So I’m doing a thing. I’m committing to visual honesty this year. We all know that each person struggles, but we dress it up in metaphor and make-up. (No shade to make-up. Do what feels good)
People know and love my “ambassador”. They have known and loved that version of me because they’re accessible, “easy to get along with”, flawed but passable, and other things I’ve heard either directly or through channels.
But that’s not fair to me. As an artist, I have always set out to be honest. I write with aims for the reader to feel something; see the image I’m painting or know the situation I’m in from their past. But that doesn’t always translate to my image or persona. For instance, I’m a sexual being – some of the poems people share as their favorites are very sensual pieces. In real life, I’m incredibly desexualized. Furthermore, many people measure “success” in finances. I measure success in the quality of relationships. My book is a success, not because it’s on a bestsellers list (it is actually quite far from it), but because people who have read it enjoy the work. So when I speak on being a “successful artist” people misconstrue that and figure I don’t need their support.
So here I am. I’m making space to share my truth weekly. All of my “scratchin and survivin”. My weight gain and lack of sleep. My loneliness unwrapped; deflowered of the trapping of language. Because shit is real – for ALL of us in different ways.
Every Sunday I’m taking a selfie. From wherever I am. Whatever I’m doing. Whatever mood I’m in. No filters or “planned” posts. And I’ll write and post here every Monday. Like the post or don’t. Read it or don’t. I’m just happy to carve out some “Dwayne-time” on my platform.
Peace and safety yall. 2021 engage!
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