How Breaking My Cycle Almost Broke Me: A tribute to NWSA (Pt. I)


You know the saying “be careful what you ask for,” well I definitely do because I thought that breaking my cycle would be like, hey I’m speaking out about what I have been through, about how I could’ve been better as a person, a child of God, a friend, and most importantly as a parent.  Well it wasn’t that simple.  Who would’ve known that I would cause more harm to those that I love the most, just by sharing my story.  Anyways, I didn’t want to do it alone.  I mean I was a founding member of survivors who were working on bringing light to other survivors at that time (Northwest Survivor Alliance-NWSA) through spotlighting them and their contributions to the work, through policy advocacy etc. But the other members were not melanated so they couldn’t speak directly to what I envisioned.

I mean we even got to the point where (NWSA) we were going to collaborate with allies  to create a training for other survivors so that they would be more equipped to speak and share their stories. (I believe we were granted some money but I never saw a penny) Well that was until I shared what happened to me with them while trying to present in Chicago (the short film Can Oppression Be Liberation, that was supposed to be about the generational impact of the commercial sex trade on Black girls, women, and their communities).

I mean they switched up on me and acted like I did something wrong as I was accosted in this white lady’s house.  Then they (the remaining NWSA founding members) sent me an email saying that I was kicked out of NWSA and that they wanted to give me somewhere around $1000 dollars.  I was like no thank you and they just continued being NWSA until they stopped and an Ally began doing the training that we were (the members of NWSA) supposed to receive money to do.

Before that though I was given an opportunity to speak about Human Trafficking with the Port of Seattle through Business Ending Slavery (BEST for short in Seattle Washington).  My parameters was not to be in the spotlight with any police (because that would endanger my life) and I was told that was fine.  Well the popo being in the picture was thrust on me last minute, I didn’t have the chance to back out, and while I did well in the first conference after having been put through that I totally messed up the final speaking agreement.  I couldn’t get my words out, it was horrible.  All I could think about was how my rights were violated by an Ally that was supposed to be there for me, but instead they used me and discarded me. 

I was even promised by the Social worker who worked with the Port of Seattle that I would have the chance to redeem myself next year but when I reached out she moved to a different position and had no control over that sphere of the business anymore.  So I guess in continuation of what they did the remaining members of NWSA followed suit.  It’s funny how they just be ignoring what they did to me.  Showing up in shared spaces and never acknowledging how they did me.  I forgive them though.

#JDPBPhotography

I loves God’s creations and am blessed to have experienced them.  I pray this for all of God’s children.

#PeaceBeStill #BreakCyclesNotPeople #Jdpb4Life #GenerationalBlessings

“It’s All My Fault,” because I couldn’t save you, I can’t even save myself or my children (only GOD can).  All the education, all the trials, all the advocacy, all the so-called connections to people in places meant to support you, I still couldn’t save you.

“It’s All My Fault,” you told me to keep going, and I didn’t know how to do life without you.  So I kept coming back. You had changed, and I still wouldn’t leave you like that.  I asked for help from your relatives, they only showed up at the end to tell me, “It’s All My Fault,” and to make sure I wouldn’t see your end.

So it is “All My Fault,” I knew you wanted to go a long time ago, and I asked you to stay. You didn’t deserve what you went through. You endured it all, but I saw right through the yells for me to leave, the pleas to let you be; they didn’t deserve your loyalty.

“It’s All My Fault” that I can’t even show up to celebrate your life because I don’t know how to deal with your death.  You gave me my faith “for such a time as this,” and I’m afraid I’m a fail you again, I’m afraid I will fail GOD again….

Psalm 34: 14-21 (KJV)

“Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.

15 The eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry.

16 The face of the Lord is against them that do evil, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth.

17 The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.

18 The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.

19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.

20 He keepeth all his bones: not one of them is broken.

21 Evil shall slay the wicked: and they that hate the righteous shall be desolate.”

On the 6th floor between the shades of green and blue, with bright fluorescent lights that seem to follow you; there you were, The Mississippi Million Dollar View.

