28 Hours

At 10pm, last night, I sat up afraid. Afraid that one conversation + one date would lead to 2am dives into the deep waters of feelings. At 2am, I fought the many thoughts of your words, your eyes, your skin. Suppressing and suffocating feelings. I carried that fear into the morning, avoiding the urge to call, to text, search for your image. You lingered in my mind through the afternoon and, in the evening, I fought you. I fought me. But...24 hours later a man that fits your description lay on a slab of concrete 18 hours away and I realized... I wasted 28 hours being afraid of you. Afraid of you when every 28 hours, those who protect and serve take breath and blood from fits of your description. In 28 hours, you could resemble the broad illustration and they could take you away. I have no time to waste. Maybe, if you're laying in my arms, the 28th hour will pass you by. Maybe one more conversation + one more date could save 2 lovers, locked inside a war zone, giving us another 28 to love, to save, to build. It's 2am...and I'm jumping off the deep end. I can't bear to lose another 28. Kandake

Thoughts of a [future] Black Academe (while doing homework)...

As I sit and flip through pages of prose I always wonder why? Why am I doing this? I know that I could very easily be working, making money, and living life like other 27 year olds I know. I could travel and shop like I wanted to, I could settle down and create generations, and begin to make my stamp -- a true and natural stamp -- on this Earth. My mind begins to drag me to another place, one at the intersection of agency and responsibility.

Agency is... Great! Who wouldn't want the capacity to make choices for themselves about everything? I go and do as I please, buy what I like, cook my favorite things, and the list goes on. Me, KENNY, makes his own decisions. Agency is awesome; a real part of growing up. So why is this such a tough corner to work alone? With agency comes a lot of power. Agency's grasp is strong enough to pull me from my ordained steps from the omnipotent father, because I do what I want to do. Period. I'm grown! TF!? But on the corner of agency, sweet, free agency, there is a huge mirror of reality that shows you what life could be; it shows you the corner of responsibility.

Responsibility is... Humbling. I'm rocking the corner of agency, because that corner has more traffic -- the REAL fun is in agency's corner. That's where the people are! Travel, drinks, fun! They're over there where I can choose to do what I want to! I gaze across at responsibility and the corner is empty. Eerily empty, and no one wants to yield their agency to agencies -- agencies that take your money, control your amenities, and limit your agency. The corner of responsibility is a choice, a choice that while it may batter your agency, won't kill your agency. This intersectionality of agency and responsibility lends itself to one side, although paradoxically. This intersection is about the agency to be responsible.

Now responsibility isn't just making the "right" choices for yourself; it's deeper than that. When I speak of responsibility, I do understand making choices, but the superficiality of that denotation is implicit. Everyone thinks of responsibility in the same way, at least in initial word association. When I say responsibility, I mean deeper systemic ideas that I feel a desire to fulfill. When I think of responsibility I'm thinking of the "sixty million and more" from Beloved's epigraph, people who knew agency in a bustling Africa, but were enslaved because of someone else's "responsibility?" I'm doing it for "the struggle, and every bad doing brotha, sista, daddy, and motha, living in the gutta"; I'm doing it for

"Deshawn, Eshlawn, Lil Mama, and her friends.

Lisa, Teresa, Maria, Tia, Lia and Kim.

I love y'all broads, no disrespect to my dogs,

But I love y'all broads, yea I love y'all broads!

To the ladies havin’ babies without no drama;

To my niggas with figgas say I love my baby momma."

You see, my agency is a responsibility to those who couldn't do it. Those who fought for civil rights, but didn't live to see the "progress" that we've made. Those who marched in hard-soles, fitted-suits, shirts and ties so that I could choose whether or not to attend an HBCU, HWCU, or PWI to be educated. I'm doing this for those who can't: my brothas  Trayvon, Mike, Oscar, Freddie, Emmett, Eric, Kimani, Kendrec, Timothy, Ervin, Amadou, Sean, Victor, Alonzo, Wendell... I'm doing this for my little brothas who can: Avoned, Anthony, Charles, Douglas, Howard, Seth, Ernest; the 32 G.E.N.T.S., 33 D.E.G.R.E.E.S., and 37 P.R.O.B.L.E.M.S.; the thousands more who need role models.

