Second Chance

I’m not trying to be relevant. I am giving breath to our story!

I am vibrating at the frequency of my truth.

That may be confrontational to you, but… 

I stand in alignment and Truth.

I believe in the power of the telling and re-telling of women’s herstory.

This portal is a place where expression of hurt and healing is valid. Hopefully, it may help others who have suffered and survived give voice to the hidden and unseen, and educate those who still don’t understand what it feels like and means to be raped. It’s about me, first. Then it can be for others who want to understand, accept the reality, or who could find it useful and do something with it. So you can fuck off if this isn’t for you. It’s called a personal blog for that reason, pal!

I needed this image to exist years before it did.

Close-up image of a graphic t-shirt with hearts that reads, "A Woman Does Not Have To Be Modest In Order To Be Respected."

Fiber Artist, Olek, presenting crochet bodies with the quote, “Love Always Wins” at the Washington D.C. Women’s March in On March 4th TWENTY21.

The sting of the brave woman who stood & fought to be heard.

Years ago,

The night before the Women’s March in D.C. I had a panic attack. I wondered off.

The president is a rapist.

The first thing I remember when I open my eyes through the tears is pink headphones

P!nk, Joan Jett, Laura Jane Grace, Miley, Madonna, and Beyoncé in my head

Telling me to get up

On the other hand, the only thing that felt real was the cold concrete

I stumbled through a neighborhood on the Vienna side of DC through branches of bushes that ripped my tights. Curbside.

Hanging onto the edge of the Earth. I thought cry until you can’t any longer. Let it allllll out

There was a lot to let out.

I. Scared. Scarred. Hurting. Abandoned. By an entire population.

I couldn’t walk. The crowd swallowed me.

I want to be more, scream louder but for some reason it feels like I can’t. I fought back tears the whole time. Then nearing the White House at the end of the walking was Ulek and her crochet bodies. I felt a rise in me; I saw Art In Action! I felt free. I knew one day I could do something too.

So for two years I have been figuring it out what it means to be with another, to love yourself more, and to make something every damn day, even if no one will See it.

Now is the time.

I am ready to share the darkest, most potent, re-tellings

On Purpose.

Animal In A Dress is a guide for those who survive.

muah Jordan