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Tonight, or more like late last night, I received an email from a friend and fellow student. In the email, she vented about an ugly, yet familiar scene: racism. She had been the blatant recipient of this gift, sloppily & hastily wrapped as it was.
Her mail was seething with frustration and shock. While I felt for her, I know this too well. I myself had been called a nigger a few years back. It was so stereotypical I laughed. Frozen with undue embarrassment, I recall being unprepared to squash my would be oppressor. I was so angry at myself for not being more vocal.
I recommended that my friend simply write it out. She is young, vibrant, brilliant and I wanted her to work it out quickly and move on. Not hang onto it too long. As if each time you are stripped of dignity it would be that easy. My hopeful and naive wish for her manifested into the most beautiful and strong, visual thing I had read in a while. She replied with a poem that she was inspired to write and it was nothing short of beautiful, breath taking, strong, and visually frightening. She had taken something ugly and turned it into something beautiful.
Blown away by this, I replied as such and offered an editors eye on what elements (if expanded) would take it to the next level. I realized in that moment, a few things. I am a writer. My eye is growing sharper. The feeling I get when reading something really powerful is almost orgasmic. It gives me life, simply. My love for words and love for encouraging others to find & sharpen their voice may lead to interesting career paths down the road. Sharing is really what a true writers community is all about. I am proud to be a wordy girl. It is all I really know.

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