So when I sit and flip through Clarissa or Corregidora, I realize that my agency is my responsibility. Navigating the waters to academia is arduous, but I know that my agency to chose my responsibility over my popularity, and seeing those young black minds and big, beautiful brown (and hazel, and green, and sometimes blue) eyes looking at me for instruction, has done me well; has made their struggles matter; has made God pleased. 

King LJ

[061215]

Unapologetically Black.

What's up, though?

"That bitch pissed me off!" Why? “Idk! I just don’t like that bitch!” Oh.

"I don’t like that hoe!" What happened? “Idk what she got goin on, but I ain’t like the way she looked at me!” Well.. Ok.

"All these bitches is dumb as hell!" Why you say that? “Cuz! This shit is wrong! But they don’t listen!” So… Hmm…

"That is NOT GONNA WORK.. OMG" Why not? “That doesn’t make any sense!” But…

"Bruh.. This shit is for the birds." What? “All this shit, man.” Oh ok.

You know what grinds my gears? NEGATIVITY. PESSIMISM. Why the hell are you so pressed about everything? I’m a firm believer that in life you get out what you put in… In every facet. If you remain negative and spew pessimistic energy, you will reap a negative harvest in your life. Furthermore, what way is that to live? Your close-minded attitude is somewhat oppressive: you affect everyone around you in ways unimaginable. When you end up alone, your negative thoughts will probably consume you, a fate I’d wish not on my worst enemy. However, as the old folks say, if you make your bed hard you have to lie in it.

Do me a favor: miss me with the negativity. It takes nothing to cut you off. Be positive, be cognizant, be better.

Kenny J. [8112014]

How to "Get Your Life"... For Dummies.

Step One: Go somewhere that you would probably feel uncomfortable being. Sounds weird, right? But in order to get your life, you HAVE to be somewhere where you are not expecting your life to be served. It is in that specific moment that you are not expecting that silver platter to slam into your lap is where your life is presented.

Step Two: Get into it! What is "It," you ask? Everything. The vibe, the aroma, the fashion (because your life just might lie in the ONE pair of Louboutin pumps or Italian Cut, double-breasted suit and  cognac Johnston and Murphy Monk Strap loafers that walk by. I just saw your heart flutter.) Don't be afraid to intermingle with the ambiance, because you can really spot, get, and LIVE your life in the unexpected.

Step Three: Observe.

You actually HAVE to know what's going on to get your life. When new people walk in the room, observe them. Don't stare, because that's rude, and somebody might get their life from you getting cleared for staring. So don't. Observe the food -- who eats too much, who doesn't eat at all, and why they aren't (or are) eating it. Record the body language of those in the place, the cliques that happen, and who is the life of the party.

Step Four: Know the "Life" of the party when you see them.

It's usually not hard to spot this person, simply because they'll either: be BADD as hell, people will flock around them constantly, or a group will follow them in. Again, observe, because while they may give you life, it's not necessarily YOUR life. <--- Right. There's a difference.

Step Five: Catch Shade.

Nine times out of ten... hell 9.6 times out of 9.9 times your life will come through shade. It's a fact! If someone tells you otherwise, dismiss them! Verbal and non-verbal shade is equally important so observe! Get in different groups of people and listen, ask about the food, and watch for when the "life" of the party walks in. It is there, in that single moment, that shade will provide you with "Your Life."

Don't miss your life.

Kenny J. [072114]

Wit yo scary ass.

Seeing red, veins popping, and hands rounded into fists. What made you mad? What pissed you off so much that you cannot contain the acidic vernacular spewing from your lips?

“Bitch fuck you!”

Right, fuck that person. What happened that you must fold into yourself, and hide from the world because explosions always hurt innocent people in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

Silence. Why do tears fearfully trail your face scared that they’ll reach their boiling point before reaching your chin?

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?!”

Nothing. You do nothing. Displace your anger onto other people and other things. Throw things. Rip things. Kick things. Send the nice nasty text or email. Or both. Curse everyone out. Lock yourself into an emotional fort for two days. And when you are done ask yourself:

“What am I scared of?”

You have cursed, hid yourself, been silent, cried, and physically attacked all the inanimate objects in your arms reach, but you did not ask yourself what you are scared of. So go ahead, ask, ‘What do I fear’?

