LaLa's Abundance Fund!

Hi all!

My name is LaLa Drew, I am a poet, writer, activist, organizer, facilitator; and this is my Abundance Fund!

So much of my life has been spent moving from a space of fear and scarcity. A lack of resources has caused me to continually find myself in situations which do not serve my highest good, and in fact have been tremendously harmful. While I have learned a lot from each situation, I have made a commitment to myself to move from a space of abundance and possibility, instead of fear.

That is where you come in! Society conditions us to feel shame for asking for what we need, but as my therapist points out, shame is a low vibration emotion, it keeps us stuck and limited. I am moving through my feelings of shame to ask for your support, whether that is donating to my GoFundMe, sharing, or posting to your social media page. Anything you can do is greatly appreciated!

I am moving through several really hard things right now; housing insecurity, mental health, loss, grief, and chronic pain, abound in my personal life. As I witness what is playing out in my community, the nation, and the world at large, these things are only exacerbated. It is true that money does not buy happiness, however access to resources greatly improves quality of life, mental health, and possibility!

I have a lot of dreams, there are so many things i want to achieve with my writing, poetry, and with my organizing. In order to be able to fully show up for myself, I need to have security, and safety.

Abundance helps with that!

I truly appreciate anything you can do to support me in this endeavor. Below, I have some samples and links to my work. Take a look!

Thank you for reading!

Be blessed,

LaLa

Pecola

The seeds on the trees in front of my building are just trying to get over. Just trying to blow far enough to make it to fertile ground. These seeds just want a chance to germinate and root and become like their mother. Instead, it is all they can do to avoid pavement, to nestle between brick or stone, planted there by someones with two hands, two feet, and little regard for the aspirations of seeds.

Tell me about your God

My god looks like the stars

expanding reaching exploding

into ordered chaos

raining havoc & beauty

down from what we call

space & sky

my god is the wind

barely blowing stiff dark coils

as sun beats down upon brown blistered back

my god is Black

like onyx

like obsidian

she rages like waves on the sea

flows as river from stream

my god is the soil I dig my toes into

the seed I plant & water

with my bitter blood and salted tears

my god is the decay feeding the carrion

the slugs that dig the earth

she is the seed which cracks

& shoot that grows

blossoms & gives everlasting life

my god is ugly

my god is infinity

my god is me

she is the curve of my lover's hip

the tremble of my lower lip

telling me

I. am. the One.

Lilac

For a long time I equated being good with being silent

I was told to hold contradictions in my mouth

speak up but stay silent

speak up when you have something to say,

but don’t say the truth don’t speak your fear

speak so you can be heard:

I have a rage inside me which has yet to find its limit

it crawls up my back, claws out my eyes and

spills from my mouth I war with everyone around me

words ripping//eyes tearing the way through my day

I dropped a bottle of perfume

My grandmother gave it to me when I was a child

it smells strong like lilac and it stained the tapestry

I can’t help the smell

and the bottle I kept safe for years is now gone

like the woman who gave it to me

and is that a sign or just a bottle or a combination of the two

a reminder from the ancestors not to forget them,

telling me, sometimes bottles break

when what’s inside needs to be let out

Untitled

We are being eased into our new dystopia

scenes of the most fantastical sci fi show

no longer distinguishable from reality

these are the early days

where a voice over takes the audience back

to when society first noticed a shift

calling back to the now wise minorities who

knew the breaking was coming

saw all of this written on the walls

of caves they had huddled in for shelter

before they were driven out

by the all knowing majority:

breakers of the world

sitting in board rooms clouded

full of cigars and lined with underage whores

because that’s what they call them

because that’s how they see them

like underage and whore are not a contradiction

like being sold is their fault

children stolen from lives and homes

penalized for being poor and

neglected and trapped inside a system that

denies what is in the mirror

writes off the image because distortion

is comfort, clarity is threatening

NPR dances circles around madness

weaving sparse elements of humanity

into this story we are all actors in

who will emerge the hero?

how long will this breaking go on?

will we come out unchanged?

will we remain the same?

tune in next week to find out.

Puddle

I am curious how deep you are

When I catch the light just right

I can almost see into your depths

Your bottom is murky, and rocky - I suspect

Though I don't dare dip my foot in to check

Last time my foot got stuck

Trapped in the icky cakey muck

There are bugs skittering along your surface

Occasionally they climb over twigs and leaves

I wonder how dense you feel to them

Sometimes their legs swim rapidly,

others they seem motionless

Gently gliding along

I dip in a finger

you are warm and wet

I lay my palm down, letting you dampen my skin

A raindrop lands on my hand and the sky opens up

I hear the house calling, time to go in

Touching my foot to your surface,

I let my weight fall

to see what you feel like and

Say a proper hello

or maybe goodbye

Nothing is forever, that is the nature of things

I doubt we’ll see one another again,

The sun will no doubt bring you to an end

in the morning when it rises again,

I'm sorry this meeting must come to an end

Good night,

It was lovely to meet you

Dear watery, ephemeral friend

Links:

https://www.autostraddle.com/culture-of-resistance-tending-the-garden-ending-grind-culture/

https://archives.weru.org/poetry-express/2021/03/poetry-express-3-28-21-untitled-by-lala-drew/

https://digitalcommons.usm.maine.edu/querying_ohproject/64/

https://www.conwaydailysun.com/users/profile/ldrew/