"As a young, Black Biracial, Bisexual Woman with Type II Bipolar Disorder from Toronto, I have coined that I am the “Bi-fecta” of intersections. I am a multidisciplinary artist and my art reflects creating space for myself and my many intersections connecting. I use my art to ground myself and remind myself of the power I possess to be a positive change in this world. Each piece I create is a small chapter of my visual memoire."
I love you.
I do. But there was a point when I didn’t
—I mean, I couldn’t because of a choice you made.
You made a choice to reduce me, to degrade me, to box me
into some nonsense bible camp rhetoric that I’m not even sure that you believe in. You just believe that you have to say it.
That choice to believe in a spirit that you cannot see, hear, or
Shares a deeper bond with you than you with your own daughter sitting here.
She’s trying not to cry.
Holding, holding—but just barely.
This daughter with whom you shared so much joy
is now supposedly some stranger whore that you refuse to look at.
Her honesty to a question you should never have asked
because of your small mind that falls in line with the hive.
All the noise, all the nonsense filling your head
Leaving your heart black
And venom on your lips.
Spit that venom in her face,
“You could choose to be normal.”
Wipe your mouth, your hate is running down your chin.
Luckily, you raised a strong daughter.
As much as it pained me to stand up and walk out of the crowded restaurant, I knew I had to, I’m proud that I did.
Covered in your hate speech, I had to remember to stand tall.
You’re the one who missed out when we didn’t speak for more than a year. You missed me grow,
you missed me thrive,
you missed my life.
Time passed and we spoke again. I can’t say reconnect because the damage has been done. The venom etched its scars under my skin.
Like an unwanted tattoo, some shit can’t be forgotten
And this definitely can’t be forgiven.