#my!a

[perniciouspuss]

take pictures in the street, attempt to climb trees — take up space!

[perniciouspuss]

im gonna start posting my poetry on here and on my new poetry/short story blog @winifredbrooks

[perniciouspuss]

tagged by the GORGEOUS @softghhost // my lock screen, home screen, recently played song, and most recent selfie 🍯

I TAG: @rumi-thealien 🌻 @apeiragon 🌻 @rocketshows 🌻 @plantski 🌻 @eminenceofiyanola 🌻 @2-00amm 🌻 @moonbow99 🌻 @jebcats 🌻 @gaytragedy and any other kiddo that wants to join the fun!

[perniciouspuss]

New York, New York

I’ve always been surrounded by people that make me feel different. But my great Aunt Reyna makes me seem normal. Aunt Reyna says that she doesn’t need a man and never will, and after twenty-five years of living alone, I’d say that she is doing just fine. I don’t see her all that often because she lives in New York City. I’ve only been to her studio apartment once. My aunt is a painter; her apartment is speckled in a myriad of paintings of the same dark skinned woman with big, thick hair. Her face wore a soft expression with eyes full of pain. She told me that I could be a painter, too, if I wanted. When I told her that I would prefer to write, Aunt Reyna scoffed and muttered, “I was never good at all ‘at school and writing nonsense.”

Aunt Reyna is my granny’s half-sister from Arkansas. Most of my family refuses to claim her because her conception was “unholy”. Her father, Leroy, tried his hardest to teach Aunt Reyna because he refused to send her to an ill-budgeted “negro only” school; he saw her worth. “I didn’t take too much liking into Daddy’s school. He wasn’t a very good teacher and the words rumbled up in ma head and made me feel stupid. Momma said I wouldn’t amount up to nothin’ anyway, but she’d still swing for ma face when I said a ‘stupid ansa’. By and by she’da beat me when I a do something stupid like ask Daddy too many questions about ma real momma. She ain’t take liking to ma real momma so I guess thas’a why she didn’t take a liking to me nietha’” By the age of sixteen, Leroy sent her away so that she wouldn’t suffer under the hand of his wife. He began to notice the increasing bruises on Aunt Reyna’s arms and how she was too scared to look anyone in the eye. So she found her way to the streets of Harlem. Aunt Reyna relates stories to my cousins and me every time she visits my granny in Chicago. She tells us how scared she was coming into a big city with only ten dollars. You see, Leroy and his wife weren’t very well off, like most negroes during this time. He saved up as much as he could before shipping her off.

Aunt Reyna says she wandered around the city for days, enamored with her surroundings. She found a job in a local theatre popping the popcorn. All of the workers chipped in on a cruddy apartment in the shady part of Harlem. There Aunt Reyna met her lover Mae Jean. This is when we recall how different Aunt Reyna was for her time. “I dare ya to be a bent negra woman back then!” she yelled to us. So of course she and Mae were a huge secret, but I guess one of the men in their apartment found out real soon. “Mae and I were out, but I got home before she a did, she said she had a forgot somethin’ at theata and would be back soon. She kissed ma cheek with a soft pair of kissas and disappeared down the dark street. I couldn’t help, but smile because I loved ha. I walked into the apartment and the lights were off so I expected everyone to be asleepin’! But this negro was a creepin. He threw himself atop of me, ripping my clothes to simitherines! ‘Ya think ya don’t like me ‘cuz Ima man! Ya bent ass gonna learn tonight,’ he smirked. That negro raped me.” I had never really seen Aunt Reyna cry, but she could tell that we were entranced by her story, so she continued.

“So uh, I laid there on the cold floor, naked, letting the roaches crawl over my impure body. Daybreak came and Mae never made it back to the apartment. Work called our cheap house phone and said that there had been ‘an incident at the theatre’ so we all had to come in. I got dressed in ma work clothes and took the bus with everyone else.” Aunt Reyna says that there were police cars and yellow tape everywhere; she couldn’t help but feel nervous because she had saw the same type of thing on the news a couple of weeks before because some crazy group of racists had gotten to a little negro girl on her way home from school. “It had to be Mae, so I started to crya. A group of white men saw Mae struggling at the theata door. They thought she was gonna steal, but Mae ain’t never steal a day in ha life! The mob took ha to the alley and beat ha dead. I ran and I a ran! I couldn’t stay in Harlem no mo’.” She started painting and some white man saw her design on the street and bought it for enough money to live off for a while. I guess that’s how Aunt Reyna ended up in her studio apartment in the heart of New York City. Aunt Reyna slowly got up, “Now can one of ya kids go and pop me up some popcorn; ya made me miss ha again.”

