Welcome to my Small Corner of Sarcasm, Depression, and Vulnerability

Dear Newbies,

I am alive, and I live in a beautiful city. That mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between summer and winter is my favorite time of year. Chilly air, whistling wind, and rain that smells like memories.

Sometimes, I like to lie awake at night listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops on my roof. Sometimes, the sky is so clear that I can see the far blue edge of forever behind distant suns. Sometimes, I see little shooting stars out of the corner of my eyes like falling glitter. Sometimes, I think if we lived to be 200–300 years…


On The Nature of Time and What It Means to Live

Time is predictable. Constant and cyclical. We’re born, we live, we die. For most of our history, this didn’t surprise us. Humans lived by the sun and the seasons. We recognized that the sunrise and the sunset were the same entity. We didn’t just smell the flowers. We planted seeds, watched them germinate, tended them as they grew, and saw them wilt and decay. Over and over. Birth, Life, Death. We were intimately acquainted with all three.

In the early 21st century, we set out to define and standardize that cycle. We measured it, and created notches and signposts throughout…


Humans Weren’t Made to Suffer, Be Selfish, and Die.

When I was small, the empty lot down the street grew a jungle of weeds that filled with fireflies every summer. I’d scamper past the decripit houses in a long-past decripit neighborhood with my siblings to watch them glow and twinkle on and off. I don’t remember us catching them in a jar a la one of the quintessential Midwestern childhood experiences. I don’t think we ever did.

We’d hold them in our hands, giggle when they landed on our elbows, and ran through the weeds to watch them all rise up around like flickering dandelion wishes. I haven’t seen…


When Allyship Hits The Wall, We’re Not Surprised

*Cracks knuckles*

First things first. If you read this title then fixed your face to comment any variation of “I don’t need forgiveness” or “This divisiveness is why the country’s a mess” or even “If you made these generalizations about any other group, blah, blah, blah”, just stop. Power down your computer, go sit in the grass, and watch the clouds. They’re fluffy, white, and full of air. You’ll love them.

Let’s get into it.

I saw the largest civil rights movement last year. Protests and parades amidst a pandemic that sought to fight the equally dangerous and not-even-that-subtly-hidden virus…


We are the forest.

April 11, 2011. I’ve biked two towns over on a stolen sense of adventure. The wind shoves my hair into my eyes as I pretend I’m riding a galloping horse. Homes get further and further apart. My phone is in my dorm room, currently being blown up, but I feel six hours away.

My legs have been begging me to stop moving since 20 minutes into this ride, but I urge them on. “It’s been a long time coming, but I know a change gonna come.”


I Have All The Questions

I opened Medium this morning and almost couldn’t believe I had an influx of new readers. I’ve always assumed my little corner of sarcasm, vulnerability, and depression wouldn’t “sell”, and I’d get to pour out my soul without waking any of the neighbors. Nevertheless, I’m 67% okay that I’ve stopped using a fake name and the third picture that popped up on Google when I searched ‘hipster girl’.

I know opening myself up to other people is an exposure that opens me up to wholeness. Wholeness, despite what the word implies, is not about being complete to me. Rather, wholeness…


Tales from the Other Side of “Pulling Yourself Up By Your Bootstraps”

“Mention universal basic income one more time, and they’ll have our heads on a stick.”

“It’s the truth.”

“They don’t care. At this point, I don’t care.”

“I’m not going to stand up there and pretend that our system is the best way of doing things when it clearly isn’t.”

College debate circa 2010. Let me set the stage. There’s twenty of the most brilliant and repressed students I’ve met here crowded into an economics classroom. As a just-turned-seventeen-homeschooled-black-girl from the inner-city, I am a cluster of contradictions on this campus, but one thing is certain. I’m not supposed to…


Old Friends, Real Friends, and Giving Space

I’ve been given 3 nicknames in my life. One was a song by my mother. (meea-miyah-pizza-piea-ria) I’ve done the full loop from love it!-embarrassed by it-to indifferent-right on back to love. The second I will never share, and the third that’s frequently used by friends and family is ninja. Sidenote: all of these tech companies with ninja in their name sound like they were made by 12-year-olds, and I’ll stick by that till I die.

Unfortunately, the nickname wasn’t given for any combat ability or skills. …


Laughter Will Save Your Soul

The rebellion will come with a laugh. A full-throated, hearty, goose-honk of a laugh. Snorts and all. Laughter is defiant. More obstinate than a fist. Reminds us why we’d raise a fist in the first place.

The first place I went after my vaccination was a ‘Black-and-Asian-Solidarity’ event in the thick of the city. Stories were told, tears were shed, plans were made. I left feeling lighter than I had in weeks. The next day, I went to a park where a group of black friends had dressed as fairies-actual, mythological fairies with wings and horns and crowns-and laughed until…


My lungs wake me with a gasp in the morning at least twice a year, and even before coronavirus, that was an unpleasant sensation. I was never told that no matter how much sleep feels like death, I am not dying. Is that why I am so surprised to wake up every morning intact? Waking up, at times, feels like coming back from the dead. It’s painful, uncomfortable, the lights are too harsh, and half the time I can’t breathe. Hands are wrapped around my lungs squeezing. …

Miyah Byrd

Hipster. Hooligan. Writer. Wanderer. Sad AF, but you'll learn some things.

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