A note stabbed seven times for Erzulie Dantor before becoming ash itself bears the same letters as the others. All ask for time, for space to thrive and for a partner to lie across me like a blanket, ending the bone chill that no sweater can stop.

Between each time the pen slides at least one number has improved and in the time since my last piece, the future’s fallen into place.
Answers nowhere near set, but the foundation’s there.
Several projects that otherwise would have stagnated are becoming the most active in their existence while the projects that i loved most are adapting to expand.
As always, self-care comes last for me. People regularly tell me there is no way to pour from an empty cup but i’m proof otherwise; rest just an illusion and sleep down to on average five hours per day.

I don’t believe in hexing for love. So romantically, it’s still a wash. Last month, a friend made me a waist necklace and my thick ass is wearing crop tops so this summer i’ll only be lonely by own choices. Love’s in my vicinity, likely i am ignoring someone in my peripheral because work leaves little time to try and play. Mostly i exist alone without issue by filling the spaces left unfilled from parenting and working with platonic relationships but on several occasions lately the emptiness has burnt me in a way that forced me to swallow wails.

Retribution and vigilance are becoming frequent suggestions from these lips with the herb smells getting muskier. To avoid carrying myself to the point of exhaustion, I attempt to counter with coffee that reminds me of tobacco but is really chicory, CDM and these newer muskier mixes.
White pepper, bay leaves, and florida water all combine with the fresh mints like spear and pepper and the smoke that must just be my essence mixes with them all leaving me feeling like my best position would be war.
Nettle and dandelion still supporting organs as peace I make for others together in a tea holder at least once daily.

Peace i make for others but me, i’m chaos.
A cyclone of the tropics, swamp dirty fiending for destruction.
Stuck behind my equivalent of a suit and tie.

Trying to move the middle left quickly enough for me to be able to thrive in real skin. Trying and finding ways to explain that none of the keywords matter without the intent.
Some days i’m exhausted from nothing other than social standards.

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ulia Walker, a 30 year old black femme from east Texas enjoys drinking tea, making mixed media collages, reading about homesteading and researching Conjure’s place in USA folklore as a way to connect the people of the diaspora.
Her job titles include non-profit founder, public speaker, babywearing advocate, cultural competency consultant, freelance writer, vegan bakery owner and unschooling facilitator to the two and four year old people she single parents since leaving domestic violence.
Julia’s activism uses her experiences as a queer black trauma survivor to attempt to build solidarity between the communities that she hasn’t felt wholly comfortable in at any point.
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