It’s Friday y’all!

It’s the most important weekend on planet Earth. Don’t miss the Saviour looking for a bunny!

Part 1 of 2 y’all! Let’s get it!

#HBCU #HowardUniversity #FinAidScam #WTH #WTF #EducationIsImperative #NoOneHasTimeForThis #IWantedToGoToSpelman #Nonsense #Nall #TheH #WhoGonExplainThisToTheAlumni

I’m embarrassed! This sh!t right here?! I thought was a Fox News plant! There were six employees who were fired due to double-dipping: they got tuition remission AND grants between 2006-2017, and the total? Over a million dollars!

The President of HU swears up and down those employees caught in this scandal (found only by audit) didn’t take any federal monies. Sir! In the time where we are fighting megalomania, you can’t be having people siphoning fed aid money! Do you know how this sh!t looks now?! This is DeVos-Carson level fuckery!

My heart is so broken, and I am so mad! These people skimmed off the top and said NADT (Not A Damn Thing)! We all trying to figure out how to send our kids to college, Black women saving the whole damn world in the process, and these cats are pocketing Pell grants?! I can’t.

Throw the whole front office away, and start over–including the financial aid person (CLEARLY NO ONE CAN FILE CORRECT PAPERWORK!), and the President. This is high grade fuckery. #HUResist!

#Beyonce #BitterBroads #QueenBey #BiteGate #WhoDidIt #WhoBitTheQueenInTheFace #EveryoneNeedARiderLikeTiffHaddish #ImScaredToKnowWhoItIs

There has to be a reason this week has been as bananas as it has been! So at a party, some actress was on drugs and felt common enough (read: high enough) to bite someone in the face.

No words.

Bey even stopped Tiffany Haddish from her gatherabroad nature–see? I might have had to assist in that fade run! Bite me in the face with all my Black Girl Magic?! No, no ma’am!

My immediate thought?

Who would be bad enough to bite the most recognizable face on planet Earth?!

Why Lord?!

#DarkAndStormy #GetItPoppin #TheInterview #StormyDaniels #DavidDennison #DavidDennisonIsALiar #DavidDennisonIsAFuckingLiar #BitchBettaHaveMoney


I did a piece for Contemptor on this called The Good, The Bad and The Stormy. I don’t know what this woman has on this 71 year tiny penised tyrant…but—this is about to be good.


At The Cost Of History

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The human voice is one of the most complex functions that a human being can have. It is comprised of your lungs, larynx (“voice box”) and the vocal folds. If you touch your vocal folds on your larynx you can feel vibrations, yea the power, of your own voice.

In this, the waning days of Women’s History Month, for a moment let us consider the cost of making history. This coveted phrase by which allows one to be remembered when those who set up and sacrificed for progress or greatness go to as the Bible says go to sleep in the lands of the fathers–and perhaps also the Valley of Kings and Queens, if I am allowed to wax poetic for a moment.

In times of chaos and shaking, it is natural and normal for people to look for strength, comfort and someone to help them rally. In times of social upheaval in this nation, those points of strength have been black women.

Fight me. It would make this statement no less true.

Our lioness natures don’t allow us to sit idle amidst suffering and apathy. We get up and do sh!t! In that process, we become the go-to, the outlet, the strategists, the front line leaders, and favorite media punching bag.


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From:   Mary Cady Shadd, Harriet Tubman, Fannie Lou  Hamer, Mary Church Terrell, Maya Angelou, Rosa Parks, (the mother in my last life) Ida B. Wells Barnett, Dr. Angela Davis, Elaine Brown, Eleanor Cleaver, Assata Shakur, Erica Gardner,  all the women involved in the #Ferguson moment (there is STILL work being done, and needing to be done), and those now finding their voices, make no mistake. Deciding to become and activist, deciding to change the course of human events will cost you something.

You may be seen as the rallying figure as Erica was, to the cost of her health. You may be seen as the mother figure-shero as Fannie Lou was. You may be classified as one to watch and arrest first times of protest as three young women whom I still call shero of the Ferguson Movement (for the sake of their privacy, they will only be mentioned by their first/nickname:  ‘Netta, B, and A.).  It damn near may cost you your life as it almost did with Ida and Harriet. The fight always takes a toll on the fighter but when the rounds are ongoing, when the ‘I have to go because they need me’ supersedes the care of self, then what?

Who saves the shero?!

In a time and place where to be black and female is to be deemed immortal and impervious, or thotish and low-down, what can be done to make sure you get to need you? Self-care is one thing, being able to execute that self-care in the face of community need is an animal all together different.

