As you know I consider my literary genealogy to read as follows: Zora Neale Hurston begat Ntozake Shange who begat Jasmine D. Taylor. For more information see posting: “I am the Richard Pryor of Literature“
However, it was my discovery {as an 18yr old Freshman Student at Clark Atltlanta University while writing a term paper} of Miss Zora Neal Hurston’s book “for colored girls who consider suicide when the rainbow is enuff” that dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s of all of my literary senses and ultimately stoked a fire in me that will never go out.
Six years later, on the cusp of my 25th birthday and undeniable [no-looking-back-now] entry into official womanhood: I have begun my own series of poems, Affectionately called: The Rainbow Suite.
Although I am young in years, as an artist I am sensitive and receptive to life. These pieces represent me. These pieces represent you. EveryWoman. They are not a diss against men. They simply are what they be. If you, as a man, are pissy about anything featured within them, I have a lengthy term paper plus plenty of primary sources you can read concerning the subject.
Who gone check me boo?!
(sorry, I always wanted to say that!)
Replace “Voice” With “Poem” & “Song” with “Suite”…..[but pretend it's me singing]
WARNING: I rarely post Parental Advisory type stickers on my postings but this piece calls for it. After being quarantined for a month I began to see a shift in people. Since then there’s been a continuous parting in my life. Either you go hard with me or you f&cking don;t.There is no middle ground. [Previous to quarantine I thought there was and each week I get B%tch slapped with a new life lesson to teach me otherwise] So yes, this piece goes hard.
I roll with a group of enlightened aliens around me
And
See
When I get into my moods where I feel like drifting in and out of your realities –I
know I can call them
and
when shit gets chaotic I know I can inflate myy: Left Right Siiide, Front Center Top
Back Bottom Siiides and
They inflate into supportive balloons to comfort me
Or….To…
Grab the gat out of the back seat…or out of the trunk
Or snatch a bitch up when I say: Bitches we gotta roll the fuck out cuz
They keep tryin me.
Or
I can call them for a brief pep talk because they know that I got it on my own
Because they know I like to roll Solo Dolo.
And we connect every month, See
May go Weeks and Weeks and Weeks
Months and Months and Months
and Maybe a year or two without speaking
no love lost
We just —- Busy.
But when we do connect it takes:
hours-on-the-phone
or
an outing
or
just a brief meeting, embrace, hug –
Video chat on Yahoo, AIM, or Skype
And we smile
And we release or we cry
Because that’s how me and my real bitches do
And some of my real bitches are men
And I’m not calling them bitches, I’m just saying them all & it’s all-inclusive
That’s how I use the term
Because these are my REAL bitches, my REAL bitches, my REAL bitches
Cuz I don’t want to use the term Niggas
These are my real bitches,
my real aliens,
my real Martians from Saturn
and some are from Jupiter
my Jupiter affiliates
and I know a few Uranians
and They Dig My Flow.
Cuz I’m an artsy soul and I hang with the artsy
And this is how I roll
Solo Dolo.
And I like it this way.
Because sometimes I be on my businesss…mode.
And sometimes I be on my Intellectual Bullshit
And sometimes I want to be with me
And sometimes I feel like having a crew around
And sometimes I’m feeling like a party girl
And sometimes I’m just feeling balls to the wall irresponsible
And sometimes I need someone to kick me square in the ass and say,
“Jaz you need to get your shit together”
AND
“What the Fuck are you doing? You’re fucking up.”
“Jazzy get your shit right.”
And other times well…
other times the weight of the world is holding me down
and I need my support to hold me up like a tension bridge
and they’re there (x4)
and they’re there before I even have to call them
and they’re there before I even have to call them
before I even have to call them they are there because they sense it.
Something tingles inside them and they know exactly what to do
Sometimes they know me better than I know myself
They know the parts of my that even I won’t admit
Because they’ve known me for decades
upon decades (x3)
Some have only known me for months but yet they sense the inner me.
They-Know-The-Writing-Lab.
The place I escape to play monkey in the middle with my thoughts
They know what it means when I say I need to go there for a time.
(you don’t).
And they let me be
They know what I mean when I say, “Intellectual Bullshit.”
And they don’t take offense
And they know when they can call me for advice
And they know when to just let me be
And they understand that I’m socially private
And they understand that I’m a hermit
And they understand I’m aggressive and passive
And they understand that I’m a contradiction
But I’m real.
And they know that I’m transparent,
and I think that’s what they love about me most
and I think that’s what they love about me most
And for them
I love them.
And if you’re one of them,
And you’re here right now.
I thank you. (x4)
Love Always, Jasmine Danielle Taylor
Afterthought: Just in case the repetitive use of the word “Bitch” offended you [get over it]. And just in case me saying [get over it] offended you, here’s a comical parody by my favorite group of comedians from Clark Atlanta University (@dormtainment) about the word. Enjoy!
