This is how I look without make-up...

..it has been a while, years even, since I last listened to Erykah Badu's Mama's Gun. This album was the soundtrack for the summer of 2001. I can see Kem, Shannon and I, all bohemian fly girled out, headed to the Baltimore Harbor to see E. Badu and the Midget with the Blue Jumpsuit on (aka Music Soulchild). In any case, while in Memphis, I jacked the album from Courtney and downloaded it to my iPod. Well, somewhere between Memphis and Gallatin, I rediscovered the song Cleva as the words spoke to me in new ways. It spoke to me in ways that it had not—could not have—spoken to me when I was 25 years old. I would dare to say the song ministered to me. 

As I've grown older, I have come to love myself more—so-called flaws and all. Last week, Courtney tried to comment on my blog several times. It didn't work, so she ended up telling me what she was going to write. It was something about the beauty in being naked (vulnerable). So often, I (we) put on--clothes, make-up, and masks. Sometimes we put them on to attract others. Sometimes we put them on because we are afraid others will not love our authentic selves. Sometimes we put them on because we, ourselves, are afraid to face our own selves. Well, what I recognized is that for me to attract others, I need to present my naked self, my without make-up and masks self, my unencumbered self. 

I used to think I had to be (or get) perfect before anyone would love me. I worked out like crazy. I even wore my contact lenses to appear less smart. I tried to hide my quirkiness. Well, these days, I'm good with who I am: thick. I've got thick thighs, thick glasses, and thick hair (even in places women don't want hair to grow). But I'm clever with a camera and words. And, I'm alright with me. Are you alright with you?"  If not, I dare you to let E. Badu minister to you...

This is how I look without makeup
And with no bra my ninny's sag down low
My hair ain't never hung down to my shoulders
And it might not grow
Ya' never know

But I'm clever when I bust a rhyme
I'm cleva always on ya' mind
She's cleva and I really wanna grow
But why come you're the last to know?

I got a little pot in my belly
So now a days my figure ain't so fly
My dress ain't cost nothin' but seven dollars 
But I made it fly
And I'll tell ya why

But I'm clever when I bust a rhyme
I'm cleva always on ya' mind
She's cleva and I really wanna grow
But why come I'm the last to know?

Alright, alright, alright
Alright, alright, alright
Alright, alright, alright
Alright, alright, alright yeah

Alright with me
Said that I'm alright with me
Said that I'm alright with me
Said that I'm alright with me
Said that I'm alright with me
Said that I'm alright with me

(Self-Portrait 2009 of what I think is one of my best features)