Maybe I should have come out sooner?

Posted on September 15, 2020 by dezziiee

So, imagine this.

I have a slightly somewhat, average following on Instagram. Just over one thousand followers, which isn’t that bad, I reckon, for a spoken word artist.

I did a spring clean of my insta posts earlier on in the year as my girlfriend advised me, I needed more of a professional page. I mean, the slow-mo walk across a pier in Barbados is great and everything, but where are the poems? So, I purged. This included pretty much all the pictures with her in them, which now means, she tells a different story of the conversation we had, but that’s more of a 3 am, after 3 bottles of wine ‘discussion’.

On what would have been PRIDE weekend, I posted a picture of my girlfriend and I, which was both ‘on brand’, and cute af (also, might holt those ‘discussions’). Within hours the picture got more likes and engagement then ANY of my other content ever has. When I share this with my girlfriend, she responded,

‘Maybe you should have come out sooner’

… Sorry what? To clarify, we have been in a relationship for almost a year and a half, she has met all the friends and family, stays at my family home under the super closeted guise of ‘my girlfriend’, so this was WILD to me.

I sat on this a few days and ruminated about it (whoop for anxiety). What does being out even mean? What does coming out look like when your sexuality is fluid and also, but most importantly, NONE OF ANYONE’S BUSINESS

My identity is so intersectional, it sometimes feels impossible to navigate. I am Black. I am a Woman. I am a Black Woman (which is different to both of those things). I am Queer. I also, struggle with my mental health. I am the Queen of a tick box. So, to be told I am not being enough of one aspect of my identity, makes me feel as though, I have to give up parts of myself in order to allow space for it all.

Along with many other people raised in or around the church, (or had internet access) I am not scared nor embarrassed to admit that I do carry latent homophobia despite being in a relationship with a woman. That’s why my Nan knows my girlfriend as “My friend” followed by her first name, or I subconsciously or consciously, look around the room before we kiss. But as we should all be, I am doing the work. Reading, digesting, and educating myself to know better, so I can do better.

Audre Lorde, mother of all those Black and Queer and Womxn, said

“There’s always someone asking you to underline one piece of yourself—whether it’s Black, woman, mother, dyke, teacher, etc.—because that’s the piece that they need to key in to. They want to dismiss everything else.”
Audre Lorde, Why aren’t we there yet?

Dependant on the space I’m occupying, depends on which aspect of my identity people want to take a highlighter to. When my white, female, straight, friend wants to discuss the hardships of being a woman and ignores how my blackness and queerness also play roles in that space, I do not throw Womanslaughter by Pat Parker at her. Or when my black, male, gay friend asks me who Sarah Reed is whilst making a ‘Say his name’ sign for the Black Lives Matter march, I do not remove my bra and start burning it in the living room. Pat Parker does not deserve to be thrown and bras are expensive, but these are constant reminders of how all of me is not always afforded space and how I have to shrink parts of myself in order to get through certain doors.

My queerness does not always enter rooms with me. It is not the first thing people see about me, will judge me for, or will mention. Even though it can sometimes seem as though I am not waving my big rainbow flag to a group of strangers; I am waving it at people who actually care about me; I am waving it in the spaces I work in with young people; I am waving it at my beautiful, wonderful girlfriend – who waves it back at me.

My, on a budget Black Girl Experience at Glastonbury 2019

Posted on July 28, 2019 by dezziiee

Trying to find space in the crowd

So Imagine This... I often describe my poetry career as a creative way to be your own therapist except unemployed – but realistically it allows me to do things I would have otherwise never dreamed of; like attend Glastonbury festival as a performer.

For those who have never owned a TV, Glastonbury is unashamedly the largest greenfield festival in the world. Started in 1970 by an English Dairy Farmer called Michael Eavis, the festival hosts up to 210,000 people, over 5 days and stages the world’s biggest acts; everyone from David Bowie, Stevie Wonder and Van Morrison have performed there.

If I am honest, Glastonbury was never top of my list of festivals to attend. The idea of not showering for 5 days and sleeping outside has never tickled my fancy, even when they decided to integrate different genres in 2008 and Jay-Z became the first Hip Hop artist to headline.