Pictures of previous visitors’ art, covered by a double layer of curtains, obstructed my view; leaving limited room for me to see through, through to the Mississippi Million Dollar View.

From what I saw, muddy is the water, albeit shallow or deep.  I wonder if this river could speak what would it say to me?

Would it boast about the million dollar houses sprawled across the river banks on the other side; or would it talk about the redlining or the imminent domain used to make room for this hospital to expand and rise over time?

Or would it talk about the slaves that revolted and rised; or the land removal and genocide of the Indigenous tribes;

On these lands, lands that were raided, aboriginal history eradicated (still to this day),

babies sold or traded (still to this day),

mothers forced to make more (still to this day),

while daddies heard the screams, as they began to numb and disassociate (still to this day) from outside the door….

All in the name of the white power of patriarchy, capitalism, and fanatic religious rule, using what GOD meant for good for evil: the enemies tools.

My dream to one day see The Mississippi River came to fruition; who knew it would happen to be a million dollar view at a St. Cloud mental institution.

🪨

-Deutoronormy 1:17 (KJV)

“Ye shall not respect persons in judgement; but ye shall hear the small as well as the great; ye shall not be afraid of the face of man; for the judgement is GOD’s: and the cause is too hard for you, bring it unto me, and I will hear it.” Amen🙏🏾

Peter picked a pepper and thought he was a P.

The pepper Peter picked was forced to pay Peter a fee.

Using the pepper was Peter’s plan, purpose, and ultimate plea.

Peter, plotted, performed, and caused a lot of pain.

Peter was part smart and partly pitiful as a p. He just wanted a name.

With no skin in the game, he needed some training, and the pepper paid his fee.

But Peter was the real trick, and the pepper Peter thought he picked, she actually was the real P,

This pissed Peter off so bad he moved away, and changed his name.

and the pepper Peter picked. Well, she just changed the game.

In this world of snakes, masks, and charades it’s hard to know who’s real or fake

We believe the popular culture, AI, and trends that tell you via propaganda who’s who, the lies the people who pretend, and those who benefit from spreading fake news

What used to be a friend may lead to the end of the relationship for you… or that friend, because of their friends and the loss or gain of their ends

Like a broken fence your unable to mend, although you try again and again it’s just not the same fence (smh)

Not to be confused with the howl of an owl, us Americans have called the sound a who like a character in a Dr. Seuss book “Horton Hears a Who” or the lyrics from 2 Live Crew, “Who’s doing Who,” or my jam by Aretha Franklin “Who’s Zooming Who”

In reality the owl’s calls ranges from growls, to screeches, screams, and howls, hoots, coos, yips, and hoos, but popular western culture has reduced it to who

In Mexico el buho has been used to scare children into being good, don’t let la lechuza get you. Often associated with witchcraft or omens of death

While Tecolotes are seen as “guides in the dark” seeing what you can’t see, helping you get to what you can’t get, pero quien es quien

While the Native Indigenous call it sipistoo, opa, hinhan, neeshjaa, wahuhi, and oho, to name a few, the owl is associated with “protection, wisdom, and connection to the unseen for me and you.

Or in Africa it has been called both protection and curse, the “harbinger of death” or the giver of wealth

In the Middle East it’s the same, both good and bad, how can it be both, which one do we choose

who’s hoo

Just like a wise man shared “a lie will have traveled across the world before the truth gets up and puts on its house shoes”

So is the owls’ many labels, calls, and cultural meanings entangled in what aligns with the truth in your head and heart about who’s who

A living portrait of unending time where man’s inherent inability to distinguish the truth from a lie is influenced by the truths of a culture that is subjective to ones perspective of both truth and lies and somewhere in between.

MY GOD! gives me bible as I’m afflicted screaming verses from Psalm 102: “I am like a pelican of the wilderness, I’m like a owl of the desert” “The children of thy servants shall continue…. and their seed shall be established before thee”

With GOD It doesn’t matter whose hoo’s hoo, it’s my perspective, its my head, and heart, and it’s my truth

(“Escape From Pepperdine Fires,” a diptych by #JDPBPhotography)

*The Alpha and The Omega*

I knew God before I knew you.

