Month: April 2013

The kids aren’t alright

As the car passes, I look out the window and see a little girl clad in uniform. Green. She looks about 6 or 7. She has no shoes on. Understandable, we too used to throw them off once the teachers were gone and school was out. She walks for a bit. Stops. Bends over and looks up her dress,concentrating. The look on her face gives nothing away, she’s merely observing, intently.

It’s then I notice the three little boys under a tree, watching her walk away. They’re age mates. They’re young. But what’s going on. Why is she looking at herself that way, in public, after leaving those boys?

I wonder if I think too much, then remember the world we live in.

What do we teach kids about sex?

It’s only for Mummies and Daddies?

It should only occur when you’re in love? Only after marriage?

Or is it still a taboo topic, never to be brought up? “Dirty things”..Sinful acts.

A month or so ago on the BW Government Facebook page there was a post about how young girls are engaging in sexual acts with both their age mates and those slightly older. It went on to say the girls sometimes have more than one “partner” and they were looking into programs to do something about these “shocking” cases.

My response was: “Does it make sense to act shocked when pupils engage in unsafe sexual activities when there are no Sex Ed classes in schools and all they know about it is from Biology, Facebook groups, movies and peers? But then it being this country, even if there WERE such, they’d preach the same shit, the ABC’s, inter-generational relationships being bad and such, without bothering to focus on what’s REALLY going on in the kids’ minds and what would benefit and help them.”

I still feel the same way.

We’ll teach girls not to take money from older men, but neglect to mention not to take abuse from their peers. We’ll teach them they have a right to say “No” but not that sometimes your “No” will fall on deaf ears and you have to protect yourself. Well teach them that boys will like them, but not that sometimes these boys will lie. We forget to teach that their bodies are their own and even though they may mature early, this does not mean they should be used.  That physical maturity does not equate to mental maturity and sex isn’t just about spreading your legs.

We’ll teach the boys about where the penis goes, but not that no girl HAS to give them sex. That just because they have pubic hair, or even before that, just because they’re curious, doesn’t mean they NEED to discover that early. That no, sex does not make you a Man. It is not an accomplishment, even animals do it. And the idea of obtaining sex without the girls full consent should shock and disgust them. That they should be able to judge a female’s maturity and care enough, respect enough, to not take advantage.

Does it even seem fair and sensible?

That we teach girls that they can and will be taken advantage of, but boys don’t get the same lecture? We’ll teach boys about the importance of circumcision and overlook to teach the girls about how to take care of their bodies?

AIDS is not the only danger that’s associated with sex.  By not teaching the kids the negative emotional effects this may have on them, are we also teaching them that sex has no emotions involved? Which would be contrary to the “Have sex only when you’re married to the one you love” mess they’re already taught and kids pick up on hypocrisy.  Future advice would fall on deaf ears.

Often these things are swept under the rug as “They’re just kids, they don’t know what they’re doing” and I don’t know how I feel about that. It makes me nervous. It bothers me because the fact that they’re just children doesn’t mean that they’re exempt from harm.

If we overlook a girl child’s curiosity regarding sexual matters and don’t bother to explain things to her, do we still have the right to complain when teenage boys take advantage?In a way, we did not interfere nor help.So are we not partly to blame?

Does “Teach a child the way he should go” only apply to your own?

And where do we begin?


“That Baby Don’t Look Like Me!”

Boy meets Girl. Boy tells his friends she’s a “Bad looking little bitch with a fat ass” and approaches.  Girl plays coy but exchanges numbers with him nonetheless.  Boy wakes up and sees an unknown number, remembers, and the flirting begins.

Two weeks later boy ends up at girl’s house. Boy and girl begin to do what grown folk do, except he doesn’t have a condom. He stops. She says her period ended two days ago so she’s on her “safe period”. Girl straddles him, kisses him softly, grinds on him, well aware of the fact that one often reaches a point of no return when Lust is involved, no matter how rational they may be otherwise. Boy stops her and says they can do this, but if she falls pregnant, he doesn’t care because he didn’t want to do this, she insisted. She says it’s fine.

Four rounds later, boy goes home.

Six months later, girl calls. She’s pregnant.

Boy hangs up.

What happened was, all of this. Except Boy is a Man in his late twenties and Girl her early twenties.

He told me his story proudly as we walked, on our way home.  With a crisp “No, fuck that bitch” at the end of it.

