By: Lei’Lani J.
At 16, I’m still figuring out who I am and where I fit in this world, but one thing’s for sure: when you get the chance to interview a legend like Tim’m West, you listen. You listen with your heart, with your future in mind, and with the full intention to soak in every bit of wisdom someone like him offers. Tim’m. He’s not just titles. He's the truth. He’s tenderness. He’s tough love when we need it most.
Poet. Educator. Activist. Musician. Author. Executive Director of the LGBTQ+ Institute at the National Center for Civil and Human Rights. Tim’m West is a walking masterclass in what it means to live out loud and love harder, especially when the world doesn’t always make it easy.
From the jump, Tim’m made it clear: writing is his core. But it’s never just been about pretty words on a page. For him, it’s always been about impact. “James Baldwin, Maya Angelou, and Nikki Giovanni weren't just writers, they were change-makers,” he told me. “So if I have this gift, why not use it to help people think?”
That intention flows through everything he does from his poetry and hip-hop to his youth mentorship and HIV advocacy. But what stood out most to me wasn’t just how Tim’m moves through the world. It’s why he does it.
He shared deeply personal parts of his journey like his suicide attempt at 16 and testing positive for HIV at 26 and how surviving that pain made him into the man he is today. “My younger self would probably be shocked,” he said, “like, ‘Wow, you actually made it. You’re doing well.’” There was such a softness in his voice as he said it. Not pride in the flashy sense, but in the humble, hard-won way. The kind you earn.
We talked about everything activism, DEI (that’s Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion for the people in the back), identity, and how Black queer voices are often left out of conversations they helped build. “Can we really tell the story of our activism as a people if we leave out the LGBTQ+ folks who were literally at the frontlines?” he asked. The answer is obvious but so many still refuse to say it out loud.
He reminded me of Bayard Rustin, a gay man who organized the March on Washington, but who got pushed to the sidelines because of his sexuality. Tim’m broke that all the way down: “It’s like someone saying, ‘I’ll take your Blackness, but not that woman stuff.’ It’s all connected.”
One of my favorite parts during our interview was when he talked about how Black people have always used music, poetry, and creative expression as a way to cope, to protest, and to thrive. “Sometimes, we don’t even have words for what we’re feeling,” he said. “That’s when we hum. That’s when we dance. That’s when we create.” It reminded me that even in the pain, we find rhythm.
When I asked what advice he has for youth trying to find their voice in justice work, his answer hit hard. “Do your research. Know who came before you. And don’t be afraid to ask for a mentor,” he said. And no lie; that was a word. Because sometimes we wait on someone to notice us, when really we just gotta ask.
The last portion of our interview was all about joy, because let’s be real activism without joy is burnout waiting to happen. When I asked what keeps him grounded, he said two things: eating (because yes, food is life) and taking walks on the Atlanta BeltLine. “Sometimes we’ve got such a toxic relationship with food, but it’s okay to enjoy things,” he said. “The way we think about food even affects how our bodies process it.”
By the end of our interview, I felt something shift. Like, I came in as a student, but I left feeling seen. Empowered. With a whole new blueprint for how I wanna show up in the world loud, intentional, and full of love.
So yeah, Tim’m West isn’t just inspiring. He’s necessary. And this generation? We’re lucky to have him guiding us, lifting us, and reminding us that we deserve to take up space authentically, unapologetically, and joyfully.
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