I wrote this piece more than a decade ago!
I can't remember what I was feeling or why I wrote it, but it’s a bit funny and quite sad that it is still somewhat relevant for today.
I am many coatings and layers of dreams, goals, friendships, colleagues, mentors and family. I am the peak of passion and the beginning of ecstasy. I am the cold face of a victim. I am the flaming annoyance of a Negro’s experience and the subjectivity of a black female. I am the degraded perplexity of an African. I am White like me. I am the backside of a human stabbed by stereotypes.
I am the family's black sheep. I am not the lawyer, but I am the little girl who climbs trees. I am not a doctor, but I am the little boy who loves shoes. I am the enjoyment of sex abuse. I am the well-dressed black professional cringing at the African-American drug addict on the metro. I am the middle-class who dips away from my heart and into my pocket for the homeless.
I am young, male, female, queer, immigrant, American, Black, French, Congolese, Muslim, Buddhist, of low-income, teen-mother, heiress, disable and differently-able. I come in many layers wrapped in dust.
I am action, advocacy, self-love, empowerment, strength and the struggle in the aftermath of sex abuse, racism, sexism, ageism, fallacies, stereotypes and oppression. I am triumph. I maneuver all my layers attempting to connect.
I am the slope of voluptuous breasts, the sturdiness of strong legs, the scar of a mutilated clit, the smoothness of facial skin, the vibration of an erect penis, the gallops and contours of a belly, the pulse of a masculine bicep, the softness of a feminine skin, and the angle of a well-rounded butt.