My time here is borrowed. For me, birthdays are melancholy and nostalgic, but do they signify freedom? Do you honor the arbitrary, yet real idea of milestone born years? I like to perceive of the day I was born as a nod to my past and a hopeful smile towards my future. To look back on the day you were brought into this physical world is quite daunting. To have seen the most troubling and the most radiant times, yet you’re still here.

Alive. Breathing. Gasping. Gagging. Wading. Soaring.

I am slowly peeling back the meaning and purpose of visions from our heart’s desire as they continually keep you awake in the midnight hour. I feel adorned in the fullest even though my life is not perfect. I am adorned in the cotton that my ancestors picked because I feel their trauma and resilience through my DNA. I am adorned in the pink roses my Big Momma tended to in her urban garden of Compton, California because I stood right beside her shoveling over the dirt to sprout new growth. I am adorned with filigree because of the friends and family of today and days gone by that adhere me to my soul.

When I made this crown, I wanted to wear it as an homage to the makings of me. I don’t know if when I wore it for the first time I truly believed I was capable of embodying its symbolism. I’m still uncertain today, but I wear it invisibly, though the flowers have long since perished. In the words of Aloe Blacc, “All this time I was finding myself and didn’t know I was lost.” And like my ancestors who waded their way through the dark southern woods in search of freedom, clutching tightly to their torches and lamps, I also seek that thing: liberation.

And if they ask you what I call it, tell them I call it Kerosene.

Call me Kerosene.