I was speechless.

He’s proudly saying that he wants nothing to do with a child that may be his because he told his mother he wouldn’t look after the child should she fall pregnant.  There’s a little boy out there with his genes, and he won’t acknowledge his existence because he simply doesn’t want to.

On the one hand, fine, let’s be honest, that Lady should have known better.  Whether or not she was on her “safe period”, she had sex with basically, a stranger, who outright told her he would not care about what happened afterward.  Why not get the morning after pill?

She called him hopeful. Thinking that knowing he had created a Life with her, he may care, may bother. He didn’t.

From what I gather, he once gave her a bit of money to take the boy to the clinic, other than that, he’s made no contribution towards the child’s well-being in any way. He proudly says “No, I don’t give a fuck, I told her” and continues to tell me how she recently called him to inform him she’s considering moving on to find a man to cater to her and her child’s needs, to which his response was…wait for it..Can you guess?

“I don’t give a fuck.”

I still don’t know how to feel about it. Two silly people met, had sex, and created a large mess they can’t be mature enough to resolve.

Why would a woman be that irresponsible?

Why would a man be that callous?

How could two parents be so  immature? So selfish? So.. Childish?

So Girl had a boy by the Boy and seems to be trying to be a Woman.

Boy remains a Boy.

A father to a boy who might just grow up to be just like him.

A little man who’ll grow up to relate a little too well to J.Ivy’s “Dear Father.”

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Other Side Of The Game

I had a friend who loved Miss Badu. She was the quintessential Nubian Queen.  Long print skirts, short natural hair, big brown eyes and a smile that you won’t often see. A smile untainted by the Evils of the Concrete Jungle. A smile you’d find on one of those little kids that live in some remote forest far from our organised chaos.

Her perfect man was a tall, dark man, with dreads, a poet, someone you’d find in an India Arie music video. Beads on his wrists, bags by his side and poetry on his Lips. That was the beauty she held out for.  While I complained about being unable to find an honest, trustworthy man who’s good in bed, she complained about not being able to find a man who was honest to his craft, good in that respect, respectful, who oozed Soul.

She had a Badu song ready for every type of situation that might arise and rings for days.

We differed greatly. I’d quote Nicki Minaj, have casual sex, swear, smoke and be the exact opposite of the calm aura she exuded. She was never able to understand how I could feel her, understand her completely, and still not be like her. Our friendships ended when I found Lust in a place where she had almost discovered Fake Love. But I’d honestly rather have had him use me than her. 


She was beautiful and hopeful. I have been beautiful and jaded for years. 

She loved artists. I am one and have loved others such as myself. I no longer see their appeal.

She felt natural was the way to be to discover real Beauty. I preferred to find Beauty in the chaos. 

She was a virgin. I am fairly skilled in the Art of Seduction and Satisfaction.

And she felt I could not be these things because I am, to a certain degree, wise. 

See, I wonder how she feels about Q.U.E.E.N. 

Will it take a Neo-Soul song stating that Women can in fact be as they please, to make her realize that no, I wasn’t just sleazy and  somehow by some miracle blessed with intelligence?

Will it take a song to remind the Konscious folk that I can twerk and study? And it is not shameful. That by exploring my femininity, I am not renouncing my Queendom?

Because how is it that even the Women who claim to be all about Women being “beautiful” and “free” believe we should only be so through being chaste, silently powerful and unaffected by the World we live in?

They will love you until you straighten your hair.

They will love you until you have sex with someone you don’t see as your King.

They will love you until they realize you’re only trying to teach those who want to learn because time’s too limited to be wasting it on those who don’t want to learn.

They will love you until you switch up your sandals and head wrap for stilettos and weaves in a club setting.


I sometimes wonder if people don’t listen. If they don’t learn.

When you say no one should tell a Woman how to be then turn around and attempt to do so, do you not choke a bit on your hypocrisy?

Because when Miss Badu dyes her hair blonde, she’s discovering new things. When I do it, I’m trying to be a White Woman. 

When I fall in Love with a European man named Mark, I’m a sell out because he doesn’t have in-depth knowledge of African tribes and doesn’t sell beads from his bag as he travels across Africa helping refugees. 