[perniciouspuss]

Her

I guess it’s kind of hard to distinguish who I have evolved into these past few years. It’s hard to know what I am if people don’t recognize me for who I am. My mom used to tell all of friends how proud of her “little Jordan” she was. Continuous gawking of my trivial achievements, but that’s what moms do. They praise you from the day you leave their female extremities and never fail to do so until the day you two part. I remember how she pushed me to join the little league baseball team when I was only seven. The first game, clear as day in my subconscious. It was the bottom of the ninth, I was completely out of it, not really caring that we were down 3 to nothing with the bases fully loaded. I was admiring this fuchsia infested summer dress one of my teammate’s mom encompassed. I loved how it flowed in the wind and framed her torso just right. “Geez, I wish I could be that pretty,” I thought out loud.

“Man, that’s gay,” Chuck taunted. Being seven, I sort of realized what that meant and knew that there was a negative aftertaste that followed the little word so I retaliated with harsh words my dad would use when he came around every so often and crossed my arms to him. Chuckie and I became great friends.

“Jemison! You’re to the bat!” Coach Too Tight Shorts bellowed to me. I slowly put my helmet over a row of six tight and neat cornrows that my mom raked into my head early that morning. Dragging the bat, I reached the plate. I wished that the helmet filled those annoying holes on the side so that something could stand between my eardrums and the proud screams of my mother. I gripped the bat tightly, trying to remember everything Coach Tight yelled through my skull, but nothing was sticking. Before I knew it, I had two strikes. “God, I know we haven’t really had the chance to chat and I’m so sorry dude, but can you like, use your magic and let me hit the ball. Just this once! I wanna make Mama proud. Please,” I whispered.

“Hey, kid, ya gonna bat or what?” some dad from the other team screamed from the bench.

So I tightly gripped the end of my bat, looking at the sky, looking at God! The ball came, I swang. BINK. The ball flew. I was in awe, watching it grace the sky, the white blur going further than a bird during migration.

“Run, baby. Run!”

That was Mama. I realized that I was actually doing something and I ran like Mama said. Each little kid sliding to home plate as if they were in the MLB, but I had hit a homerun therefore it was completely unnecessary. Although, I did run with all my might. I could hear Mama in the stands, cheering me on. I remember having the biggest buck toothed smile on my face. When I passed home plate and the announcer told the tale of our victory, Mama looked so proud and whipped out her phone to phone my dad, but he never answered. Matter of fact, since that day, he never answered. Mama was so happy she didn’t let him steal her joy so she took me out for french fries and a chocolate milkshake from a Vienna joint around the corner from the field. I recall looking up at her auburn eyes as she told the cashier, who obviously didn’t care, of my “great game”. God, her smile beaming as she clutched my hand in hers. I could feel so much love and positivity radiate through her radiant toasted skin. I would give anything to feel that joy again.

Time went on and Mama and I didn’t quite see eye to eye on things. A couple of years later I quit baseball and Mama hated it because “I could have been a star”. I was so much more interested in the things that she did though. When she’d go on business trips and the like, I’d sneak into her bathroom and try on her make up. In the mirror, I’d say, “Geez, I look pretty” and I’d smile and quickly rub it off of my face as if someone could see my actions behind closed doors.

    Chuck and I would go to the mall and we were around fifteen. I guess this is the stage where guys get all girl crazy and Chuckie loved the ladies, but the ladies didn’t like Chuckie. They liked me a lot though, always trying to weasel their girlish fingers into my loose coils and rope around my feminine exterior. I can’t say that I dug girls like Chuckie did; I didn’t see all of the hype. High school rolled around and I couldn’t get the girls to shake me. Just like they couldn’t shake touching my hair.

“I did this twist out last night, dude! Can you chill please?”

They’d huff and roll their eyes, “You know you love when we mess with you Jordan”. Some of the girls were ballsy and would wink.     “Jor, I love you my guy, but what is your problem! Day after day girls fall at your feet and you reject them. Why? You aren’t like, gay or something?”

Instantly, I thought back to that bench when Chuck and I first talked and gave him those same choice words that my dad taught me, but the truth was, I didn’t know. I didn’t think so, but the rummaging through Mama’s beauty products confused me.

High school was over in a flash and I couldn’t be any more grateful. I flew off to college and left all of those accusations back in New York. I guess it took some time away, but I finally realized who I was supposed to be. Mama would call every Tuesday at 4, but I would never pick up. I was be scared to tell her how I felt about myself, my body, my name. I wouldn’t be her little baseball prodigy Jordan anymore, all I wanted to be was her newfound Joy.

[perniciouspuss]

black lips for the blackout ??? || happy black out 🌻

[perniciouspuss]

she’s a star child 💖 || happy blackout!