I'm realizing I spend a lot of time trying to shake off the good things that come my way. I dismiss compliments to my work as exaggerations of my talent, shaking my head rather than letting the words stick. If I read the poem and the audience applauds, I try to let the sound fly off me like a dog shimmying water off its coat, instead of letting the praise sink in. And recently, upon reading a particularly glowing review of my poetry, I seriously considered the possibility that the reviewer was uncharacteristically drunk when she read my work. But I guess that's not likely. 

Can anybody relate? Why do we do this? I guess I can see why people of color, or women, or queer people get used to the idea that we're not good enough, not deserving of good things, so it's easier to attribute our successes to other sources than to believe that we're really the ones who created something of value. After surviving abuse and oppression, I can understand why someone like me would have a hard time accepting that she's worthy of praise. 

Today's practice is not one in humility. Today, I'm practicing saying something new - "I deserve this." 

Recently, I've read my work as part of some truly magnificent events, and poems of mine have been published in some compelling journals. It feels both humbling and empowering to share my work among such talent, and instead of asking, "What the hell am I doing here?" I'm taking a breath and sitting with the feeling. And I'm saying, "I deserve this." 

Try it out when good things come your way. Let me know how it goes. 

And for one of those compelling journals in which I'm honored to have my work published, check out last December's issue of Blackberry: A Magazine. 

I've written about Writing Ourselves Whole before, but that was a while ago, and anything that brings transformative healing into survivors' lives is worth mentioning again and again. There's no better time to mention this precious work than now, on the eve of Fierce Hunger, Writing Ourselves Whole's 10th anniversary celebration.

For the past ten years, founder and facilitator Jen Cross has been helping survivors write at the intersection of a trauma and desire. And what a liberating place to write from from – I'd know, as I've personally spent time in some Writing Ourselves Whole workshops, and I have Jen to thank for so much of the courage I've found to write my truth.

And now, I also have Jen to thank for my latest publication credit. She's included my poetry in the Fierce Hunger chapbook, alongside the work of many of the brave and talented Writing Ourselves Whole participants from the last ten years. I'm thrilled to be included, and by association, to take part in tomorrow's Fierce Hunger celebration.

The event sounds like so much fun! The night will include dancing, a silent auction and a raffle with some fabulous items available, and readings by Carol Queen, Jacks McNamara, and more. All proceeds benefit the Writing Ourselves Whole scholarship fund, to give more survivors the gift of transformative writing workshops. You can find more details on the event, on the prizes available, and on how to donate to the fund on the Fierce Hunger tumblr.

I'm glad that my words will be at Fierce Hunger, so I'll attend in spirit, since I can't be there in person. I'll be reading at the Bernal Yoga Literary Series, which is happening the same night, in an unfortunate coincidence in scheduling. I must say, I'm a little blown away by the list of the other writers who'll be sharing the stage (studio floor?) at Bernal Yoga Studio tomorrow night. The lineup includes Joshua Mohr, Aimee Phan, and Phil Lumsden. I'm trying not to shake in my boots over here.

Here are the details for that event:

Bernal Yoga Literary Series
March 2, 2013, 8:00 pm
908 Cortland Ave in San Francisco

I hope to see you there, but you won't hurt my feelings if you show up at Fierce Hunger instead. I'm looking over the details for that below, and I know it's hard to miss!

Sometimes, when I think of divinity, I think of something bigger than this world, something so far outside of myself that perhaps I'll never reach it.

Then there are the times when I see divinity in the eyes of another black woman. I guess that's the difference between thinking about divinity and feeling the spirit of the divine, through contact with a black woman who has struggled and survived. And in turn, I suppose that means seeing divinity in my own eyes. I've got to stop and absorb that for a moment, because the transformation from struggling to sense an ounce of worth in my dark skin to seeing myself as embodying the divine feels like a miracle.

Black women's voices lifted up our divinity at last weekend's Black Women From the Future event. It really enriched my soul to be part of such a powerful reading, and I'm feeling an immense amount of gratitude for everyone who was part of the show, and who came out to see it, and who watched online via livestream. Be on the lookout for video from the event soon, and for more from Black Futurists Speak.