“Black Love” is always depicted as couples with dreads or afros. Bald ladies in intimate poses with dreadlocked men. I have seen women with straightened hair a handful of times in such images, I dare say 3. And the only women with weaves I’ve seen depicting Black Love are usually in BDSM shoots. So it leads me to wonder, is our Black Love only pure if we’re natural?

I mean, let’s be honest, a lot of us are only uplifting and acknowledging the parts of Black society and culture they want to.

How does exploring my body make me less of a Queen? Please, tell me. 

How does make-up mean I’m spitting in the faces of all the Goddesses associated with feminine beauty?

How does adapting, adjusting to the modern World make me less Aware?

Before I reach Zion, will I need to recite every line in Lauryn’s “Doo Wap”?

Will I need to twist locs in order to enter Black Koscious Heaven?

Am I a bad person because I smoke weed to get high and you smoke it to “reach a higher plane and open your third eye”? [Which in my eyes, honey, IS getting high..But what do I know?]

Am I automatically like them [the ignorant],because I’m not like you?

Is our Love not real because I think of him when I hear Beyonce’s 1+1 and not India Aries’ The Truth?

Am I still a Queen when I question the views of your third eye, with my tattoos that read in English and my natural, yet dyed hair?

Do I qualify? Am I worthy?




“I am a man, not a victim” : Males and Abuse

“But the problem with feminism is, if we say women are equal to men, then they’ll start raping men..”


You see there’s this great misconception that men cannot be victims of abuse.   Because they’re expected to be strong and invulnerable, a lot of men don’t admit to sexual abuse and a lot of women don’t acknowledge that it occurs.   


Possibly due to the fact too that women are only considered care givers and motherly, it would be difficult for a lot of people to realize that we could as easily perpetrate Evil as the next man. 


Gender roles and stereotypes that teach who can and can’t be dangerous mean that a lot of the time we let out guards down based on assumptions.  We’d keep our kids from the uncle who gets too tipsy at family gatherings  and usher them off to the maid when in fact she could be the one considering selling your kids. 


A few years ago I read an article about a maid who’d been sleeping with her employer’s 6 year old son. She gave him an STI and said she was doing it to “cleanse her blood”. The article I remember centered on the fact that she was a woman who’d done what’re considered  “male crimes”, child molestation, and statutory rape.  A few months after I read this I came home early from school to find our maid at the time in the living room asking my brother, who was 7 at the time, if he knew what a condom was because at some point he’ll need to use it, which was followed by a giggle from her.  There was so much for my mind to process at that point. First of all, wait, what? Second of all, What? Third, why? Fourth, Hold up.  See in that instant my mind was reeling. Why? Is this what she does when we aren’t home? What else does she do? 


It’s a difficult subject to broach with a child. “Did she touch you and make you uncomfortable?” Because as Oprah once stated, the problem with sexual abuse, sometimes when your body responds, it makes you wonder if it’s actually as bad as it is.  I had to do it because my mother would have broken down.  He replied with a “No” but then again, he was confused, there’s a question mark over the whole thing and I know that, should the day come when he remembers, he’d sooner say “She was teaching me” than, “I was abused.”

Because “abuse” is considered a feminine thing. Something that happens to vulnerable females who can’t protect themselves and when the roles are reversed, whereas the daughter of the family would go for counselling, the son will be told to man up and focus on “serious things”.

Someone I used to know lost his virginity at 9 to a woman who was 21.  See, he never spoke about it as what it was. To him, he was “mature”, they were in a “relationship” and they  “loved each other”, according to him, I just didn’t understand and I asked him, if  the roles were reversed, what would it be? Rape. Simple. But he said he appreciates that she taught him and that’s what he sees as “Real Love”. I don’t bring it up anymore. 


The need to portray themselves  a certain way means a lot of men never admit to and deal with the abuse they’ve suffered.  They carry it, swaying between feeling manly and pathetic, shameful. They hate themselves for not having been able to defend themselves, and for feeling like what happened was wrong. A “real man” should be proud. Should appreciate the lesson, isn’t it every man’s dream to be initiated that way?


Men are victims. Women are victims. People are victims and suffer at the hands of others. Suffering is not meant for any specific person and whatever doesn’t help/heal you is not for you. 