Women of color are not robots, and are entitled to all aspects of rest and personhood. We are entitled to be present with ourselves first, and then tend to what needs to be tended to after.  In times of crisis, chaos and change, it is often black women who go without:  whether it be sleep, health, food or sacrificing the needs of their own households to find and fund the greater good.

Sometimes the greater good is to be supported, to be allowed to be tired and to ask for help…for our own selves. We should not continue to die to for people whom only take from us, and hashtag us when there is no more to take from.


[images from Google]

The New Black Girl

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My mother got nervous when I told her I was pushing forward with my activism. She told me that is not what a black women with children should be doing. She was worried about my welfare, my children and what would happen if I were to be arrested. Moreover, she was distressed if I were to be arrested and my career halted or staled or would end–because St. Louis (you super have to live here to understand). However, I found my niche, and I’m still working in it. Writing is only a snippet of it.

There is a pulse going through my generation and those that are coming after me that has electrified all the black girl magic in the melanin cauldron. All the things that were whispered about during holiday dinners and rumored family lore, we are taking action on. We are no longer silent like our mothers may have had to be to keep peace and placement. We are no longer silent like our grandmothers may have been because they didn’t know what to do, and no relief avenues were open to them.

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We are shedding the cocoon of what it means to be black and woman. We are redefining ourselves, embracing the personhood the women before us couldn’t be afforded–because black women were less than, who taught their daughters to be  more than to get what women and men not born of the sun sup and take for granted. We are in a place where we will no longer suffer in silence, and shatter windows of the boxes which encase us.

The new black girls are concerned about mental health, police brutality, black lives mattering, and the need for self-care. We understand that the burden of our mothers and foremothers is ours to share, but not ours to bear. For so long, being black and woman is to be associated with trauma, solitude and pain. That is now being confronted so healing may begin, and continue to make history.

Since the first mothers of the daughters of the sun were stolen and brought to twice stolen lands known now as America, we have been instructed in what to be, in order that we may become perhaps what they were not. The prayers in languages unknown to us now, and remembered later in the eyes of our mothers, we see their strength given to us to go change every piece of the world we touch.

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With all the change which we have read, heard of, we now become catalysts. We are able to glean from what it is, what was, and what must be. History is what compels us, the future is what awaits us, and we are tired of being told, “Wait. Not now.”

Our retort is, “Wait? Not now!” As my father would say, “You believe in the hereafter? Then you know what I’m hereafter.”

Be Tall

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I stand 5 feet 10 inches tall to the average eye. However, people don’t see how tall I really am because of whose shoulders I stand on. I am the product and fruit centuries old and long suffering, like most people of color in this nation are. We are giants because we remember we stand on shoulders, palms and backs. We remember from whose wombs and love and strength we descend. We remember that we make history on a daily basis. As a black women walking through the world fixating on the hatred me and all mine, it is important that I be tall.

As Women’s History Month comes to a close, women making history is only beginning. What I am most encouraged about is the generation coming behind which have seen glimpses of what is to be young, gifted and black. I am encouraged and impressed with the ideal of what it is to be a black girl is or could be. I am encouraged and thrilled that black women are becoming more of ourselves than perhaps our mothers’ generation where allowed. There is this freedom to this female blackness happening now that can only be considered as divine.

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Black women have no choice other than to be great! We need only look back one generation to see the potential we house.  We can look no further than our own family to see what can be done and what baton needs to be run with.

First to graduate college.

First to get a graduate degree.

First to move out of state. Run for office. Even the first to vote!

We make history, because we believe we can, we shall, and will.


Mother Oracle Nikki Giovanni says, “If the black woman wasn’t born, she would have to be invented.” We make history because our pasts compel us. Indeed we are the hope and the dream of the slave. We have the indomitable nature which serves as a map to do what needs to be done in spite of opposition. When we see further help is needed, we equip those coming behind us, with swifter feet and fresh eyes to take over!

I am tall because I know on whose shoulders I stand! I embrace my own journey and am grateful for the path of women whom chose as they did to make sure one such as myself would come! I am tall because I know I cannot do this, all this, any of this, alone. I have no been so smart, competent or competitive to break barriers and bust up walls and evil policy myself.

There is a mystery in my history.
There are these nameless women, stolen, beaten and suffering,  whom I have only seen or will hear of in an ancestral plain, whom I will never see. There  are women whom believed enough in God to allow me to do so as well–in that same preservation of faith, I have not been consumed.

