Let’s Talk About Sex(ual Assault)

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault, Depression, Self-Harm

This might be a little messy, in fact, part of me hopes it is.  . . .

I have spent a lot of time traveling and performing my art in various communities. So last year when I moved to a new city, I was excited to find that there was a fresh art scene just starting to take hold. A scene that I could become a part of and contribute to. After just a few months organizing with them, I showed up to an event. I was distraught because my most recent foray into dating had ended essentially before it began. The piece I had prepared was about repetition. How after you hear something enough times it starts to lose it’s meaning, like the word zipper, or the phrase, “it’s not you it’s me.” I was annoyed and frustrated that over the years of traveling I had become more accustomed to saying goodbye to people I love than to actually holding onto those people before I left. A little bit after I shared my piece and feeling some closure someone else came up to the mic. They shared a poem about identity, being cast as the other, being asked where you’re from because of melanin and other’s lack thereof, and about indigenous roots. The poem struck me because of the content, but also because of the poet. They were mesmerizing. Gorgeous, enthralling,¬†handsome, so fierce and passionate it almost scared me. Continue reading

The Scariest Part of Traveling, Part III: The Art of Saying Good-Bye

Even though I tried to prepare myself, even though I felt it coming, one cannot truly be ready to hear it . . .

Good-bye.

You never said those two syllables. They didn’t slip out of your lips and into the receiver. Your expansive vocabulary said it, but in a different way. Not in a definitive way. Not in a way that puts a period at the end. It was like a whisper, a secret. You never said it with words.

But you still did. Continue reading

The Scariest Part of Traveling

is the thought of not traveling anymore…

After enough time, it becomes a companion, friend, family. Traveling. So, in a way, to stop traveling would be to lose a loved one. And when you’ve traveled primarily alone, like myself, you’re not only losing a loved one, but the only one that knows what you’ve been through. The only one that has been there through it all. The good and the bad. It loves you unconditionally, never asking too much of you or to be anything other then yourself.

It encourages you. Lifts you up. Teaches you to be strong and carefully nudges you in the direction you should be going. In this relationship you learn who you are. Your needs, wants, and desires. You learn your limits.

People come and go. Live and die of their own accord. But travel only dies when you neglect it. Continue reading