And to women; Our struggles are not unique. It’s wrong of us to think just because a select few men do not appreciate or relate to them, all men can’t. A lot of us will advocate against rape and yet laugh at a man who says he’s been a victim. We still carry misconceptions and exclude those who feel as we do sometimes based solely on the fact that they are different [male]. A lot of us are yet to learn that men hurt as we do, they just don’t always know what to do or how to do it. 

Things are only “different” when you haven’t left your Self and put yourself in the other’s situation. What happens to you/has happened to you, has happened to someone else and expecting healing through solitude can’t always be the way forward. 

Evil is a human trait. Some suppress it and some don’t. It is not Manly, it is not Feminine, it simply Is. 







– Last image courtesy of


Fuck me: When Porn becomes Political

“Young Ebony bitch gets dominated”, “Young slut gets first drilling”, “Massive Black cock stretches Ebony cunt.” “She pleasures her pretty pussy.” Do you see the difference because it always stands out to me? Guess which ones have Black actresses. Go ahead. 


A lot of the time friends are bothered by the fact that I don’t really watch Black porn.  They wonder if I’m ashamed of being Black. If I don’t like my people, whether I think White sex is better [I don’t watch Asian porn either, Asa Akira being the only exception]. And I guess I understand why those would be the first thoughts to gravitate to but here’s why.

I’m not blind to how things are in the Porn Industry.  Maybe because I don’t watch porn when I’m dizzy off arousal that I notice the sometimes blatant, sometimes racial undertones, how she’s a “Black bitch” but I’ve hardly ever seen a “White bitch” in a porn title. Maybe it’s cos I notice that, in interracial porn, the guy is quick to say “Suck that White cock” instead of “suck my cock”. The women, “Give me that big Black cock” or in the case of Sasha Grey, “Nigger Cock” instead of “Give me that cock” and these things bother me. And why are the majority of Asian women that I’ve seen masseuses? If we’re going to play into racial stereotypes then where are the White men being depicted as hillbillies? Since the Black women are still often depicted as “Ghetto bitches”, why don’t we play fair and level the playing field if that’s what we’re doing?

I’m not silly. I know porn is supposed to sell dreams and fantasies, it’s about creating an illusion, of dominance, submission etc.  It’s meant to cater to the sexual desires you never knew you had, the fantasies you can’t live out, but the blatant misogyny, disrespect and occasional racism get to me. I would like to watch it freely and not have to be reminded that the person is of a specific race, am I meant to care, I mean, I’m not here for a bad, thinly veiled depiction of women as cum whores and People of Colour being fetishized in this day and age.   And I understand that with that having being said, it may look like I’m contradicting myself, however, it’s not every porn clip where the man objectifies the woman and for the most part, those are the ones I prefer.


While discussing this with someone she said “Well, porn was made for men” and I sat and thought about it.  I see the truth to this statement. Porn has obviously been around for a while and in the beginning it’s not possible that women’s feelings would have been taken into consideration. It was not made for our consumption and therefore I understood why possibly in the beginning it would’ve fed into misogyny and why it would have ran with the gender roles. But now? 

The thing is whether we’ll admit it or not, porn makes an impact on people.  It’s the reason why a lot of men I know skip foreplay and still expect you to drip all over his penis.  The reason why they think all women want to have their clits slapped.  The reason why they think we’re all ready for anal and why they expect 30 minute blowjobs.  Not everyone has the ability to differentiate fantasy from reality when they so resemble each other and really I wouldn’t be looking forward to being called a “Black bitch” during sex. Could we try a bit of Respect? No? Or is that asking for too much in an industry that is supposedly ran by White males?  It’s business, no? 

It’s just that when it comes to White porn [Which surprisingly nobody refers to as “White porn”, everybody else gets a Category except for them] there appears to be less reason to get mad. The sexism is there, but racial slurs, one hardly ever comes across and from what I’ve seen there’s less of the fetishizing, you can watch them have sex without a feeling of discomfort because someone slipped up and said something stupid. 


Now I know full and well not all clips are like this, but I got tired of getting angry at something I’m unlikely to change. At cringing when I see the Black guy with a fake gold chain, shades, socks and slippers fucking the “Big Booty Black ho”. Of reading that Black porn stars get paid less and that probably explains why some perform like it’s a chore.  

When you read and realize that some agencies still tell actresses that interracial scenes will ruin their reputations and some actresses would rather claim to “not do Black guys cos of their massive dick” [Really? Really?]  how is one meant to feel? Nothing? Should we simply say it boils down to choice and ignore it? Some outright say their families would be okay with them doing porn, just not with People of Colour, and yet scenes between Women of Colour and White men are popular.

