CT101 ReCap

In this ct101 course, this semester, I learned about claiming a domain, wordpress, and a bunch of cool photoshop skills that I could use to apply to projects and tasks. 

I believe I could earn a B+ or an A for this class because of the amount of work I put into the construction and ideation of my site. What I did to pull all of my creative work to essentially accomplishing my goal to create an experience of process and growth. My site is an extension of myself. 

With intended future maintenance of this site, it would display and give me an opportunity to work on my writing skills, and building skills on my familiarity with the adobe cloud which is a major goal of mine. You would be able to view and identify growth and process in how I would critique art works creating my own point of view, how I grow as a person through soon posting writing pieces and how I grow and the process in project management, as you’ll be able to see the in-between steps of my design and creative projects, instead of only seeing an end product. 

Then this process and maintenance will be how I would apply it to the real world, it could act as a unrefined holding place for my portfolio, when looking for an industry job it can show my process to the end product. 

A Letter to my younger self : Poem

I come from a cup of blood half full.

From a father that made happenings

Begin with nothings

A time, where he did haffi scrub his

Foot bottom pon stone back.

Big up di man

That invented ripped jeans

And wore them until

The thread couldn’t bandage broken wounds any more.

I get it now.

His wounds built my bones

Tears mounted to oceans

Taught me how to swim .

His hunger gave me feasts.

From a father that made happenings

begin with nothings.

My struggles are no dead language

I’m from time,

Where the words “Deal with it”

Waltzed across

Chewed at the name Elizabeth.

Threw stones at the name Breanna

Because it was never the right time

For this black girl to be “self-centered”

I’m from a time,

Where girls are shamed for the hair on their head

Mama: Poem

Mother have my tree roots

Flooding stories from her scalp.

Planted, in a warzone,

Was told it was harmless murder

Choked on shoveled water

Bounded to the devil

Beneath my feet

Slept in feathered silence

With railroad tracks

Being built against my spine.

Mothers crimson chin

Hushed bullets  to sleep,

Tapped tears from deserts.

When strange men

Wanted to love me

Took arrows to the head

Shooting down dying secrets

Barbed wire holding

Captive to my throat

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