Black Unicorns

Cleveland is experiencing a moment for which I have no words. We live in an age where white armed militants are deemed terrorists and black twelve year olds considered threats. The story of Cleveland is as singular as the story and legacy of structural, race delineated dominance for the purpose of controlling finances is anecdotal.

I have too many words for this moment. And many of them end in -er.

Alas, 2016 is a brand new year, my lovelies, and I do so try to keep my halo polished-- at least until Ostara.

I promised to choose change last year, and I’m sticking with it (at least until Beltane). That means no more complaining about problems without offering practical solutions.

I can’t solve Cleveland right now. To be honest, I can’t even talk about it right now. Tamir struck too close to my heart.

So while I work on getting myself back to optimistic and (somewhat) objective, I’m going to let you in on what drove me to share MYStory in the first place. But before I do that, Audre Lorde is going to give you the words I cannot:

“A Litany for Survival

For those of us who live at the shoreline

standing upon the constant edges of decision

crucial and alone

for those of us who cannot indulge

the passing dreams of choice

who love in doorways coming and going

in the hours between dawns

looking inward and outward

at once before and after

seeking a now that can breed

futures

like bread in our children's mouths

so their dreams will not reflect

the death of ours:

For those of us

who were imprinted with fear

like a faint line in the center of our foreheads

learning to be afraid with our mother's milk

for by this weapon

this illusion of some safety to be found

the heavy-footed hoped to silence us

For all of us

this instant and this triumph

We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid

it might not remain

when the sun sets we are afraid

it might not rise in the morning

when our stomachs are full we are afraid

of indigestion

when our stomachs are empty we are afraid

we may never eat again

when we are loved we are afraid

love will vanish

when we are alone we are afraid

love will never return

and when we speak we are afraid

our words will not be heard

nor welcomed

but when we are silent

we are still afraid

So it is better to speak

remembering

we were never meant to survive.”

― Audre Lorde, The Black Unicorn: Poems

My name is Ajah Hales and I have been a published author for twenty-one years. This is no small feat, considering I'm only thirty.

Although I knew practically from the moment I picked up a book that I wanted to become a writer, it took me a while to find my voice. I spent most of elementary school composing mediocre poetry, progressed by secondary school into sophomoric narrative dramas, and by college was firmly ensconced in the incense-and-patchouli world of Spoken Word.

I was art imitating life, forcing my talent into ready made molds which fit my perception of what a writer should be. Fortunately, as an English major, I had plenty of opportunities to learn the difference between mien and metier.

I took a break from writing in my mid twenties to travel the world and live the seldom glamorous, oft dangerous life of a community organizer. Living and working with individuals who had been marginalized into the fringes of mainstream society helped me gain a level of maturity, compassion, and depth that was previously lacking in both myself and my writing. I came into an understanding that the changes necessary to create an egalitarian American society were in direct juxtaposition to the values that epitomize the American Dream.

I realized that my peculiar combination of life experience and writing prowess qualified me to do something that no one else could-- to speak in a voice no one else could use.

I recognized that I could reach more people from my computer than I could knocking on doors and marching in the street, so I stopped organizing and started creating change.

Now I blog about life's quirks, quandaries, and crossroads at MYStory:  A Blog Outside the Box. I write brutal truths packaged in palatable bytes on Twitter (@glcworldtalk), and still, on occasion, knock on doors and march in the street.

Hey, at least it beats the alternative:

"This is slavery, not to speak one's thought" ~Euripides