So now, there I am. Backpack on shoulders, with a ticket in my hand that would have set the average camper back £248 plus booking fee, all the while maintaining that this is lefty liberal wonderland – a stark reminder that capitalism consumes everyone, even hippies. But as I make my way from the car park to the camping area with 3 trainer choices, 10 outfits, toiletries, food supplies, 2 cases of cider and a six-man tent for two people, I am reminded what lefty liberalism actually looks like – and it’s not a 5”2 Black Girl from Slough.

The first disparity I found was in the way Glastonbury is policed. I am not the first and will definitely not be the last to draw a comparison to Notting Hill Carnival but comparatively it is the only other UK event of its scale. Throughout my 4 days at Glastonbury, I may have seen 10 police officers in total. Always in packs of 4 or more. Always at the back of the crowds. Never immersed in the action; where the majority of incidents, or illegal activity happen. In 2018 at Notting Hill Carnival, 13,000 officers were deployed and nearly 7,000 of the Met’s violent crime task force attended the carnival on just the Monday.

Festival goers are barely even searched before entering the festival – I was not. According to a report released by The Met, 3,746 stop and searches took place at Notting Hill Carnival last year and of those recorded 69% of those where Black Caribbean, Black African or Black Other and only 4.5% led to arrests. When you can be stopped, searched and handcuffed for turning left into Latimer Road, it is absurd to witness the lack of police presence at a festival that well known for its liberal views on drug-use and that has a higher arrest and incident percentage when considering the number of people who attend.

As a black person, I grown accustomed to the pecking order. It goes White lives, Dogs, The Planet, Other Animals, Celion Dion and somewhere near the idea that you should wash rice before you boil it, is Black lives. All in all, Glastonbury is renowned for the way it combats wastage and endeavours to make the festival as green as possible. There was no single use plastic available onsite, all the bins where labelled and waste separated, and the signage is everywhere; ‘REUSE. REDUCE. RESPECT. LOVE THE FARM. LEAVE NO TRACE’. Whilst walking one morning, for what felt like the whole 900 acres, in 30-degree heat, I also saw posters that urged its readers to go vegan, as everyone in the world has a right to life. Glastonbury was unapologetic about its messaging, and even Sir David Attenborough appeared on the Pyramid Stage to talk to us about Climate Change. What I didn’t see is any signage that protected the people in the festival. I saw no signs that promoted responsible drug use, or alcohol consumption. I saw no signs that gave advice regarding sex assault (considering what has happened in previous years). Maybe I spent 4 days in the wrong parts of the festival but considering I saw at least 3 images of earth and the question “can you see borders?” (No, but there are borders which makes that an unhelpful statement), I find it strange that I didn’t stumble across even one. I stumbled across James Morrison and I’m pretty sure he’s a much harder find.

All things considered it felt as though the safety of the people within the festival was not the main priority. In no way am I implying that mass, intrusive police presence at carnival is for our safety, or that people even read signs, but the total lack of regard for human life when likened to everything they do to ensure the land the farm is on stays relatively clean is, at the very least, question worthy.

Another part of the festival that didn’t sit right with me was the marginalisation and appropriation of cultures that aren’t permitted access. Whether talking about structural racism that continues to keep people of colour destined for the lower and working classes, or the programming, or that you have to apply to buy tickets (which includes supplying a photograph of yourself), people of colour are disproportionately under-represented in the crowds. While there were very few of us there in body, the culture was littered everywhere. I don’t know why, in BIG BIG 2019, the white middle class believe that Native American headdresses, or Rasta caps (tams) with dreadlocks attached to them, makes for a better festival experience – but they do, and they are willing to pay extortionate prices for privilege. If I am honest, I don’t know why I’m still shocked by it, but seeing as I’m already talking about it, there is something disconcerting and gravely uncomfortable about seeing white girls, sporting boxer braids and dashikis especially when you’ve not got anyone in close enough proximity to share the look.

This sounds like I didn’t have a great time, but I did. I cried as I watched Stormzy headline Glastonbury festival as a black, male, grime artist having only graced our ear canals with one album. I cringed as I watched #AlexfromGlasto become famous for remembering the lyrics to a song that came out in 2016 and that he didn’t write. And I looked on in admiration as Ray Blk, reminded us that’s she’s “Doing Me” with a face beat to the Gods and a hip whine that grapes would be envious of.

I camped, yes. I made sure my hair was in single braids, so it was less to maintain. I brought femfresh wipes, baby wipes, 4 hand sanitizers, a packet of toilet rolls and the prayers of my ancestors to help guide me through the weekend – and it worked. But before you begin the round of applause, I feel it only fair to mention that technically I was crew so had access to showers and mirrors… but still an achievement… right?