Because whether you like it or not, anger is based on fear. All anger is based on fear. Curse words to hide your own insecurities, silence and retreat to run away from the truth of the matter, and tears instead of words because you feel helpless, and no matter what you do you cannot change the situation.

Seeing red, veins popping, and hands rounded into fists. But the questions is not, “What made you mad”, but instead…

What are you afraid of?

- Nikki J.

Tutorial: How To Survive The Job You Hate

Step One: Quit. No, I'm totally kidding. Don't quit your job until you have prayed about it and saved enough money to do so. Step Two: Customer Appreciation Depending on what field you are currently burrowed in, you may be in contact with repeat customers. Form a positive relationship with these customers so that even on your worst days you have a bright spot. Example: A sweet chain smoking flight attendant that laughs at my attempts to speak Spanish with my coworkers. Step Three: Teaching Moments Those rare, positive customers you run into should be diverse in every way. Developing these positive bonds will allow you to become comfortable in learning from them and teaching them in some instances. Example: I meet people from different parts of the world every day. When they are receptive to me, I ask them questions about where they are from, their language, and tourist attractions in their respective areas. This brief cultural insight helps to make my day more interesting. *So far I can say thank you and you're welcome, and good bye in Danish, Spanish, and American Sign Language! Step Four: Keep Looking If you're like me and a myriad of interesting customers couldn't make you want to stay at your job then KEEP LOOKING. I firmly believe that eventually I will get the position and wage I deserve, I just have to keep looking. Completing 100 applications a week isn't a guarantee that you will get a job offer, but completing 0 a week will guarantee that you won't get any offers. Step Five: Stay Encouraged This one is pretty self explanatory, I think. Do what you can to maintain the job you are blessed to have (no matter how sucky it is). -Ash

An Exchange Over a Glass of Pleasantries

“I’m not ready,” she says, twirling her finger around her glass of wine as her eyes traveled from the deep red substance to the area just above his eyes.

"Who’s the guy?" he asks.

“Excuse me?”

“What’d he do to you? You know what forget about it. Fuck that nigga.”

She smiles softly shaking her head, looking wistfully away. “There is no “nigga”. Things are just piling up for me. I’m dealing with a few personal ventures that I’d like to accomplish before starting a new relationship. I’d like to be able to truly commit time.”

  He straightens up and places a finger on his chin. “Ok, I get you. You’re one of those. She raises and inquisitive eyebrow. One of those women who’s been scarred by a past relationship and so they throw themselves into their careers and their personal goals; so much so that they obsess over their jobs and their bodies and material things. He places his hands on hers. They never truly resolve that pain that’s frozen their hearts over and they don’t realize that they’ll never truly be satisfied because a great job, a pile of money, and nice things won’t keep them warm at night.  She pulls away. He takes this as nervousness. They have to learn to love again. And if you let me, darling, I can show you the real you. The you that isn’t covered up by the darkness that has interrupted your life. I can show you the light that will let you shine and really discover the woman you truly are."

She takes a long sip of her wine, looks down at the table, crosses her fingers, looks up, directly into his eyes and smiles.

"I’ve got you now. I’ve read your letter." He sits back, smirking as she runs her fingers through her hair.

 Calmly, she replies.

“You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you? Got my recipe. Cold, career obsessed, a little vain, with a pinch of anger and bitterness, right? He nods, still smirking. Challenging, quick to snap, fussing about feminist ideals and womanist practices in efforts to create a convincing façade to hide the fact that what I really need is a man to love, complete and validate me.  Perhaps you think of me as one of those girls that glorifies the archetype of a career obsessed, fiercely independent woman that needs to be saved from herself by a noble man that finds her drive attractive but will challenge her to simmer down and get in touch with her nurturing side, a side that will feed his needs and make her less threatening.”

“Well, I’m happy to inform you that that is not who I am. I’m not a glamorous, archetypal movie character. Career obsessed? No. My career is not an obsession; it is a component of my purpose. It is my lot in life to do what I do and make meaningful contributions to society. I throw myself into it because I love it, I need it, it is an essence fiber that helps to define my very existence.”   