I tried to write in my journal just now. The words refused to come. Instead the tears flowed.
You know how my words get. They pulled some ‘ol uppity bullshit and decided to stage a protest. They told me to stop fronting. to stop hiding behind these artsy, intellectual, socially intriguing posts, and reopen myself for the world to see.
[drops towel]
Here I am.
Naked.
Crying.
In pain.
Alone.
A soror recently asked me how I was doing. I enthusiastically said great! That was a lie. I hate that question. If only people really knew. I’ve wanted to write a post about Fibromyalgia for so long, but never knew what to say. Is it my job to inform? Should I bitch? Am I an activist? What do I do?….
All I can do is be real.
Fibromyalgia is a bitch. She fucks me every day.
Hard.
over. and over. and over. again.
Back to my Soror’s question. How Am I Doing? What am I supposed to say? What do you want to hear?
I feel like a trapped rat.
No answer is right.
I’m great! You lie black girl.
The truth. Suck it up. [Insert generic "Keep UR head up" or "Christian" quote here] Also resulting in loss of “Hero” status assigned to those who suffer in silence with quiet dignity. New status: Complainer (Note to self: “Never ask about her health again!”)
So I sit on my island alone.
*Sorta. I tweet my other fibromites & we bitch in unison as others unfollow us.*
I just wish people knew or understood what my world looked like. It often feels as if I’m in a glass tank looking out, but no one can truly see in. Those who do, Get it. If you get it, You Get it. That’s all to be said. You simply, Get it. But when people don’t get it, the pain hurts so bad. To be called a liar, accused of faking it, constantly put on trial for not appearing to be disabled 24/7/365. How dare I. Fuck it. I wish.
I wish I could carry around a gallon ziplock bag full of a month’s supply of just my oral medication so I could pour it at the feet of each and every person who says those lines. It takes a lot of mental strength to take care of my business each day. In all honesty, I handle mine better than most non-disabled individuals. Accusing me of this bullshit is a total slap in the face, kick to the coochie, and deserves a foot up the ass.
TO ALL MY FIBROMITES:
Stand fearless and strong. When you can no longer stand, sit. When you can no longer sit, lay. Do what you have to do to protect yourself and your health. Although the physical effects of Fibromyalgia are grueling, the emotional toll it takes on us is even worse. Cry. Those tears will leave your body & make more space for even more strength to come in!
Each moment we can choose to continue living or….’eh {shrug}
If you choose life, act like it’s a decision and ACT on it. Do not let Fibromyalgia hold you back from your favorite tasks. This may be a challenge to find new ways to enjoy them. I figure, I’ll be in pain sitting on my couch. I may as well be in pain doing something I love!
I simply LOVE birthdays! This past year of my life has been a year of me becoming established as woman. I have questioned myself, torn myself down (in a productive remodeling manner), and ultimately emerged with an internal set of standards. A heightened level of self-worth. A foundation of womanhood.
I can now say, I have officially transitioned. Putting away childish thoughts, speech, and actions. I now begin my journey not towards womanhood, but a journey living life as a woman. Thus far it is exciting, passionate, sexual (without any contact at all), and is filled with discovery around every corner. I believe this is how my “All That Jazz: Birthday Celebration” came about.
This year I have chosen to trade in my standard party for an entire week of events. Unlike some who take over weekends as an excuse to get sloppy drunk, I want to celebrate my life by pushing myself to live it how I truly want to. I want to do things I love, despite how others feel. I want to be fearless in experiencing new things I’m curious about. I chose 7 events/places/experiences that represent this for me….A sampler plater if you may.
Feel free to join me in the celebration of my 24 years of life. I’d love to have your company as I embark on this new chapter in my life and Praise Jah for getting me this far safely. Hell, while we’re at it we can celebrate your life too! Life is good!
-Jaz
(Ps: Shouts to Mr. Gregory DeCuir II for the Flyer Inspiration)
Recently I’ve fallen off the face of the Earth. I’m sorry y’all, I’ve been working through some thangs & truly just needed [me] time.
While taking my [me] time I stumbled upon a very important realization: After you spill your guts to a person, they can never seem to say the right thing to fully soothe your soul.
In the words of my friend Tony, “Fuck you. You don’t know my life”
While the “Fuck you” is a tad harsh, the second half is true. You are the only person on this planet who knows your life.
Unless someone sends you a message from the Lord [which does happen], it is highly probable that the person you’re confiding in does not & will not fully unsderatand all aspects of everything.
By everything I mean:
1: External – The cold hard facts about what’s going on
2: Internal – The emotions you feel & thoughts you are having as a result of the situation
What resulted from this was [me] even more frustrated than before. I would bear my soul, friends/family would offer advice, I’d shoot it down saying that won’t work in my situation. Everyone leaves unhappy & frustrated.
At last I found a solution!