The Black UK music scene was present this year at Glastonbury, and it finally feels like it has become a legitimate part of “British Culture” but there are a lot of aspects of this festival that alienate and exclude the very people that created it. In the last 14 years tickets prices have risen by 99.2% (more than double the rate of inflation) and with glamping options which include a concierge and spa facilities – the festival has become more Coachella than Woodstock.

I had an amazing experience at Glastonbury, a privilege I would not have been afforded if it wasn’t for my ability to say words somewhat confidently in a rhythmic fashion. It’s just a pity that hippy and inclusivity have grown to mean cis, white and middle class in 2019.

She was asking for it

Posted on August 16, 2015 by dezziiee

So Imagine This, a while ago I sat at my desk, eyes squinted, fingers tapping profusely, Trying to decide whether I was angry, upset or disappointed.
What began as harmless chit-chat about Celebrity Big Brother quickly evolved into a peak into a common societal flaw.

We sat across the room from each other discussing the antics of Celebrity Big Brother and Ken Morley’s early departure as a result of some crass comments. As if she threw the words at my head to get my attention, she says “I do have to agree with him though“. Those who watched CBB could imagine my shock. Her approval could have been towards Morley’s Negro comment to Alexander O’Neal, his inheritance comment to Calum Best, the perverse and unwanted comments and stares at the women in the house, or his bust up with Perez Hilton. I think I would have taken any of the other options rather than this one.

“He’s right though. The girls shouldn’t dress or act like that if they don’t want to be stared at, or don’t want men making comments – she’s asking for it.”

In January 2013, The Home Office, The Ministry of Justice and The Office of National Statistics adjudicated that approximately 85,000 women on average are raped in England and Wales per year. Over 400,000 are sexually assaulted in England and Wales per year. 1 in 5 women aged from 16 to 59 have been victim to some type of sexual violence from the age of 16 – where they asking for it?

And from a woman. For a women to utter those words with no ramification, no guilt, no thought makes me feel sick to my stomach. Me being the person I am, irrespective of location, I could not let the conversation lay. So, I challenged her opinion with what I thought where cliche statements about the fact women should be able to wear whatever they want without a fear of “asking for it”. No should mean no. We are in charge of our bodies… You know the spiel. I thought it was engrained into a woman’s psyche.
Her responses came thick and heavy; weighed down with an idea of misogyny that have held women back for centuries.

“She’s a page 3 model – she should be used to guys treating her and reacting to her like that”

“Well I work in Marketing doesn’t mean I should be okay with clients calling my home phone at 8 o’clock”

“She was juggling her boobs about and making comments”

“Well they are her boobs. That doesn’t give anybody the right to touch them without your permission”

This went back and forth until we where forced to stop by an innocent bystander.

In 2006-2007, The British Crime Survey reported that 1 in every 200 women had been raped in the course of that year. In 2006-2007, 800 rapists where convicted. In 2006-2007 less that 1 in every 100 occurrences of rape led to a conviction – is this because they where asking for it?

Not just as women, but as people we should be allowed to act or dress in whatever way we see fit without fear of sexual assault.

Yes, I know this looks like a feminist rant and you may be right. It may be a feminist rant – if feminist rant means believing that every person in the world should be allowed to live their life free from the threat of sexual assault because they where asking for it , irrespective of how they look, dress, act or their occupation.

No means no. So if I don’t want you to touch my ass in a club – whether I am wearing a tent or a mini skirt, I reserve that right. I was not asking for it.

If I am taking a short-cut down the back alley to get to my house rather then taking the well lit, but longer, main road. I was not asking for it.

If I am recklessly wasted in the middle of a party, with only one shoe on and my skirt ungracefully tucked into my top. I was not asking for it.

Unless you specifically ask for it, you are not asking for it. Just because you have sexualised my body it does not mean I owe you anything. Rather than teaching people how to avoid being raped, we should try to teach people that rape is wrong FULL STOP. Maybe rape culture is something we should stop instilling in our children.

Dezziiee – ox

Sleeping With The Enem-ME

Posted on June 24, 2014 by dezziiee

So Imagine This

My friend asked me a very important question over noodles the other day. She asked me

“Have you ever actually liked anyone you’ve dated?”