“As for my clothes, my jewelry, cars, and other material accessories, I buy them because I like nice things. I look good in them. Vanity is what you call this right? Yes, but the women’s guide to getting a man that you studied before meeting me tells me that I have to love myself before I can attempt to love someone else. I must love the way I look, I must be able to enjoy being by myself. I need to be satisfied with myself. Well, Publix tells me that shopping is a pleasure and I happen to agree. I like my things and I am not ashamed to say that purchasing them brings a level of satisfaction to my being. In fact, I am completely satisfied with my life. But, now that I am, the very red dress and 10-foot stilettos the male crooners tell me to put on and enjoy myself are now things that I shouldn’t be satisfied with. Now, I’m supposed to be dissatisfied because, these things won’t keep me warm at night. “

 “You can have my things and consider yourself successful. Successful and satisfied. And yet, these aren’t enough for me. That which my money purchases “won’t keep me warm at night”. I tend to think that my central air and heating system works just fine. My comforters and duvet are quite thick, and since I’m a woman, you’ll probably assume that my knowledge of thread count is better than yours (I would doubt that.). Add in my hormones at various times of the quarter and I may be a tad warmer than you are.” 

“You don’t know who I am. Don’t use your patriarchal response to my progressive nature to make me feel that I am not satisfied with myself. Allow me to choose when I’m interested in engaging in a relationship. Don’t ask me to create something to dislike about myself so that you will feel unthreatened. Don’t try to turn me into a stubborn damsel. Treat me like were equals, not greater and lesser beings. Tell me that you would like some of my time and offer me some of yours. Stop asking me to relinquish components of my personality because a woman should.  Offer compromises as a human being that would like to venture into togetherness. If you can’t, well, my Egyptian cotton will do just fine. “

-Candace Shadia [031414]

Chronic Bitch Face: Broccoli Cheddar Edition

Blank stare. I shake my head .. Then I blink, her chronic bitch face is irritating. Inhale, exhale. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I can do this. That whole "It's not what you say but how you say it" bit, story of my life bro. I look into your nothingness eyes, and fall into your repugnant tone. I can't stand you. I hear you, then I see you, right through you. Your chronic bitch face is just motivation. I'll keep pushing. Every command, icy glare, and roll of your life less, empty eyes reminds me of the hellish days of my ancestry. Those sweltering hot days. I think back and I know I can do this. If they could give their lives for me then I can endure your jealousy. Every tear, All of the insecurity, Your murderous glare, biting tone, and lack of backbone will never truly be superiority. It's a mirror. How you treat others is a look into how you view yourself. For my people I'll endure the fuckery. Push on to be a better me. I'll go on to live for them and you'll just ... well you'll just be. My homeland will forever be unknown ... but my home, this home, is built on the backs of MY people. So please continue to yell, scream, and demean me. While I'm prospering ... you sons and daughters of nothings will be plating sandwiches and bowls of broccoli cheddar soup for the remainder of your sorry lives. I'm going to pray for you tonight and it's going to be sincere. See, my father told me "Any man that have a complaint against any; so even as the Lord forgave you also do ye" - Colassians 3:13 Your rage excites me. So let's continue to dance. During our next encounter I'll anticipate your chronic bitch face. So thanks.

How to be a REAL woman.

How to be a REAL woman

A tutorial on how to be a woman in 10 easy steps.

Biologically you are not a man, and no matter what surgery get or hormones you take you will never be a man. To be a man is to already have a step over you monetarily, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Once you understand AND accept that you are not a man you will understand that you are already second, at best.

     2. Apologize for your mere existence every chance you get.

Every time you open your mouth, apologize. Apologize because women should be meek and quiet. Silent. Never seen. Never heard. Unless summoned or questioned.

“Sorry, I have a questions.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

Also, when people bump into you, apologize. Even if it isn’t your fault. You are apologizing for taking up space that you should not believe or think is yours. You are apologizing for being alive.

     3. Be restricted/limited in your actions, movement, and words.

You are a woman and everything you do is restricted because you’re expected to act like a woman. Do not curse that is not ladylike. Politics are for men because women are just too emotional and are not capable of being in powerful positions. Sports are for men because women are not physically capable of being athletic, let alone understanding sports. Wear dresses, and skirts, because you do not need to move around too much or feel comfortable enough to do. So sit still.

     4. Put yourself last.

Your only goal in life is to get married, and have children. Your happiness and success is valued by your marriage and children. You must keep your husband happy and your children presentable. There are no golden rules, or guidelines for yourself. Everything you have, your energy and your emotions must be given to those around you.