I’ll give my own damn self advice. Ha! I used the Voice Memo Recorder app on my iPhone to record a motivational message to myself. It has the words of encouragement & wisdom that I need to hear.
My 1st recording provides a pick-me-up when Fibromyalgia interferes with my ability to complete tasks such as cleaning or homework. The message reminds me of my strength & intellegence. It remindstt me that the only reason I’m having trouble is because I have Fibromyalgia, and that I’m justified for feeling frustrated.
The recording is very short, but it’s EXACTLY what I need to hear.
Words speak to me, bringing to life their worldly meanings.
Social Interaction is such a strange concept. We build an environment that supports our beliefs, styles, mannerisms & add n subtract elements til everything feels just right. I know we must look strange. In the larger universal schema, perhaps like tiny colorful dots bumping into eachother…sticking together…revolting ourselves free.
If only Social Interaction were more like interior decorating or maybe geometry.
Math makes sense.
Unfortunately humans are subjects not objects & subjects revolt as objects just are/am/exist.
{each to be loved
{each to be valued
{each to be mindful of their own devious schemes & missions
Is there a place in life for the pure in light? Those with no particular intentions other than to love-learn-smile-grow-die. Them who wish to give themselves to the world in all their annointed gifts of giving? Me.
These of Them type folk seem to be judged the harshest.
Scales tip unevenly as we observe yet not conclude but are concluded against just cause that’s the human way n shit.
Three words. Statement. Proclamation Declaration of Intent To Act. Quite Powerful really.
As clearly signified from the dramatically long pauses between new posts, I have (once again) been b*tch slapped with MJB Syndrome. I am too damn happy to write anything of true substance.
Typically I play the role of a sassy urbanite observing life unfold & exposing honest (yet off the chain) commentary to whoever dares to read/listen.
Tonight I just write.
Silver Bells of the hood ting-a-ling reverse my door stoop…ah, summer is coming & the Negroes act foolish
[cue bra'man stage left]
Summer Sprung Upon Me like a heap of winter packed tight in a nicely compact biscuit can.
Try to make sense of that.
Today: I Write.
Learning am I to burst free of smiley writers block. Sprinkle a lil xtra crack in my slurpy for good measure, but I do declare that crack is wack &jaz is back double dutchin’ in a commercial sangin’ “One Less, One Less.”
HPV noooo MJB that is.
Syndrome of the overly exuberant mind limiting the passionate Haunted Vagina type script I usually flip at cha….Jaz Taylor is a brand &my brand involves foolishness!
Imagining I dancing the night away with the uncouff black Literi or Lit-ti-rie. Zora Neale, Langston Hughes, Nella Larsen
or Mama Dukes Ntozake Shange tellin me to get home before the street lights come on
For those of you who haven’t figured it out yet, Happiness is a decision.
I wish I would of had sense enough to figure that out when I was in college. Fall semester 2005 – Clark Atlanta University, New Residential Apartments…..My dry erase board read: “My one wish. To be happy.” I wasn’t ready to admit that I was unhappy, but I knew I was not happy. The funny thing is, I scribbled that on there like happiness was something I would magically trip and fall into one day. “OOOPS! Waddy’a know, I’M HAPPY!!!” ….yea right.
I was as delusional as they come. Happiness is purely a decision. It’s true. We DECIDE to be happy. I have proof. Watch this video from www.TED.com where Harvard psychologist, Dan Gilbert asks “Why are we happy?”
Crazy right?! That’s how I felt after I saw it. Then I tried it. It worked. Our brains seem to have a mechanism that believes whatever we tell it. This is why affirmations work so well. This is also the key difference between The Happy and The Unhappy. Those who are happy have made a conscious, and very active decision to be happy, unlike The Unhappy….who have not.
This is not to say that The Unhappy choose to be unhappy, they simply have not yet chosen (or figured out how to choose) to be happy.
Here’s an example: A guy I had been getting to know, and was starting to catch feelings for is engaged. I found out on facebook. How nice. Right? It gets better. He sent a text saying “We aren’t together, yea I’m engaged. Why are you mad?” Classic.
Tears streamed down my face, but I was laughing.
Although it was the gut punch of all gut punches, I smiled.
I laughed through the tears. Never mind that the man who molested me, my father, and a string of jerks (including this one) have made it impossible to trust men. Forget the fact that this was a major betrayal of the trust I cautiously extended. Ignore how foolish he made myself along with the good friend who recommended him feel.
I laughed.
In a split second I made a conscious decision to remain happy. I laughed because God was looking out for me.
Instead of being sad some jerk lied to me and dashed whatever daydreams I had conjured up, I was happy. I was not the woman stuck with this fool. I was not the woman whose fiance’ cheated on her. I was not the chick about to marry a habitual liar. SAFE AGAIN!*whew*
Sometimes it’s the blessings we don’t initially know how to count that bless us most. Wether you look at it spiritually or as a strange loophole in your brain:
