Just donated to this amazing organization, the Caribbean Equality Project (CEP), the only educational organization serving the Caribbean LGBTQ community in New York City dedicated to cultivating a supportive and progressive Caribbean community free of violence, oppression and discrimination through advocacy, community organizing, public education, cultural, and social programming.

Watch “My TRUTH, My STORY," CEP’s multimedia storytelling campaign series, which shares the stories of LGBTQ people of Caribbean heritage - in their own words, and consider a donation as well at:

https://www.youcaring.com/caribbeanequalityproject-897304

If you have any questions or want to learn more, please feel free to reach out to me.

I am beautiful

I said to myself in the mirror

after I finished

puking in the bathroom bar,

but not much else

The person waiting for me upstairs

still wanted to kiss me

he said

you are so beautiful

You used to think so, too

when I first met you

You would slide your hand

through the dip in my waist

over the flat

my barely thighs

in silence

prayer

as if in awe

then said

Goddamn that body

then,

pockets of fat

collected under my chin

on my belly

I softened

where bones

stuck out before

a side effect of

losing my mind

something you minded

didn't have the mind for

Your hands stopped.

roaming

I had nothing left.

to offer

Now

when someone says

I am beautiful

I say

but not much else

I drank my

iced soy latte

on the backs of

21st century slaves

Received

2-day Prime shipping

for the low cost

of someone's life

You trained

me to suck it in

And so

My stomach was never fat

And I never cried in front of anyone

I never let anyone love me

And when we moved

(you always told me it was for my

unhappiness)

I took one last look at my

Insides

And threw it all away,

To hollow

Now all this time later

I’ve finally let my stomach go

Exhaled and let it round

Cried for two years straight

My belly protruding

with empty

Trying to take care of myself

So I can teach others

You told me you wouldn’t walk outside with me if I went looking the way I did. Called me sensitive for crying. I poured into my Strawberry Shortcake spiral notebook, rhyming words.

I couldn’t find a place with my friends or at home: frizzy hair, baggy t-shirts, preference for books, never able to get it right. I scribbled into a white and pale blue hardcover book.

When I cleaned out my drawers, I sat on my bed reading page after page: how I didn’t like myself, didn’t know how to be a person people could like, didn’t want to exist.

The rhyming ruined it. I threw all my notebooks away.

But.

It is in my fingertips when I trace them down someone’s back, up their belly to their chest. Tumbling out my mouth before I push my lips against someone’s skin. In the silver strands snaking through my frizzy hair.

<p>People who let things slide. People who can be happy. Who don't take things to heart. Who don't obsess over everything. Who don't need coffee to keep them up and alcohol to keep them down. Who don't need workbooks and weighted blankets and to ask for goodnights. Who don't feel most comfortable living in bed. Who don't choke on their sobs all night, waking up looking like they beat the shit out of themselves. Because they beat the shit out of themselves. They continue. And it's exhausting: the no sleeping, the fitful sleeping, the early waking up but not being able to peel yourself up, the&amp;nbsp;artificial high of caffeine, the shitting out all the caffeine, the sluggishness of fried, greasy deliciousness, the eyes closing on the bus, the eyes wide open in bed, the "in an hour, in five minutes" turning into the whole day in bed, the forcing yourself to go outside and pretend to be alive,</p><p>the pretending to be extra alive because that’s how everyone remembers you, the need of someone to hold you when no one cares to hold you, the softness of the blankets hurting too much, the&amp;nbsp;piles of stuff&amp;nbsp;on the left side so you can only sleep on your side. </p><p>

</p><p>Beating yourself up because you know what you should be doing: going to the gym before work,&amp;nbsp;cooking your yourself; when you did that you had real energy and were able to fit into all of your clothes. Going on dates and seeing friends and doing things, when you did that you didn't feel dead. Now if only you could get out of bed.</p><p>

</p>

I left pieces of myself

in other people

that will love

and hurt and shatter

other people

I left pieces of myself

in their heartbreak,

in their sunshine