     5. You do not have ownership over your own body.

Men decide when you can have children. Then men tell you if you can keep it or not. The choice to give birth is never yours. Refer back to #4 to understand that giving birth is your job. You also do not have the right to receive medical care that is a necessity for women for free or reduced prices. You can be raped and be blamed for your own rape. Your body is not yours and everyone has access to it except you.

     6. Do not love yourself the way you are.

If you love yourself as either boney, fat or curvy you will not feel the need to engage in diets or weight loss programs to be beautiful. If you love your skin tone, your skin texture, your hair, your nose, and your breast who will buy bleaching crème, make-up, weave/wigs, breast implants to feel more beautiful? Do not love yourself the way you are or else who will men manipulate to fit their definition of beautiful and profit off of it?

     7. Do not argue with men.

You are too emotional. They will call you crazy. They will say, “You can never win an argument with a woman.” You’re probably on the rag anyway. You’re a bitch. You will be all of the above, but you will never be right. So, don’t argue with men. 

     8. Be an untainted/untouched whore or hoe.

This step may confuse you. See, you have to be a virgin, virtuous, untouched, never before seen. Because no man wants a woman who has been around the block. But no man wants a woman who is hard to get. Besides if you’re a virgin you won’t be any good in bed anyway, and men want women who are lady in the streets, but a freak in the sheets.

     9. Give whatever is demanded of you.

This step may also confuse you. Be a lifeless zombie who is pitied by others because you are always so giving and willing, but you do not say “no” often enough. The contradiction lies in the idea that perhaps you can say “No” more often and be less giving and willing, but those who pitied you will now resent you and call you selfish.

     10. Do not dream big, or at all.

Do not dream big because women are not capable of being powerful and strong (refer to #3). The only success women can have lives in those around them or in them (refer to #4). Even at your very best you can be second best (refer to #1). See also, #2 and #7.

** Keep in mind that this is a general tutorial for women. If you are wealthy or poor, black, hispanic, educated, or queer the steps change and this tutorial not specific enough for the individual women listed above. **

"I Got Ha Feet tuh Da Ceiling!" Bitch Ion Need Ya...

Oh shit! (um, um) Oh shit! (um, um) Oh shit! (um, um)

Look I like 'em with a small waist and nice hips So when I'm hittin' from the back I get a nice grip I be sweatin' like a dog and I might slip So with the right incase I get a nice vice grip..

Oh shit! Guess you weren't expecting that, huh?  I love food, but ratchet shit? 

I'll pay for it, I'll pay for it if I want it, if I want it

Rest in Peace to the big homie Soulja Slim.. the 'Nolia's finest, mane. And I'll indeed pay for the ratchet... IF I WANT IT. So when we schlide to The Moon for homecoming, I stop and grab my Henn and Lemonade, hit pon di spliff, and vibe...mi seh

I know this little girl Her name is maxine Her beauty is Like a bunch of rose If I ever tell you 'bout maxine You would a say I don't know what I know (But) Murder she wrote (Fi real fi real) Murder she wrote

We be vibin', bruh! Heavy! Sinking deeper into a drunken stupor.. we KEEP hittin' the bar liiiiiike....

Blame it on the goose Got you feeling loose Blame it on Patron Got you in the zone Blame it on the a a a a a alcohol Blame it on the a a a a a a alcohol

...and we sing that shit 'cuz that's exactly where we're at. FUCKED. UP. Cuz you know the pregame was live as shit! Walkin' around, see a bad bitch wit a phat ass and big titties... she wearin' that dress just so I can look. 

I'll pay for it.... if I want it. 

Skintight ass dress, bruh! Legit she should just take it off. I don't disrespect females like that, but the Henny flowin' HEAVY, bruh. G-shit.

Dis bitch don’t only got ass

Dis bitch got hips

Dis bitch got thighs..

Dis bitch here fiiiine..

Dis bitch right here

She all da way live…

And she know she bad AF, bruh. The ass... bruh. I know that pussy fat. Pink. Wet.

Ms. Pretty Pussy (pretty pussy) She can get it hot and gushy (hot and gushy) Ms. Pretty Pussy (pretty pussy) I like the way you twerk it for me, Ohh..

