happy new year xx come through
💓 you have been waiting to dance w me 🔮
the more we age the better. we’re our ancestors wildest dreams not because we can vote or because we went to med school. but just to do more than survive is such a dream, to live a life that ...feels like the future & not like the end. to experience joy that isn’t thin. thiccc joy is the wild dream. do you ever wonder which descendants of yours will be your wildest dream. everything i write on social media always feels so@trite and performative but, thank god for my family and the color red
me getting eshes wig right i love how they’re sticking their tung out a little you’re so cute!
what do we say when no one is listening? what is the most pithy fucking thing i can get out my mouth. how can my words get as sharp as a cutco knife. i learned there are no words for someone who doesn’t listen. the most recent piece i’ve been working on is called “you will not receive this”. and although it’s a letter to my assailant, it’s really a fucking letter to myself and all survivors, an accusation & confrontation that proves i have a powerful voice. an angry voice. to give that voice space in a world that shames us and hurts us for being hurt. my angry letters. that’s all for us 1. Lorna Simpson 2. Aki Vander Laan 3. Barbara Kruger
hiiii i am cute and if y’all help a girl out and send me some funds i will not delete. myself or these photos :). bcs of some emergencies & lost gigs i am short on money. i’m not for writing sob stories to encourage folks to support my livelihood, just saying i could really use up to 200 for bills & my gratitude is very real!! i will be sending thank you letters. XO my venmo is @taylor-manigoult
here’s me about to eat brunch with my mom, who i really call mommy but not in an instagram post. sometimes it feels good to talk about the ways i’m not doing well in public, and i don’t know why, but i do know that i tell the truth so that we may not be alone. because we all feel pain, pain is ontological like having blood. but pity, fear of pain, masking it, is real too. i want to harness the compassion i give to others and turn it inward. there’s a difference in talking about what happened to me, and what imprint it left. where the salt fell into my wound. i knew a white girl once whose mother affirmed her own racism with an incident of being stabbed by a black boy when she was young. but she misunderstands what it means for some of us, whose wounds are centuries old. some of have ancestors upon ancestors who had the same bad thing happen to them again and again and we live in a place that continues to put salt in our ancient wounds and carry it everywhere we go. it makes us so heavy sometimes. but pain can bring us together- those of us who know and will tell the truth so that we may not be alone. i’ve just had a really emptying two weeks, and would like to stare lovingly in the eyes of anyone caught in cycles of abuse when we can tell the truth to each other. i’m exhausted from self pity, other people’s pity, the humiliation over feeling this human thing called pain. i have started a mailing list for monthly snail mail that if you read this far you may be interested in. it will include a little journaling & poetry, quotes, playlists, book recommendations, thoughts... just a way to stay tangibly connected. a news letter of my art & life. if you’re interested dm me.
oh ok 🎁
this is a collection of soil from the locations of where our people were lynched. and for each jar there is a name. this is an exhibit in the legacy museum/ i’m pulling up any inspiration i can for they found traces of me in the soil & becoming more full and connected from any effort to humanize our people who were brutally treated and murdered. we remember.
me and Monte are forever bonded bcs we shared D’Angelo as a daddy😋 i just wanted a caption that would’ve made monte (aka scenario joanz lmao) smile. happy birthday my eternal 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ⭐️
i’m 🌧 it’s such a heehaw world out here. 🙇🏾♀️ and not the good kind of heehaw. i try to look different when humans are not good to me., because sometimes i don’t even wanna be human. but...the truth is i’m just a gay-tl-alien. but not even really, because i’m from Pluto. too hot out here in Georgia. what i’m sweating for? what people keep calling me things that aren’t my name on the streets for? i’m going back home, we aliens sing and eat love. everyday is a prayer on Pluto. everyday is like a prayer, and jewelry, sunset and sunrise at the same time. my spaceship leaves at 10!
A Seat At the Table came out two years ago today. big ups to a fellow cancer poet who writes with the blood but also makes things so pretty. and honors herself. me two years ago. i was so new like a fall leaf but also had fallen and felt as if i could break at any moment. i lost my mind that month and that’s not half as bad as seems. i hurt so much i started singing like a tired 100 year old woman and it brought me to my guitar who is my muse today. barely any of them notable but i took self portraits whenever i could. i listened to that album every day