God chose me, and so did you.

the truth hurts, and the truth is I chose you over God. 

I was a child, and so were you.

Bonded through our childhood pain, we vowed to see it through.

You said wait, but I only knew how to go. Just like you, we were similar souls.

God is punishing me because I wouldn’t let you go.

I saw the change in you and I couldn’t let you know. 

I wanted to save you, like you saved me back then, I wanted to bring you back.

I thought my belief in you and my prayers would do just that.

I didn’t want to say what I saw, believing if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be true at all.

Maybe if I had been honest with us both, things would be different now.

Someone in our lineage was tricked by the devil and came back with a deal that would hurt everyone who loved us and make us all ill.

Someone prophesied this over your life, and you spoke it into fruition, believing it was right.

It wasn’t right in any way, and it wasn’t true.

It was a lie from the enemy to steal your destiny and others, too.

I know that’s what hurts you the most, how the pain has reached those you hold close.

But GOD is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. 

He knows our heart deep within. He holds the key to forgive our sins.

The good news is no man can judge us they just pretend. 

We know the truth, ONE GOD and GOD WINS.

He is the beginning and the end.

Today, we choose him, and so we win, AMEN🙏🏾

#JDPBPhotography

Liberty on our Flag

Our flag was made with freedom in mind, freedom for you and me

It’s in our flag, not in US, so what’s said to be free ain’t free

Our flag is an OG, that was 13 stars, and 13 colonies

Red for “hardiness and valor,” blue for vigilance and perseverance,” and white for what America claimed was right

Our assimilation runs so deep as I reflected about the middle eastern car salesman  subtlely serving hate like it was my dinner plate, saying “if it ain’t white it ain’t right”

I chose the black car.

it’s popularity grew in a war to free my enslaved ancestors, used as a symbol to show we conquered and prevailed in times of war.

Used as a fashion statement like Vera Wang, but you better not create your own flag cuz that’s a gang

Our freedom lies on our flag but our people aren’t free

So much inspiration just ask Francis Scott Key, thinking about our country tis’ing of thee, or what about Bob, he added 37 more stars, but we still don’t act accordingly.

Go from one state to another state and you have no health care, what you do in one state, will put you in jail, else where

Our children don’t have a standardized level of care throughout America, make that make sense

When we don’t prioritize our future, we fail to prioritize US, you see our flag is the only thing free, nothing is free about US.

Our freedom is on our flag, not in US

21 And Over….

I met my first buyer as an adult at a hole in the wall nightclub on the other side of the town.  It was my 21st birthday, and one of us thought it would be a good idea to go to a bar full of old men, old hos, dope sellers, old school cuts, and good food.

Ok, maybe I was that person, anyways I had on a cute purple skirt with a blue hint to it and a matching tank top.  It was complimented with silver platforms and a fresh hairstyle thanks to my Godmom. I had all intentions to take the outfit back to Nordstroms because I didn’t have money like that ( I don’t recall if I did or didn’t).

I knew I looked good with the exception of my belly, I had always had a gut since I was a toddler. And thanks to people asking me was I pregnant (so rude), I had mastered the art of holding it in.  With 4 of my closest friends, we entered, and as usual, all eyes were on us.  I mean, we all were young and good-looking.  Although this wasn’t our first time at a club, this was my first time using my real ID.

I ordered a triple shot of Hennessey, and I’m sure my homegirls did the same.  We found a booth in the corner and settled in to look at the older folks get their groove on, on the tiny dance floor.

I took mine to the head and asked my homegirl if she wanted to come with me to order some food.  I wanted to eat before the Xstacy hit me.  At the homies house, before leaving, we rolled a fat joint and split one capsule into a minute maid orange juice.  It hard to believe we were sharing 1 pill, but that’s all it took.

No one wanted to come, so I turned to my favorite homegirl, and smiling, she said, “You better be glad it’s your birthday, sis.”

As we made our way to the kitchen located on the side of the building, we encountered a line as usual.  Turning to her I asked her “do you feel it,” “not yet nigga do you?” “Nah, that’s why  I’m trying to eat before it does.”

