Potent quotables
Mommy always said that God didn’t make mistakes, so she was born just as she was supposed to be. Why didn’t other people know that? Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?
Just because a stage was rightfully mine didn’t mean I would be allowed to mount it. Sister Freeman was the first person to yank me back from an earned place in the spotlight, but she would be far from the last. I learned that day that if I wanted to stand in that light, I would have to fight for it, wage a fierce and tireless struggle with all my heart and soul and might.
If God loves us, and He made us in His own image, and He knows what we’re going to do before we do it, then why would He create someone He knows isn’t going to choose Him, only to send him to a burning hell for all eternity?
I realized that after all these years, it really was over, as abruptly as that—he wasn’t going to return. And the relief of this was like the release of a chokehold from around my throat. But it also had the unexpected effect of deepening my sense of guilt, adding yet another layer to my shame, though it would be years before I figured out why. If I could have made it stop anytime I wanted to, simply by asking, then I must have been in control the whole time. By not asking him to stop all those years, I must have been asking for the opposite—asking for what he did to me.
But every day I remind myself that nothing matters more than extending the legacy of the angels in my life. It’s my devout conviction that if I’m not enabling and encouraging the underprivileged and the vulnerable, then I haven’t justified their confidence in me, and I haven’t done sufficient justice to their gifts.
Reading that ad was like being touched by lightning. I felt the electricity in my bone marrow.
What kind of healing? How do you heal from living every day of your life in a society so hateful and dangerous you can’t even walk down the street in peace? How do you heal from something like that?
I’ll never stop doing what I’m doing. I’ll never stop being who I am,” I seethed. “They don’t like it, they’re going to have to kill me.” And then I was gone. That day was a turning point in my life. It marked the moment I stopped caring about making anyone else comfortable with who I was. I performed in front of hundreds of schoolchildren that afternoon with a black eye, a bruised face, and a fractured jaw. If someone asked me what happened, I told them the truth. But even more telling was what I left unsaid. The mere fact of my presence and participation carried a clear message to everyone around me. And that message was: I am in your midst, without apology. I’m here to stay. I’m here as I am. And if you have a problem with that—fuck you! I would go on being precisely who I was. I wouldn’t let anyone take my life or my work away from me. Never again would I apologize or hide, or attempt to be something I wasn’t. I wanted everyone to see my face. To take in the blood and the bruises. Bear witness to the hate and the cruelty. See what the world does to a person who’s different. Look at it. Own it. And, y’all, fix that!
It didn’t occur to me in that moment that somehow I’d managed to go four straight years with no awareness of the abuse. I’d blocked it out, disassociated myself, hadn’t remembered it at all. I’d separated myself from the trauma and compartmentalized it in order to survive.
It’s time you metabolize your trauma and grief.” We been sheltering in place for months now. I’ve managed to stay sane. We’re managing to heal ourselves inside of this pandemic. I have been and will continue to tell anybody who will listen that “the world stopped so that we could heal our marriage!” Lemonade outta lemons, right . . . ?
Congressman Lewis, I know the Oscars may not be the time or place for politics, but I must ask you, for those of us who are feeling activist, resistance fatigue—what would you say to us to encourage forward momentum and engagement?” Congressman Lewis’s eyes lit up, he gave me that knowing look, and he clicked right in. “We can neva give up! We can neva give in! We must resist! We must fight for what’s right. Equality for all!” . . . or something like that. I don’t have access to the ABC archives so I can’t give you his words verbatim. All I know is, I got to touch the hem of his garment, and that is enough. Congressman Lewis’s words are on my mind. This death count just keeps rising. And our government continues to act as if it’s not happening. This Orangina muthafucka is showing the world, through his actions, that he cares nothing for the people. He would rather we die than have the entire country wear a mask. Wearing a mask during this pandemic has become a political act, and half the country supports this fool. Every day the virus gets worse and worse and the administration disseminates misinformation to the people, like injecting bleach to cure the virus . . . I mean—you can’t make this up. But it’s the people who are in danger. We the people suffer. Essential workers, frontline personnel . . . ? Lots of Black and Brown folks in those jobs. And Black, Brown, and poor people are dying at a disproportionate rate, and nobody in power does enough to stop the spread. No national plan. No mandates. Y’all are on your own. AIDS, AIDS, AIDS . . . that’s all I can think about. This is how they treated us. Like we deserved to die. Like AIDS was God’s punishment. The generation we lost. The artists, the friends, the family, the church member who they said died of cancer when I knew damn well what he died of. I could tell just by lookin’ at him. Everybody could tell. There was a look. A very specific look. The weight loss. The shortness of breath. The wasting.
Nothing can describe the feeling of knowing that no matter what you do, how well you behave, or what you achieve in life that you will always be nuthin’ but a stain on respectable society.
I’m a preparation bitch, so Daddy did her research.
Do you want to be a star, or do you want to be an artist? Being a star for fame’s sake is ego-driven. Being an artist requires stripping away ego and grounding oneself in service.
My mother was actively encouraged by her church family and society at large not to love me unconditionally… I was no longer interested in believing in something that didn’t believe in me.
Lit review
Billy Porter you sweet, ferocious angel, I adore you. Thank you for sharing your story.