And in the meantime, let's continue on with the inspirational divinity of black women with The Black Woman is God, a living altar art exhibition showing now at the African American Art & Culture Complex in San Francisco. From the program description:

The Black woman’s contribution in the society has been devalued. She has been viewed as second-class citizen, relegated to the dresser draws of history. However, she has shaped and changed the world in social and political spheres. These influences of change are reflected in the art world, however, dominated by white male patriarchy. This exhibition will challenge the limited artistic space deemed appropriated for black women to occupy and question when black women create are they God. It is explosive because the images of God have on the most part been white and male until recently.

Wow. I can't wait to see this exhibition, and to hear from the participating artists at tomorrow night's reception - see details for that event on Facebook.

And for a start, listen to an important discussion between the artists in the videos below, and see what you get out of it. The message I got? I am more than a healer. I am healing.

Okay, so I know I get really excited about every event where I get the chance to read my work, but I must say, I'm really excited for this weekend's reading. Let me tell you why.

• It's called Black Women From the Future. Enough said, right? I'll say more, anyway. This event, the latest installment of Black Futurists Speak, celebrates Black History Month and helps kick off Women's History Month, by lifting up the unique power of black women's voices. That's right, it's a lineup consisting entirely of powerful black women.
  

• Said badass lineup of performers is as follows: African-Jamaican dub poet d’bi.young anitafrika, poet and director of The Lower Bottom Players Ayodele Nzinga, the stunningly talented fiction writer Lisa D. Gray, poet and musician Amber McZeal as our host, and lil' ol' me. 
• We'll be reading along with music by Kevin Carnes of the celebrated jazz-electronica trio Broun Fellinis. 
• There's also an open mic, which means there will be even more badassery, which we have yet to hear of.
  
• The creation of this event is truly inspired, born from Warehouse 416’s current art show, African-American Icons (featuring the work of celebrated artists James Gayles, Esuu Orinde and Aswad Arif) and the theme for 2013’s Women’s History Month - “Women Inspiring Innovation Through Imagination: Celebrating Women in Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics.” By celebrating black women of today, we are looking to "the future of the written word - where creative innovation and skill meet community responsibility and futuristic thinking."

Now you can see why I'm so looking forward to this event. Here are the details:

I’m finally back to blogging! Sorry for the extended break, and thanks for sticking with me. What have I been doing during all this time off, you ask? Keeping busy. Here are a few highlights – more on the resulting insights later.

• I made a big move, crossing the Bay to move from San Francisco to Oakland. It feels a little like hooking up (and shacking up) with the person I’ve been crushing on for a long time, and it’s been really good for me so far.
  
  
• I attended my second-to-last residency for my MFA program at Pacific University. Spent most of my time there feeling floored by the fact that the time has passed so quickly, but I had a great time. One of the big high points – Kaffir Boy author Mark Mathabane as a guest speaker, calling us to be a “courageous, humanitarian generation of writers” who write with the spirit of Ubuntu, that which makes us human.
  
  
• On the school note, I’m now in my final semester of my MFA program, which means I’m putting together my thesis, a manuscript of poems. It’s an exhilarating, excruciating process that feels a little like killing my darlings and giving birth to new ones every day. So exhausting and so rewarding, to say the least.
  
  
• I’ve been booking reading gigs, and I’ll have details on those soon!
  
  
• And I’ve been taking good care of myself, which totally counts as a thing to include among this list of life achievements. Because it’s necessary. It’s revolutionary. It’s love.

But okay, I would be lying if I pretended I’ve been only triumphant in my time away. I’ve also been feeling the pressure of what Jay Smooth calls “the little hater,” which said that when I finally got back to blogging, my return would have to be GLORIOUS. Well, this is my return, and it might not be so glorious, but the important thing is that I’m back.

I encourage you to watch this video, and to beat your own little hater by getting back to doing something you love. Let me know how it goes. *Shout out to Sugarcane, the LGBTQ of color writing workshop that brought this video into my life and helped me beat my little hater*

It's time for a cheesy reader appreciation post. So if receiving appreciations makes you squirm, you've been warned. And if you enjoy reading about how awesome you are, then please, read on.

I've been blogging for over two years now, and I am just full of gratitude for everyone who reads what I write here. That includes newcomers just stumbling by, as well as everyone who's been with me since the beginning, and all of you who joined this journey somewhere in the middle.

You've read while I rant and ramble about anything remotely related to the arts and social change, everything from the big picture of justice work to the smaller frame of the happenings around me to the most intimate inner workings within my own body. You've read my self-indulgent posts about my own readings and my fangirl raves about the artists whose work I admire. You've read while my blog has shifted focus, as I grow in my own healing work and learn more about how that growth connects with nurturing my world.

