'm the one.
$10 to proof. I'm your grammatical Queen so DM me if you need some help. I love editing papers. Did it through undergrad. Still doing it in grad school. Just let me know what you need🤘🏾
Trauma had already taken her life many times before, but this love called, & she finally wanted to bury herself, laying the unworthiness that rung in her ears to rest, more life seemed like a threat to the plans that death arranged in her brain...
Please click the link above to read my poem on my experiences in a previous relationship I was in that was toxic with abuse that crushed my self-esteem years ago. This piece captures how I felt then & nothing more.