“In the Pornland chapter titled “Racy Sex, Sexy Racism!” Dines writes that women of color are generally relegated to gonzo–a porn genre lacking any plot–which provides little glamour, security or status. According to Dines, porn racializes the bodies and sexual behavior of the performer with lines like “Saxxx tried to clean herself up [but] she was still a low-down dirty ghetto ho! So I rammed her.” Websites and videos commonly feature race-biased titles like, “Me Fuck You Long Time,” or “Oh No! There’s a Negro in My Mom.” To Dines, rampant racism in the porn industry is caused because most people working in the production-end of the business are white.” – MS  MAGAZINE

These are the things that bother me. That in order to find Black porn I’m comfortable with I have to know specific females’ names, like Jada Fire, Naomi Banxxx and Skin Diamond, or else I’m going to think myself into a frenzy and get mad at how we are depicted.  And that I can’t enjoy something that’s meant to be as simple, as porn. 




A Blues existence in an Ignorant Rap era

I’m not sure if I could love myself if I didn’t know myself. If experience has taught me anything it’s that I’m the kind of person that you have to learn, to understand, in order to appreciate.  Most people I know alternate between hating and adoring me, and I understand because I do too.

I am too unstable for people to be calm around. I relate too much to female characters in Toni Morrison novels, Amy Winehouse spoke my heart so well I’m convinced she was Jesus and her music was the gospel, when Beyonce played Etta James in Cadillac Records, I understood exactly what she meant when she said “Oh honey, you wouldn’t even begin to understand my problems.”  I expect myself to end up with a drug habit, it would be shocking if I made it to 25 without the help of a therapist.

I am not shallow. I can be. But it is not in my nature to be. I feel and I think. Sometimes too much, sometimes the wrong things, but I do.  I wouldn’t say I’ve earned the right to be referred to as Crazy but come back in 2 years and I’ll be almost there, probably. I’m not Torch-Your-House-Crazy yet because, well, I’m still somewhat logical and hopeful.  Hopeful that things work out, and logic tells me I’ll get caught and I’m not trying to have my life disrupted by arson charges over Love, but..As I said, this is now..

I understand things I wish I didn’t and am unable to verbalize things I wish I could.  There is a certain loneliness, pain that is heard in music that one would like to feel, but few do. I am feeling it and again, understand why beautifully tragic lives can only exist for so long.  I think only a few exceptional artists can package heartbreak, without a catchy beat and make you believe it’s bearable. And I don’t mean relationship wise, although that too, counts.

If I’ve learned anything about great, sad artists, and from my experience, your heart doesn’t break once, it’s not about that one man who left, although sometimes it may be. Your heart breaks every time you remember the tiniest of things, something someone said about why you’re difficult to love, the one who held on and had to go because you were killing him inside, the time your father showed he didn’t care anymore, the time your mother didn’t defend you, and then the facade cracks, because I believe as an artist you can only maintain your facade for so long. We aren’t allowed/able to leave things in the past, especially as a writer, everything is connected and you have to constantly pull up memories and experiences. I think as a musician or painter it’s different because they move one, a musician has to move with the times and a painter can constantly find new inspiration, well, unless they choose to fixate on one thing but, that’s it.

I’m failing at being Young.  I’m not youthful in any sense of the word, I can’t even dress like people my age, I have to try. Why? Because I’m simply not here.  I realize that when I’m around peers and I’m completely uninterested in their stories, their hour long discussions about why the boy never texted back, when I meet the boys who want to prey on my insecurities and save me from myself, when I meet the men who hope I’m naive enough to use, the family members who don’t think you’re destined for anything but mediocrity, I’m uninterested and most times unaffected.  To quote Cali from Power of Pussy, “..Some people are just out here living and I’m fighting for it.” My issues are more along the lines of trying not to be a struggling artist, staying away from alcohol and trying to convince myself  suicide isn’t as appealing as it actually is. These are real issues for me that I struggle with all the time and ironically, I want no help with. I’m convinced I’m strong enough to get over it alone although when the sun sets I highly doubt that.

I’ve been telling my best friend that I feel a very lonely existence. The kind that envelops you and explaining it is kind of like explaining what it’s like to breathe through your’s normal, seems insignificant but is necessary. My other friend said he’d like to create the perfect man for him and I explained, it’s not about a romantic relationship, I merely want someone to relate, to understand why I make mountains out of molehills and some days I’m depressed and inconsolable, why I am as I am, because of what I’ve been.  Companionship and intimacy. I tire of meeting people and hearing Amy Winehouse’s “Stronger Than Me” playing in my head.

But consider the age we live in.  Intimacy is feared by many because of the idea of vulnerability and knowing you’d have to share yourself with someone else. How many times have we done that and it’s gone wrong? How many times has one had to mend bruised hearts and shattered egos and hide their trust issues? One too many it seems, for all of us.  But I often wonder if “Bitches ain’t shit” is strong enough to make you feel right on your worst day when you’re craving genuine affection.

I often say I need stable people around me but to be frank and fair, I wouldn’t know what to do with them. I’m learning the key to every functioning relationship, no matter how small, is understanding. Calm people with average life stories are not for me, I tend to ruin those that I encounter. On the other hand, finding your own Blake Fielder-Civil will mean little to no peace, or a different kind, I don’t know yet.

These thoughts make me feel selfish, because I’ve been blessed with a best friend I consider my Soul-Mate. A man who loves me unconditionally and I often tell people it’s sad because not a lot of people will get to feel what we have for each other in their lifetime. But despite this, despite the fact that I already experience an indescribable love that fulfills almost every part of me, there’s that. Because even he, as much as he loves me, cannot feel what I do as I do. He understands some bits and I may be asking too much to expect/ hope for, what I do.  But I understand why it isn’t possible, he is not me and I get that. I’m grateful for his love and support, still.

I think what I’m trying to say is, I want to connect with more people and unfortunately we live in a time when people would rather be anything but honest.  About their flaws, their desires, themselves. And for people like me, this leaves one feeling out of place and odd.

To quote @RomanKush on the issue “We’re the last of a dying breed”.

It’s hard to see the beauty in yourself to begin with considering Society. Even harder when we can’t even tell each other we’re worth something. When the only compliments you can count on are from two friends, strangers on the internet and yourself.

I wondered last night if a “You is kind, you is smart, you is important” would matter coming from the same person everyday. I doubted it. As I type this I wonder if I do my part, and I don’t know. I may be too busy observing to do anything.

I’m over having sex and miss making love. Fuck, I miss holding hands. Being able to cry in front of those you consider close to you, and I don’t mean silent tears, ugly cries. I miss passion. The raw passion that terrifies and yet intrigues. I’m sometimes ashamed of the fact that it burns in me because I don’t see it elsewhere.

And to answer Warsan’s question, Yes, I tried to change, and I know you understand why, and I couldn’t because this is how I am. And it’s a constant struggle to remember that I’m like this for a reason. That I have a right to sing the Blues.  I have to teach myself to not do what almost every other person I’ve met has done, told me I’m too much or too little of something. And this is where I am now.

And if I ever decide Life’s gotten to be too much, I will forgive myself for the decision I will make, because I will understand.  And it will not mean I would have been ungrateful for anything that has happened or anything that I’ve learned.

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Where is my Glory?

“Hair is a Woman’s Glory” – Maya Angelou

I went to the barber yesterday to cut off the troublesome ends of my hair that kept hopping off and leaving a trail like a shedding sheep dog behind me. Understand I went for a trim.  Unfortunately my barber came in drunk, probably high too, misunderstood what I meant, and took most of it off.  Why would I let a drunk man cut my hair? Because I know him and I’m lazy, too lazy to make the 10 minute walk to the salon the next day, and so I stayed.

My head’s fine, he didn’t sever off my ear and leave the floor looking like a scene from Saw 3. It was covered with most of my hair and a bit of my joy. 

Understand, having short hair is a decision one needs to be prepared for.  One I’ve made before, but my biggest issue was that I wasn’t ready this time.  It’s Amber Rose short, and I call this my “Pretty Little Lesbian” look.  I’m constantly touching it and I catch myself muttering “G.I Jane”. 

But that’s neither here nor there, I just wanted to share my shock and pain. This is what I really feel about the look.


I’ve always said I feel sexiest when from the barber.  

