Original Text, Vanilla, Ginger, Cinnamon, Cotton
Text reads as follows:
Trying to imbibe in histories
unknown, untold, usurped.
Depictions of tragedy require recognition of transcendence.
Let’s not conflate reconstructed remembrance
with a negation of joy, of tenderness, of pride, of reclamation.
Me? My family? My we?
More than underserved.
More than spoken for.
More than used, abused, dehumanized, economized and commodified.
A foundation for futures.
A new imaginary.
A sweat through struggle that is sweeter than every rose-colored anything.
No skin served me better.
No hand held me tighter.
No song lifted me higher.
No voice gifted me such wisdom.
No touch gave me more life.
Than my me, my family, my we.