Of course my initial answer was yes, but then she said remove any physical attraction and remove the sex – could you be friends? For me this changed the question completely and I was left genuinely asking myself whether I’ve ever actually liked any one I’ve dated. And after a few days of really going through not a long list, but a list nonetheless, I came to a sad but truthful conclusion; I have never liked anyone I’ve dated.

Though this may seem a strange thing to confess, it would seem that I have invested a lot of time, energy and emotions into dudes that I would never have been friends with. And I am not talking about a one-night-stand or a dig-and-dash, I am talking about people I must have seen some type of future with.
This revelation, though laughable, it is quite sad. It would seem that I based my choice of partner on physical attraction and humour, rather than anything deeper. Everything was surface level. And I guess this suited me. Some may say it’s a fear of commitment, others that it’s a fear of getting hurt, but no closer than arms length please.

So it would seem all these dud relationships was my own twisted means of survival. I never actively go out of my way to find someone, I rarely save numbers and less frequently answer them. I keep my time stamp on my whatsapp so that people can tell when they are being ignored and if you can’t hold my attention in the first few hours you would rarely get a second chance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hostile, or unpleasant; I just like to laugh and if that’s not on the table then there is nothing here for me.

So Imagine my surprise when I find myself profusely texting this guy non stop for a week. Waking up together, going to bed together yet we hadn’t seen each other in 4 years. We spoke about everything from marriage to children to what pet names we agreed and disagreed with. Our first date consisted of watching the England match and him telling me to shush more times than I could count. I’ve never fell into something so easily. Although he would probably tell you I was still guarded, I felt free. I could say and do whatever I wanted with this dude with no reservations. I could be his friend. I didn’t want to be, but I knew I could.

Though we are in a very different place than we where at the beginning of the relationship, it has been eye opening. I learnt to trust myself by trusting in someone else. We removed the usual awkwardness and tension and put something beautiful in its place. It having been 4 years since I had seen him and having never had a physical relationship, the reason this was the epic roller coaster it was because I liked him. I actually liked him. I enjoyed him in a way I had never enjoyed anyone before – as a friend and a partner.

There are some things that make this relationship harder than first presumed but nothing not worth the struggle. Finally prepared to take myself out of my comfort zone and chase this to wherever it may go. Likelihood is I might get hurt but it’s time to live for what is rather than what may be.

I have found a friend in someone I also want to sleep with!? So I’m in what I deem a very dangerous place, others a great place; but let me ride it, invest what I can and see what happens.

-Dezziee x

EX-panding My Horizons

Posted on December 12, 2013 by dezziiee

So Imagine This…

I spent a lot of time in my teens worrying about who I was rather than who I will be. I let men treat me like I wasn’t worthy in order to feel worthy so when I got into what was (and has been) my most relatively normal relationship, I was confused and to be honest terrified.

I was seeing this guy for a while, way longer than I would probably allow now, but not being secure in who I was didn’t allow me to ask the questions that were necessary at the time. I was smitten; we met at a club, he tricked me into kissing him and let me go home in his jacket because I was cold. Well, only if I gave him my necklace is ensure he was going to see me again and the rest is history. He took me on dates, like actual dates. Like dates where he picked me up and paid. We need to understand that this had never happened to me before, which is probably a testament to the type of boys I had in my life.

So things were amazing, apart from the fact I was going to university thus no commitment was made. He was the only male specimen in my life and on the one occasion I asked him, he told me that I was the only one in his. Well, as October 2010 loomed in, we started spending more and more time together much to my emotional demise. He attended my leaving party at approximately 3am much to the dislike of my friends and family who had heard me complain and shed a tear or two about him all night. A lot of alcohol had been consumed and I ended up confronting him about our whole relationship and even, (WARNING this is so cringing you may cry) showed him a poem I’d written about him. Long story short, I went to bed that night with a boyfriend.

I left for university the next day. He drove up every weekend to see me if I hadn’t come down to go have drinks with his friends or something equally difficult to justify a three hour coach ride to come back the next day which too took three hours. Anyway I was mildly happy. I expressed that I didn’t want a relationship were we spoke every second of every day and looked meaningfully into one another’s eyes for no reason. And I honestly didn’t think I did, but when I started talking to my best friend a lot more than my boyfriend or I didn’t actually know what ~~our~~, his plans for New Years where I was confused.