There’s something about knowing that you put in minimal effort into your appearance and you still look good that makes you feel good.  Not as much time, not as much pressure, not worrying over how long to straighten it, which combination of products to use, how to style it today.. you just condition, moisturize and go. 

When it comes to having short hair, you find yourself trying your best not to look like a little boy.

Especially in my case. I’m short so in baggy clothing I could possibly pass for a teenage boy. An androgynous teenage boy maybe? But anyway, I’ve met a lot of women who agree, with short hair, your make up needs to be on point. Even if it’s just eyeliner, lipstick and blush. Why?

Because a lot of the time your hair is what upholds your femininity, right up there with the obvious breasts, hips and buttocks.  When you don’t have braids or a weave or an afro, you have to have something that can be looked at and still show that you’re a woman. I don’t know why but that’s just what is, sometimes. Personally where as with longer hair or a larger afro I would feel comfortable leaving the house with nothing but Vaseline on my lips, with short hair, it’s the pink lipgloss and liquid eyeliner, standard. Or maybe it’s us and we  feel the need to display our femininity in such a way. Possibly.

When it comes to attraction..

Oftentimes people look at you like you’re a new breed of woman, because I realized, what might be just hair to you, is a statement to another.  I read this morning that being a woman with short hair “means you can trek your own path and stand against the crowd, you don’t accept the rules of society” and all I thought was, “Damn, it’s not that real!”. But maybe that’s how people see it. I’ve had men come up to me and stare, marvel, and ask “Why don’t you have a weave like other girls? Do you relax your hair? Are you a natural Black woman? You’re beautiful.”  And that leads to my other point..


Hair isn’t always political.

I think after watching “Good Hair” we all got our panties in a bunch and started looking down on women with processed hair, placing women with natural hair on pedestals and every woman’s personal decision was scrutinized and somehow used to determine her self worth and stance on racism or whatever. Listen, the decision to relax my hair, cut it, dye it, fuck, eat it, is my own. What do I want? Will it make me feel beautiful? It’s a choice about your appearance. As is applying nail polish, as is  picking an outfit. I’m not ignorant to the fact that some women feel long, straight hair determines beauty, but that doesn’t apply for the rest of us. I’m not a “Natural Sista”. I’m not “different”. Just a Lady with short hair. 

The Idea that not all women can rock it.

Forget that. The argument is usually that some women have ugly heads. And so? Some men have ugly heads too nobody complains about that. As a woman why would you bother and spend money on something you don’t want to cover up something you weren’t insecure of in the first place? Get it girl. Get it. 

“Are you okay? Why cut it?”

“Cutting off the hair has been related to imbalance in life, trauma, and mental health issues.” Well..See.. I understand this one. I’ve been known to cut it or dye it when bothered by something or trying to move on from something but, it’s understandable. We associate our appearance with our experiences and so changing that is a way of shedding those bad memories. It doesn’t mean we’re crazy or preparing to torch an ex boyfriend’s house. Well, sometimes. 

So, you know… I hope you Haired me. *Laughs alone* My glory lies in my ability to make any decision that I want to determine my beauty. Even if that’s sometimes altered by a drunk man with a machine.


Image Image

At least I can admit that..

And sometimes, somewhere in between recovering from the last orgasm, still feeling his arms on your body and glancing at him, you realize you want more. 

Because when there’s you, His Issues, Him and Your Issues in between kisses, things get fogged up pretty quickly. You don’t maneuver as effortlessly with his expectations or lack thereof weighing you down and he doesn’t know how to touch you in such a way that he doesn’t remind you of your ex.

Sometimes you stop. You talk, you may even laugh and you know it’s bad because people who make you laugh always end up looking extra pretty to you.  He may kiss your ankle before pleasuring you and it’s those things that will make you smile and panic inside. Because the nice ones are the worst. They’re difficult to see as objects.

And isn’t this what it’s all about? Separating from each other? I can see you naked, lay next to you, kiss you when I please and grip your body over mine as we find a rhythm but..never ask how you are. And it’s not that I don’t care it’s just that, I care more for my already cracked heart that has nothing to do with you and I want to keep it that way.

I don’t want to remember your silhouette in detail nor do I want to wonder where you go and if you do what you do here, there, although I know you do and I never get mad because that’s the best way to deal with this, with you, and with myself. You laugh at everything and I learn how to too. I know the areas of my Life you touch and none of them are important to me.

