When I saw Camille’s “Home” at BUTTER this year, I knew it was absolute magic. How many times had my mom braided my hair exactly like that? And haven’t I always had my head somewhere in the stars? Wasn’t that shade of purple just the exact same as the color of my spirit? I swore I could feel the hand-me-down jeans and dirt on my knees from my kid-days.
I kept returning to sit in front of this painting because I was looking at who I had been and who I hoped to be, all at once. I let myself breathe, and remember without shame. I opened my hands, my heart, to embrace what I have known about myself all along and what I’m still learning how to live out. I don’t have to live up to anything, I just have to give myself room to be.
That was Home’s message to me—and the title of this painting is nothing short of divine messaging. I learned early on that the only home I have is my own skin and bones. That’s a harsh and lonely reality, when my body is constantly failing me. But my spirit is warmed, lifted, strengthened by knowing there are those who embrace me. (I can even be one of them!)
It’s not just tired muscles and weary bones that’s home anymore. It’s art, it’s music, it’s laughter. It’s stars and sunsets and stories and silliness. So many of the pieces at BUTTER spoke to me of dreaming, of becoming, of imagining. That blend of present reality and what was yet in reach grounded me, reconnecting me again to all I hope to achieve with my art and writing.
When I asked Camille if I could write a poem based on Home, she gave an enthusiastic yes. When I sent her the final draft, her response to it was exactly how I felt looking at her work. (Like I said: magic!) Hard-Headed DayDreams is for all those kids out there, regardless of age, who feel there’s something that’s theirs to do. Maybe you don’t know how yet, maybe you’re even in the middle of figuring out what, but the why is obvious: you were made for this.
Hard-Headed DayDreams
i never expected grass-stain green
would come back to me, warm
and inviting like a dome light
in the back seat. i used to think
mud on my jeans made me cooler
than other girls who stayed indoors.
i showed i was tough enough
to take a hit with a grin. imagine—
here i am now, soft and full
of gratitude and care i didn’t know
would be something i’d give myself,
one day. let alone accepting kindness
from anyone else without having to
earn it. taking up space always felt
like a crime, except when i looked
to the night sky: inhaling a divine
calling i had no idea how to heed.
years later and i still draft my best work
when all my fear and faith unwinds
between stars whose light reaches far
beyond their lifetimes. i’m always searching
the Black expanse of ghosts above, struggling
to honor what don’t stay buried because
it’s living in, counting on me to breathe
the story into another’s holy being.
Spirit speak. as it was told
to you, show it now to me.
but mysteries shan’t be revealed
on command. i’ve learned to revere
the silence between seven and seventeen
and twenty-seven years old, shivering
at the little one’s hand i now hold.
you can still love them. you can
still be proud of your heartfelt dreams.
look at you—sitting on my shoulder,
confident as ever. always did talk
a big game, drive a hard line, dig
your heels in like a dog: loyal too,
purposeful as the power in anything
you ever did and never knew how
to claim. let’s do this next part together,
without having to prove a g#damn thing.
clap once if you’re ready to see who
we’ll become, loving and learning
how we each see the world.
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