I turned around to the guy working at the front counter as he undressed me with his eyes, his smile widened to reveal a checker board of gold and teeth. “What you want, young lady, there’s a line behind you.” ” Oh yeah, my bad, I want the neckbones meal with cabbage, rice and gravy, and can I have cornbread instead of hushpuppies?”  “That’s normally extra for the cornbread but since your so cute I’m  a give it to you this time.”  I broadened my smile as I was hoping to get more if a discount.

“Can I get a strawberry pop too?”  “Sure thang like a chicken wang, young lady, that will be 14.99.” 

“You want to share with me?”  “Nigga, you know you gonna eat it all,” she replied and stepped to the counter to order her food.  I moved to the side reserved for pick up orders and tried to make myself smaller because I wasn’t buzzed yet and I didn’t like being stared at.  Soon the older lady called both of our numbers and happily, we headed back to the table.

At the table, the waitress was setting down a fresh round of drinks for us all.  We all looked at each other and then at her, and she pointed to a table on the opposite side of the club in the back filled with men with grey hairs and cigars in their mouth.  “He sent that to you.”  I looked towards where she was pointing and and from what I could see (because I never wore my glasses) a short, Grey haired older man waived and smiled.  Now I couldn’t see him (because he was dark and so was the club), but I could see his white teeth with one gold one in the corner.  I politely waived and mothed thank you.  and sat down.  As soon as I sat down the X hit me, and I began to relax and smile.  My other homegirl was like “Nigga he look like he got money.” “I’m good,” as I made myself eat the food and finish my 2nd triple shot of the night so we could go to the after hours club which was where the niggas I wanted to see was.

We soon finished our drinks and food because we could also see that the local hood rats was also noticing us, and we didn’t want any drama.  As we walked to the door a man gently put his hand on my shoulder.  I turned around to see the guy who had bought us all drinks.  “Hey, how you doing?” Oh good, and thank you for the drinks, it’s my birthday, so that’s what’s up”!  As he smiled again, I became even more turned off by his old ass.  “No problem, my name is Evan,” as he handed me his card, I could see a wrist full of gold links and a watch.  Still not interested, I took the card and walked around him because, like always, my homegirls was leaving me.  “Call me,” he  halfyelled after me.  “Ok,” I said, not even looking back.

After Thought:  The after hours was popping, and me and one of my homegirls stayed on the dance floor until we had sweated our hair out and sobered up.  I ran into my little late-night, who was balling, fine, and great in the bed, and he reminded me of that later that night.  I didn’t plan to call that old man, I didn’t even like him, but when things got financially hard, I thought back to that gold on his wrist, and searched and found his business card, and I called that old man.  And he paid like his old ass weighed for at least a good 7 years, that was until my babies daddy ran him off (sigh). Not only did he pay me but connected me to employment I would not have otherwise had access to, I stsyed in the mall, bills payed, he was a true sugar daddy. He also morally bankrupted me in ways I care not to share, in places I would have never done sexual acts, but that’s life, right? 

It was my choice at that age, and  “what happens between adults, stays between adults, right?”

I just took a trip to do something I had never done before.  Amongst others who had way more political power, influence, way more qualified, and so much more than me (I felt).  I was included. However, I did not feel like I belonged. 

Pushing my insecurities to the side, I introduced myself to everyone who would allow me to; stating my 9-5 with pride because I worked to be there, just like I worked to get here and unite us in the betterment of all children. Specifically, this was for Black women and girls and services that bring us together rather than policies that play on our differences.  It was well received, I thought as I waited for folks to join my session.  Because I’m sensitive about my art and it was just me and Jesus, and as I prayed silently, God told me to fix on the gentleman in front of me.  This not only helped me tremendously, but it also had me wanting to know more about this gentlemens journey.

With the presentation over, I thought about how to be better, and the answer was clear.  I can’t do this all by myself, and God answered when you’re ready.

Then I thought about an undergrad instructor who always stated, “Being prepared equalls success.”  Easier said than done, but my next opportunity, God willing, I will be ready, ready!