"I'll beat the pussy up up up up up up"

But it's midnight... and we vibin' and realize our shit aint came on yet... DA FUCK DA DJ GOT GOIN ON?!

Then...the bass... and we all clap and know the party is ACTUALLY about to start. Fuck that bloomin' onion nigga, even though we smashed that shit... gimme that steak and taters, nigga!

Anybody wanna motherfucking die?! Come see I Who me? T-double D nigga That's right that's muhfuckin' me nigga! (huh) And got damn it if I said it, I motherfuckin meant it If it was fully I motherfucking spit it, fuck whoever I offended Hold on! Wait one motherfucking minute

And like clockwork, the DJ splices that shit and rips it again! LIVE. AS. SHIT, FOO! Broke a sweat and even got my damn Js stepped on...

"dese ma brand new ass 2's fuck boy! Watch what the fuck goin' on!"

I aint trip tho.. shit live as fuck right now!

Boosie Bad Ass And 95% Of These Hoes Out There... Yea They Diking... Yea They Dikin... I Got Ma Bitch Up In The Room

And Im Finna Rip Her Ass Apart

Brung Ma Other Bitch in and Made Her Eat Her In The Dark

Now She Diking.. Now She Dikin.. Check This Out... Two Red bones Kissin In Da Bak Seat (Two-two!)

Two red bones kissin' in da bak (two-two!)

Two red (two-two), two red (two-two)

Two, two, two, two!

B-O-O-S-I-E-B-A-D-A-Z-Z DAS ME! Like....6 in a row, run my nigga Boosie, fool! 

Lights come one and we stand there. Slump af. DAFUK WE GON EAT?!

We slide to Whataburger.. grab me a honey butter chicken biscuit, cuz them shits CLUTCH AF!

I hit shawty wit the phat ass' phone..

There's a meeting in my bedroom So girl please don't be late There's a meeting in my bedroom So please don't make me wait

Lookin' at my rolley Girl I see it's almost time (Oh yeah, oh yeah) I hope you're getting ready girl And don't forget the wine Tonight it's just for you and I And it's gonna be so fly (So fly, so fly, what, what, what) I like having you around So I gotta put you down So be there or be square

Hop in the shower... time to take my meds..

One teaspoon of me is somethin' like a bag of blow Too much of me too fast and you'll overdose Treat ya like a newborn Baby I'll feed you slow And if I really fucks with' ya I'll give you a double dose

We aint slow strokin' all night, doe! Hell nah!

I'm standin up in her I'm droppin nothin but dickin her Got me on that XO tonight so I'm a long dickher Hard like a roll of quarters I got that long in her Legs in the air and I'm hittin that pussy the dead center Back of her thighs I got em up on my shoulders Nut, I feel it comin but naw, I think I'm a hold it Lookin at her square in the face her eyes rollin She yelling like a nigga It's killin her but she soakin Hittin deep down in that pussy I got her talkin Pussy go to bitin so hard I tell her pause it I ain't tryna disrespect it just let me dog it Naw naw naw don't push me up out it shawty I'm a couple strokes in, I think I'm catchin my rhythm She know the cat good, I can tell by how I'm hittin her I'm a performer muthafucker I love bein in the mirror Got her pinned down to the bed

But I got'ha feet to the ceiling.

- Kenny J. [62614]

My name is not Annie. It’s Quvenzhane.”

    -9-year-old Quvenzhané Wallis, correcting the AP Reporter who said                    she was “just going to call her Annie.”

This piece is for the women & girls with names that are hard to pronounce. My middle name is Brenae. It is a name that was assigned to me by mother in honor of her mother, love for her sister, and hope for their influence on my eventual Being.

It is not standard. 

In sharing my middle name I have been told that it was a “dead give-away,” a blatant cultural identifier. This was not an insult and even if it had been said with that intention I would not have received it that way.

In fact it is normal to me to have a name that is unique and laden with familial history. I have always known girls, women now with long and/or interesting names.

Sometimes they were named after their fathers, continents and countries their families may never have seen, and even words synonymous with beauty.

I have also known their critics.  Teachers who gave them nicknames despite protests, children with me taunts and bad rhymes, and people on television who would often accompany certain stereotypes with their names.