As messed up as this sounds, I spent the whole relationship feeling like I was lucky to have him. I felt that one day he would wake up and be like why am I doing this. I had never had anyone treat me the way he did and I did not know how to deal with it. So, I’d write very weird Facebook status and ask him weird questions and tell him I love him in the middle of a club then run away. In general felt quite uncomfortable around him, because I didn’t feel like I deserved him.

Eventually we split up. This may be due to the fact I was crazy, it may be due to the fact he wasn’t happy, it may be due to the fact I had no firm grip on who I was but yes we parted ways. I was raving at the time which primarily began with celebratory drinks on me and inviting everyone to mine the next day for a party, but subsequently ended with me crying in a toilet.

The point of this all really is to explain how he changed my outlook on relationships. He was not perfect but neither was I. He taught me that not only did I deserved to be wined and dined but there are still men that do this. In hindsight when I told him I loved him I’m not sure I did. I had never experienced someone who respected me both as his woman and a women and I think that is what I loved. It wasn’t as though I didn’t respect myself or was off trying to find love between bedsheets, I merely grew to understand that I am worthy of whatever I believe myself worthy of, and I will be as great as I allow myself to be, which has manifested itself throughout my life.

I am single. I am focused on living rather than loving. I see him every now and again and we occasionally drunk text and call each other 3 years on. I respect him as a man and would thank him if the conversation wouldn’t make me want to throw up in my own mouth. I think I would like to maintain a proper relationship with him but ~~after what we’ve been through~~, well mostly what I went through… a lot of which by myself in my head, it would be very hard. I no longer have anything I want to ask him and only wish him all the happiness in the world; I’m content loving our relationship for what it was and looking back at the morph suits, the Christmas thongs, the dubstep rave in a tent, the Michael Jackson tribute performance and monkey rapes frog with a brandy and a smile.

-Dezziiee x

AmsterDAM that Museum was good

Posted on November 27, 2013 by dezziiee

So imagine this …

For the second time in my life I was able to visit Amsterdam and fall in love all over again.
From the I amsterdam sign at Schiphol Airport to the constant threat of being mowed over by a crazed cyclist, an aggressive ring of a bicycle bell brings me to nostalgia.

In spite of the things Amsterdam is infamous for, there is a lot of beauty that lies outside of the coffee shops or the Red Light District. This time around one of my favourite days involved nothing but a tram ticket, a box of juice in my bag, €7.50 and The Museum of Broken Relationships

Weird Right? But I was drawn to it, like a moth to a flame… or an ex Drama Student to an art installation (still too scared to call myself a Graduate). We digress.

Set in Amsterdam’s oldest building built in 1306, the atmosphere reflected the subject. Oude Kerk revels in contemporary art and artists and has successfully found a place amidst not just the twenty-first century but twenty-first century Amsterdam. The space was vast yet the items where cluttered together, forcing intimacy with the relationships and the objects that reflect them. Unlike other museums the items weren’t behind glass or you weren’t marched towards the exit as soon as you entered, the objects where there, in front of you, screaming its message in such a way that it is not only heard; but felt.

Though some where sad, they provoked a tear or laughter or thought. The range of locations and ages and different types of people was a ~~gentle~~ ~~harsh~~ emotional reminder, that pain is multi lingual and all everyone is doing is just trying.

But without rain we would never see the beauty of a rainbow. The sadness birthed an ability to move forward and learn which were the most beautiful parts. The idea that eventually, like the stories exhibited in the museum, we will all be able to give up our past and take on our future. Maybe not in such a definitive way as to become an exhibit in a museum, but the museum teaches that the path in which you take to get there is irrelevant.

The concept of The Museum Of Broken Relationships was created by Olinka Vištica and Dražen Grubišić in Croatia and has been touring since 2007. The different venues around the world create different atmospheres which in turn could create different stories but similarly that can too be determined by a individuals experiences within their own light. We have a tendency to love things that offer what we deem a reflection of ourselves, and the Museum offers that ten times over.
Described as

a chance to overcome an emotional collapse through creation

This is something that rings true for both each individual artists and the audience. Its reflectiveness gives an insight into the different realms where pain could take us, however in its ability to create an understanding and empathy, the exhibition relays a sense of growth and progression which is one of the many things that makes this museum so special.

In short

Amsterdam is awesome

The Museum Of Broken Relationships is also awesome

See if its somewhere near you

Our societies oblige us with our marriages, funerals and even graduation farewells but deny us any formal recognition of the demise of a relationship

- Dezziiee x