That’s it. That’s the blog.
That’s it. That’s the blog.
There’s something about wearing headphones in the sex shop that informs how you navigate the space. Pasty-white mannequins with bad wigs and flat asses dot the storefront that houses shit that’ll remind you single life ain’t that bad.
My particular brand of natural hair has always been a battleground for me long before I was aware. Within my strands laid power and animosity, strength and fragility, gainful employment and reprimands. In losing so much, I’ve gained an understanding of myself as defined as my multitextured curls. I am loose and tight, bound and strong, moisturized and never dry.
Grab your pussy and tell her thank you for the lessons. Apologize for the neglect. Speak to and acknowledge the trauma. She’s ready to spill tea, open you up to deep pleasure and be the beacon to lead you to your greatness.
Last night I broke in my writing teacher shoes. Kristen excitedly told me that I “am officially a teaching artist!”. Imagine your soul hitting the book-lined roof. Imagine looking back at the months of throwing away pages, rage qutting and starting over again. Imagine the culmination feeling like this.
There is no “sorry” in your self-redemption. You take up space and so do your tears.
Give it up for the queens with Qs in their names. We can never seem to hear our names right, and when I first met NaQuetta, I made a point to pronounce her name properly and let her know, “sis, same.”
I, a former indoctrinated prude, by definition of wayward ash-hats and the ever-changing scope of Twitter politics, would now fall under the jurisdiction of hoe. And by the power invested in me by the charge of my vibrator, I now pronounce me heaux for life.
They both are magnetic magic, making up two halves of a nurturing whole.
“We’re cousins now”, I remember saying awkwardly and she didn’t laugh me off. Years later after losing touch for a bit, we’ve become family.
We began chatting and I quickly learned her personality and sense of humor are not for the faint of heart. She’s the type who keeps you on your toes with sarcasm, quick wit with a dash of honest humility.
Once the smoke cleared from her ears, she began to cuss me out, asking me how am I running so many businesses while hiding behind my gifts and threatening me not to add another thing. She did all this with a smile and level of warmth only an auntie and/or your fave big cousin can muster.
Read what happens when you stare off into the middle distance during a Friday commute.
I’m an unrepentant biblophile who buys books, splays them across my bed and rolls around in the literary score.
I had a lot to own up to while also reversing the turmoil handed to me. Plenty of bags were dropped back where they belonged, and for once I didn’t apologize to them for me being so fuckwitable. Being a people-pleaser, agreeable, kind to a fault, will FUBAR you into oblivion
Have you ever felt a longing for something you’ve never had? Had pieces of your heart slipped so deeply past the surface they somehow hold you together? That’s how I’ve felt this week, only I didn’t realize it until now. I think I'm experiencing symptoms of a broken heart.
Somewhere in the beginnings of my journey, I told myself I deserved this pain and treatment, so i stopped doing anything about it. I let chips fall and cried later.
We have to end the narrative that struggle love is the only way to know love, that unconditional love is a backdoor means to inflict harm, that we must carry everything and everyone on our backs to be deemed worthy of love.
“How can I, a real human person with mental ashiness, possibly help and affect others whilst looking like I beat the final boss flawlessly? Do I have to? Who told me I had to? How can I seek and save the broken while being broken myself? Somebody messed up the guest list. I don’t belong in this space. Someone will find out I’m a fraud soon. Because I can’t be both broken and healing.”