   My name was the first in roll call and the teachers didn’t know how to say my name. I’d come home and say, “Mommy, can you call me "Zoe?’” and she asked, “Why?” And I said, “Because nobody can say my name.” And she said, “People learned to say Tchaikovsky, Michelangelo, and Dostoevsky. They can learn to say ‘Uzoamaka.’” And   that was it.                           

                                        -Uzoamaka Aduba

But these girls always had the biggest personalities, they would eat the comments and at least look like they were completely unbothered.  They were brave. An unnecessarily hard earned quality for a little girl, but applicable nonetheless.

A former professor of mine once said that within some Black communities, one's physicality and its strength lies within their having had children. Another professor once said that sometimes those unique names are the only vocal expression those who are often ignored believe they can make. I believe that these ideas together forge a theory of visibility created in communities where, if nothing else, your name must be said, and heard.

So shout out to all the girls and women named after colors, and places, and feelings, and spiritual manifestations, celebrities, the nice lady around the corner, your father, fruit, or maybe even your favorite auntie and grandmother. You had to learn to be brave too early, but at least you know now that a name that fills the mouth is not a bad one.

Signed, 

Ashely

In honor of:

*Gorchess

*India

*Kenya

*Unique

*Dontaeja

*Quana

*Brenae

*Monifah

*Crystal

*Quanteisha

*Johntavaia

*Gorgeous

*Ebony

*Blue

*Neveah

*Asia

*Shekinah

*Diamond

*Krystal

I'm On My Worst Behavior. Don't You Ever Get It Fucked Up.

To be or not to be a model citizen with more than an ounce of civility and class, and not be judged as ratchet?

But I like doing hoodrat thangs with my friends!!

My guilty pleasure is the greatest annoyance to the upper echelon.

Trunk-rattlin’ what’s happenin’, huh?

I don’t even think I need to speed

Bass-travelin’, face-cracklin huh?

Turn it up and make the speakers bleed.

Loud music with lyrics drenched in “bitches”, “hoes”, and “tricks”. Bass backing up “good sex” and “big dicks”. I can’t get enough of it.

....She dance how she fuck I bring the nut up out her.

Maaaaaan, these hoes ain’t bout shit!

Now this bitch bad kill ‘em in the outfit

In regular conversation with a friend at The Yogurt Spot she gushed about all the good sex she’s having with her boyfriend. All I could think was:

He got a big dick and know how to use iiiiitttt!

The thought of sex, alone, will fill my mind with bars. Like the one time I couldn’t help but rap the lyrics to Lil’ Wayne’s Pussy Monster. The head game was so skrong!

 1. And the camera is looking

And I hope she make me eat my words………….

‘cause my words is pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy…

2. Pussy taste so good make ya smack ya lips

3. This pussy toooooo vicious!

Every time I fuck ‘em I say whose it?!

But for the Lookin’ Ass Niggas in the club sharing one bottle full of bub asking if I’m single I want to laugh and tell them:

If having a bad bitch was a crime I’d be arrested! True!

While

Two red bones kissing in the back seat!

Girl don’t stop keep going that relax me!

Plays in the background with the chorus

I love bad bitches that’s my fucking problem!

But instead I smile and say, “No”. 0:-)

And on a beautiful sunny day in Tampa, Florida, God forbid I have somewhere to go! Windows rolled down and music blasting.

Teco. Knock all they lights out, freak hoes!

I’m just lookin’ for a janga to deep throat!

Lil’ thick bih throw it like Tebow!

But when I get to red lights I’m like:

Driver roll up the partition please…

I don’t need y’all seeing (Nikki) on her knees…

Just in case someone I know happens to be at the same red light. I’d rather them hear Yonce coming through my amp than:

Fuck that bitch I’m bad

Cute face wit a big ol’ ass

And in all honesty, my butt isn’t that big, but some days I feel like:

I got a ass so big like the sun

Hope you got a mile for a dick I wanna run

I don’t try to hide my ratchet music but when people find out what I like to listen to I wanna hit them with the

Hell yea,

Hell yea,

Hell yea,

Fuckin’ right

Fuckin’ right

Alright

I love blasting my music on the way to work, church, school, Wal-mart, annnnd Publix! But I’m thinking about being President one day so ssssshhhhhhh.

- Nikki J.