This blog, which began as a somewhat random, experimental project, has become very important to me. As an outlet for writing about many of the subjects I hold closest to my heart, this blog reminds me that I deserve to have time and space for what matters to me most. And knowing you're reading reminds me that I'm not alone in caring about transforming injustice into liberation through creativity.

I'm feeling especially thankful for my readers these days, since I've been posting on a somewhat slow, irregular schedule lately. And yet, every time I think you must have all given up on me, I come back to find so many people still visiting this site, and apparently sharing it, too, with more folks reading now than ever before.

This is the time of year when I tend to slow down a bit on new posts. This year should be no different, as I'm currently in the process of finishing the third semester of my MFA program, as well as moving to a new city (still in the Bay Area, don't worry), and keeping up with work and the other details of my life.

So new posts might be a bit sparse for the time being, but I want you to know that I'm thinking of you. Your comments and emails help me find hope and remember the power of community, as I'm never alone in the fight for change, no matter how far my fellow warriors are from me. So feel free to speak up in comments or messages, even on old posts, even just to disagree with me and start a discussion, or even just to share your own work with me so that I don't feel like the only self-indulgent one around.

I'd love to hear from you, for many reasons, but mostly because, as I said before, you are awesome. And not just because you read my blog. Mostly because, in your own unique way, your life is art. And your art is helping to change the world.

Thank you for reading!

Here's some of what I've been writing lately - part of my reading from last month's Lyrics and Dirges anniversary show. You can watch the whole show on Litseen.

My next reading's on Thursday - The Grinder Reading Series at Telegraph Cafe. Details on my events page.

And I'll have a new blog post up soon! A real one. This shameless self-promotion doesn't count. But until then...

Friends, I've made it - made it to a Youtube video that comes with an "explicit language" warning. It's a dream I never knew I had. I couldn't have done it without you.

You can watch the video below. It's one of the poems I read for last month's Lit Slam. And I'm mostly kidding about the "explicit language" thing - I'm proud of that night's reading for many more reasons than that. If you haven't already, check out what I wrote about it: "What I learned from my first lit slam."

My next reading is coming up tomorrow night in Berkeley. I'll be helping Lyrics & Dirges celebrate their second anniversary by sharing some poems, along with Justin Chin, Javier O. Huerta, Tim Kahl, and one of my favorite local literary heroes, Nic Alea. Lyrics & Dirges is a reading series that aims to "spotlight the diverse literary community" of the Bay Area, so as always, this is a dynamic line-up of readers, and I'm really looking forward to being part of it.

The show is hosted by Sharon Coleman, and it takes place at Pegasus Books in downtown Berkeley, at 7:30 pm. Wheelchair accessible, refreshments served. Visit the website for more details.

Advertisement over. Now, I sell myself in video form: 

Last night's event was so much fun!

And here's footage from an event a few months back - The Color of My Spirit, CUAV's spring showcase of queer and trans artists celebrating survival and resistance. Empowered youth, uplifting song, dance, poetry, comedy. Need I say more? I read my poems near the end, but the whole show is really worth watching. Featuring Joshua Merchant, Rosa Cortes, Tonilyn A. Sideco, Monica Enriquez-Enriquez, Nomy Lamm, myself and OurSpace, with host Yosimar Reyes. Enjoy!

I haven't been on the submission train as much as I wanted to be, but I've sent out a few pieces for publication. Most have earned rejection letters, and I'm adding those to the pile of rejections I can learn from. But this week brought good news - an acceptance, and one I was really hoping for!

Saturday Night Special, an East Bay open mic that invited me to be a featured reader last October, has put together an anthology zine with the work of some of the show's readers from the past year. That mic has heard from some spectacular writers, so I'm honored to have one of my poems published among theirs. The poem is a piece that's important to me, so I'm glad to be able to share it with folks who are important to me, too.

Tomorrow night is Saturday Night Special's anniversary reading. The anthology will be available to purchase, and I'll be there to read, along with several of the other featured writers. I'm really looking forward to it. The event begins at 7 pm at Nick's Lounge in Berkeley. For more information on the zine, the reading, and the pre-reading potluck and generative writing workshop, visit the Saturday Night Special Facebook page.

Here's a taste of the delicious words in the anthology - one of the featured readers, Chanel Timmons, singing and reading her beautiful poetry at January's Saturday Night Special.