strength a burden black women have worn since they were stolen, trafficked, and sold as enslaved laborers.
Tag: Women
In This Here AFTER
Today I stood in the full body mirror attached to my closet. I stared at my belly and my hips for full minutes in disbelief before huffing out a joke at my own expense to no one, Girl. You need to get it together. You looking like one of them ‘Before‘ pictures on Instagram! I…
You Need To Stop Playing and Go Buy You a Bikini! #NoMoreMomSuits
Stop believing the advertisers. They lying to you. I know this because they also lie to me. That print copy was meant to get you to buy that ugly swimsuit by feeding into the running narrative that once you’ve dropped a kid or more your body is no longer desirable and therefore, should be hidden.
self preservation, love, and why you should fight for you
fearfree living is the profound principle that you have a right to care for the you you claim.
when your to-do list includes bread, laundry soap and a blog domain
it didn’t occur to me that my businesses failed because i didn’t plan for their success. hmm…that applies to a lot of things, doesn’t it?
gravitational collapse or a star is born
reluctantly schooled in the art of fragile male care she is undone by the smallness of a life given over to dishes laundry and the incessant lego shuffle with infantile steps she unclothes the first layer of subjugation not yet naked she begins to see a glimmer of who she might have been had she…
deliver us from evil: an epigram for modern times
raw reality, a fist slamming into my temple forces me awake. sleep, a drug of solace pulls me out of the nightmare into the fortress of my mind. stable condition. stable. condition. a massacre’s sole survivor; on the battle front of her basement. her children slaughtered before bloodshot eyes. what greater torture is this? prostrate a preference over…
a memory: untitled
are you sisters dancers, an innocent enough inquiry and had we the decency of dancers we may have left him his dignity in response indecency, however, is the occupation of poets so we in synchronized sonnet pounced dripping iambic pentameter across his abdomen like a procession of candle wax our minds weapons of mass destruction…
for my sistren, a poem
we were magnificence woman warriors armed with words piercing souls healing our own babes in tow men in awe imperfect with our flaws spewing necessary vulnerabilities a revolution in our bosom nectar sipping goddesses shat stereotypes spake stories over rip whiskey and dangling cigars sisters in arms poets, we are.
how poetry saved me from being just another ‘angry black woman’ or why i write
there was a time in my life when i was a hothead. and we’re talking the whole screaming profanities, fist drawn, feet shoulder distance apart, knees slightly bent, shoulders squared, ready to pounce and destroy rage filled angry. my primary trigger: someone i cared about was threatened or harmed. if you threatened to touch a…
fearfree living 