I am here because I am reckless. I am a virus and unlike others I manage to enter and stay, maybe because you like the chaos that is This, and I, maybe because you too are  looking for someone who will make you feel the familiar sting of half felt rejection that your father got you accustomed to and maybe because we are both trying to see how dead inside we truly are.

But I’m slipping. And I pray you keep on cumming and going. Coming and going.

I pray we both know how to move forward.

And yet I know we don’t.

But blessed are we who can hold up masks and create facades that only crack at witching hours. 

Blessed are we who make our curses look beautiful.


White women do it better..

Sucking dick that is, from what I heard.

See according to many a Black man and woman, Black women just don’t like giving head. It’s labeled dirty, unnecessary and downright nasty, and most women would rather receive than give. Now I’m not sure how true this is but I’d like to quietly call Bullshit here.

I know a lot of Black women who appreciate and enjoy oral sex, both giving and receiving. No, we don’t all think it’s dirty, or nasty, and even if we do, who said nasty is a bad thing?

Now I’ve heard girls say “I won’t suck dick cos he urinates from there and I don’t know where he’s been” but why are you sleeping with someone you don’t trust to be hygienic in the first place?  And usually the same women who’re anti blowjobs will sing the praises of cunnilingus, which I find rather senseless. It’s like if your man said “I don’t want your vagina cos you bleed from there once a month so I’ll have your ass instead for the duration of this relationship.”

Now I’m not saying all women should suck dick. My issue is with those who knock it before they try it and those who look down upon those who do. [No pun intended.]

I find oral sex to be a beautiful thing. Should I decide you deserve it, I promise you you won’t forget it. Because oral sex is really still sex. Why would you ride him with a passion, and expect him to do the same, then lick his penis like it’s a chore?

I don’t believe that there are any tips to give someone on how to have amazing sex.  As I said at some point yesterday, from those tips, one can be decent, but never mind-blowing. How, when half the time you’re trying to remember what you read off Cosmo?

Sex tips have never been relevant to my Life. To be honest it’s been more about the appreciation of sex and sensuality more than anything else. I’ve found, among my female friends, the ones who are the best in bed are those who genuinely enjoy it. The women who understand that getting naked with a partner is about pleasure and not something you need to do because you’ve clocked 6 weeks and you don’t want him to leave.  They love the act of making love and all that comes with it. And maybe that’s it. 

I’ve always said, when it comes to porn, the White women seem to enjoy their job way more than the WOC [Women of Colour]. Maybe it is just acting, but the whole point of it IS to sell us dreams and no matter how uncomfortable something might look on screen, the White woman will probably hop on all those 6 dicks while smiling and hardly ever flinching, the WOC usually somehow betrays her true feelings facially, flinching, a look in her eye, something. 

To be frank, a lot of us [WOC]  find sex to still be shameful.  Which is why words such as “dirty” and “nasty” are associated with certain acts instead of simply saying you don’t prefer it.  Anal is still taboo to many, as is menstrual sex, even with people who’ve been together for years. I wouldn’t say we’re still as backward as to assume that sex is still mainly for procreation but there is still a long way to go when it comes to accepting preferences and exploring the act.

There is also the fear of being labelled. It’s bad enough to risk being called a Ho, but a Dick Sucking Ho, well, that’s even worse. Honestly we know that as much as men want a sexually emancipated woman, the moment that she doesn’t fit their mold, she’ll be judged and not many women can deal with that.

Maybe that’s why many choose to play it safe and lay there. Maybe that’s why the most daring thing most women can think of doing is reverse cowgirl. I don’t know because I can’t relate.

What I’m saying dear Ladies is do yourself a favour and forget all that shit.  Society isn’t in the room when you’re seeking pleasure and if there’s any chance that the man might sex shame you afterwards: don’t fuck him. Other people should not be allowed to dictate how you cum. They have no right to. 

And sucking dick is a beautiful thing. I know many agree, granted there are those who don’t get/feel the hype but this is my point of view. It’s like..making love with your mouth. In that moment it’s not really as much about you and him as it is about you and his member..and that is how you communicate with it. By kissing it, stroking it, licking it. But you know..that’s just how I feel. So..

In conclusion, women who try, and love it, do it better. It’s that simple. A bit of effort has always made a difference. There. Open your mouth up..I mean.. Your mind new things.