Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Platinum Edition.

Bey is releasing the Platinum edition of her self-titled 5th studio album BEYONCE this month on November 24, 2014. And I am very excited. I need new music. I'm glad she is getting back to releasing a DVD for Thanksgiving. I need to see the MCSWT on TV though. It's only right.

Monday, October 27, 2014

Shameful Curves

I have been groomed to be ashamed of my body.

For as long as I remember, my body was sexualized by men- young & old. I was taught that I had to cover up because men could not control themselves and I was doing something to entice them.

Then as I grew older I realized that it became more of a race issue. Lets go back to the years 2004-2007. My High School Years. When my rebellious fire became lit from within.

There was a silly dress code that said that all shorts, skirts, culottes - what have you must at least be fingertip length. Simple right? Wrong. This began a series of unfortunate events. I remember wearing skirts ALL the time.. because I loved them. And I was harassed every single time. One day I was forced to stand outside in the hallway while two caucasian teachers debated if my skirt was long enough. I stood tall & proudly extended my arms down the length of my torso until they stopped a centimeter or two above the hem of my skirt. It was fingertip length. There shouldn't be any problems, right? Wrong. "Well look at the back" said one caucasian teacher. "It looks shorter back here." "Yea, I know its fingertip length but it just doesn't look appropriate." "Yea.. you shouldn't be allowed to wear this again." Wait what? You mean because I have a little butt back there and long legs, the rules don't apply to me? So you're really telling me-- a straight A student who never causes any disruptions in class that certain clothes look inappropriate on her EVEN though they were well within dresscode? Hmmmm.... And I'd see white girls wear even shorter skirts and no one barely made a peep. Why? Because they generally didn't have an ass. Oh but excuse me for being black. Shaming my curves before I even had REAL ones.

The same thing happens today. Black women at my job are told AS SOON as we walk in the door for training that it is in our best interest to buy a smock or kill guard to cover our bodies so that we aren't showing the offenders our bodies. White women don't have to. No one tells them that they should wear smocks. Funny that even at 26 I have the same problems with my damn curves. Crazy that I actually wouldn't mind wearing a smock but just because I have an ok shape, I must cover it up because it is attractive to men. Forget the fact that I am a woman and most men who haven't seen a woman in years would be attracted to my ass.. No. You have hips and an ass. Cover it up. Really??? Ok.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014


Some days I don't want to live anymore. Some days I wish I could just end it all so that I will no longer have to deal with this pain. Some days I want to die. In a tragic way. Just quick and easy. No suffering. Then I realize that probably no one would miss me. And that hurts.

You're supposed to be so strong. You have so much potential wasting away. Well, what if I were no longer here? I wouldn't have to deal with those pressures anymore.

Every day getting out of bed is a struggle. Every day I know that I will suffer. Every single day.

I have thought of many ways that I could end it all. I have thought of countless ways to no longer be here.
But then I think, "Do I really want to die? Then what...?"

The uncertainty of death is the only thing that keeps me alive I think. The final act of selfishness of the selfless soul...

I cant.

If only I cared about myself as much as I do others. It's embarrassing to admit that suicide was a consideration when things were too much to handle.

I need help.

Never ask for it though.

No one would believe you anyhow. They'd just send you to church in front of people who only have a book to save you... but no plan. Just "pray" they say. And then what? Will I magically be saved from myself? Nope. I tried it all. I talked it out. I tried it all. I prayed. Nothing happened. What do you do when God stops listening? Nobody is listening.

I just feel so alone. And I just want someone to be around me. And they aren't.

And I end up settling for just any old body because I don't want to be alone. And I hate myself after I finally realize I don't want that near me so I make them leave.

And it hurts. My body is trying to tell me that I'm doped up too much. But I never listen.

Monday, September 22, 2014


What are you searching for?
I don’t know anymore. Everything that I thought that I wanted has turned out to be worthless. Everything that I thought that I needed I’ve learned to live without. The one thing that I thought was keeping me alive is the very thing that I need to kill to survive. Love? Fuck it. We go our whole lives searching for ONE person to complete us when all the while to path to total completion lies within ourselves. The thing about love is that you shouldn’t search for your other half. No one should be half of anything. You need to find someone who makes you better. Love should make you better.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

My Curves Are Enticing

My life has been a bit of crazy as of late and today I finally had alone time to sit down and write about something that has been plaguing my mind as of late. 

The Rape Culture. 

It's alarming how many people believe that women who are raped are asking for it. Based on your appearance, you are enticing men and these men shouldn't be punished for acting on instinct! 

Wait. What? 

Yes. My body and the way I walk or talk is enticing to men so if one were to touch me without my consent, it's my fault and not his. 

How can people think this way? A few months ago, I fell asleep at my (former) friend's house. I wore an oversized Huntsville Hornets Basketball tshirt and baggy maroon sweats. I slept on an air mattress in the corner of her living room covered in my plush pink blanket.  I was awakened by something or someone rubbing on my thigh/butt while I slept. Now, everyone who knows me will tell you that I HATE to be disturbed in my sleep. So for about 10seconds I really thought "why is someone rubbing me? I'm not at home and I didn't spend the night with my #bae". I slowly rolled over to see my friend's boyfriend as the person who was touching me in my sleep. I look him in the eyes and to my surprise he keeps on running his hands over the whole circumference of my ass-- in a very creeperish manner. I ask him "what the fuck are you doing?" And he stops. Runs to the opposite end of the room and pretends like nothing happened and continued to play his rented play station. 

Now that's all I will reveal of that story because the other details piss me off. 

I felt violated. I sought counsel from an unbiased 3rd party after I told my friend and she basically said that she didn't believe me because her boyfriend said he was trying to get something that fell on me in my sleep-- and after going off and being labeled dramatic. The guy said "Well you do have a big butt so I mean are you sure you didn't entice him?" Basically because of my body type I should be okay with guys touching me without my consent. I should be raped because somehow the way my body is shaped is attractive to these savage men, and by nature a man cannot control his desires. 

Is this what we are teaching our children? As a woman I should remain covered up and be ashamed of my body because my curves are enticing to men. 

Why are we not teaching young boys to grow up to be respectful and protective of women? Why are we teaching them that rape is essentially ok? Why are we teaching them that they don't have to respect a woman and her body? 

So blame it on me. If my hips weren't so wide, my behind so shapely and boobs so perky, I wouldn't have to deal with a guy being so enticed by my body that he cannot stop his urges to touch me inappropriately. My lips covered in Riri Woo is sending off the signal that I'm willing to kiss anyone. My eyes seduced the man so much that regardless of what my red tinted lips screamed, he still felt compelled to rip my dress off me. My hands punched at him; I kicked and tried to push him off of me but he easily overpowered me and my efforts to protect myself from him were in vain. And even though I fought so hard he ignored my cries for him to stop as his hands pried my legs apart and enjoyed what was between them because he knew what my body wanted. Ignoring the tears that streamed down from those eyes he felt seduced him; the pain became his joy. Ignoring the screams of "No" and "Please stop" were reduced to screams of joy and he heard YES. The hands that punched and legs that kicked to keep him off of me were just me playing hard to get because he knew what I wanted and my body was his.