I am tall because I am not alone…and history is made for me, with me, and after me. I shall remain tall.


[images from Google]

The Parable Of The Water Glass

It’s just a glass.


Melted and shaped rock that was formed and that I can drink out of. This glass was given to me by the Director of FLOW: Where Writing Moves, one amazing Ms. Amanda Wells.

I have not drank from it, and cried when she said I could have one of the many she has on a brown shelf on the wall in her cozy office. I turned it over and over in my hands, tried not to cry. One would ask, “Why cry over a glass? It’s just a glass.” These are the people whom cannot relate to me–they are not acquainted with loss or pain or passions.

It was about two years ago when I decided to forgo nursing school, the goal of becoming a nurse, in favor of pursuing what I loved: writing.

I decided to let go of the safe to do the extraordinary, the unsafe and unheard of. I listened to my heart and the leading of God and have seen my life transform. Since giving up nursing school, the false self, I rediscovered my artistic bent and nature. I began to love me again. I loved creating and words again…I found me.

On this journey, I found myself in rooms I did not unlock, with people I would have never met, and was allowed to have this little Dollar Store water glass.

Which I am allowed to fill…

All my years of trying to please people, of not being accepting of all I was, allowing other people to define me and what I needed–has ended.

I define me now. And only me.

This glass sits in a place where I can see it daily. It reminds me of my potential, my power, my choices and beliefs. It holds only what I allow, and releases only what I say and will. I reminds me that my journey is not over…only just beginning.

And I shall be brave enough to finish it.



[Image belongs to author]


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My good girlfriend, Kelly, is a working single Mom who has landed this bomb job at a law firm. She is slated to graduate this summer with a stellar GPA. As she is an executive paralegal, she is familiar with the demands of a law firm, precise nature of the work required and she is getting invaluable training which will only make her a better paralegal. And she can play Wu-Tang Clan at work! Kelly’s job is awesome!

However, there was bitter broad in her class cohort. Let’s call her *Regular Rachel. Somehow, Regular Rachel found out about Kelly’s job, and went to the head of the program to complain that Kelly had an unfair advantage.

Yes. That happened.

This advantage is the similar to a nursing student employed as a CNA through nursing school. You literally are employing skills which will make you a better nurse. Chile, please.

The epilogue to this is my girl emailed her program head, and let them know in 2018 this is still happening, and how silly it is, and how Regular Rachel needs to find some business. Regular Rachel responded to the situation as all Regular Rachel’s do:

“I am not a racist, and I just want to put this whole situation behind me and move forward…”


Ta-Nahsi Coates said the white people in this country are taught that everything belongs to them. I would have to agree. White privilege can only permit as long as there are systems in place to keep it untouched and unchallenged. White privilege is fragile AF because it is dependent on reinforcement, oppression and the game staying rigged.

Kelly couldn’t have an advantage that outdid her own advantage because that would mean she wouldn’t win. White privilege is steeped in the idea of winning, indoctrination of inherent minority loss, which allows a learned helplessness to become a ceiling to all those who would dare challenge it:  you can go no further than what we believe you should. If you happen to assert yourself, and use the same tricks we use to get over, WEE WHEEL NAWT HAAV EET!


White supremacy needs to take  L’s on two occasions:  continuously and often.

 “If the only way you can be tall is if someone is on their knees, then you have a serious problem.”

-Toni Morrison (a revered Mother Oracle)

White privilege is fragile because it cannot stand alone, or apart from an oppressive system of operation. It remains fragile because it has to be retaught, reinforced and oppressive all those who challenge it. This social construct, much like race, is to assert the belief where to not be white is to be less than.

So, how do we combat it? We combat it just as my girl Kelly did! You call it out, you confront it and you don’t let Regular Rachels, Bitter Beckys and Tryingit Tanyas ruin what you want to do, the hustle you have, and the ambition you power.

The moral of the story:  Keep it pushin. If they can’t stand you, tell Regular Rachel to get a seat and saddown.

*-Regular Rachels are pervasive!

 They are the Beckys with chips on their shoulder and just enough sense of self to believe their own bullshit. Regular Rachel’s are built to fight, but they call managers if the melaninated girl behind the counter is to ‘brash’. They email professors  if they find out someone has an ‘unfair’ advantage. Regular Rachel’s are the goons of white supremacy. Beckys are the molls. Allies don’t allow their circles to have Regular Rachels in their midst and not allow them to roam unchecked. Firestarters, check your circles. None of us have time for the ridiculousness Regular Rachels bring.


[images from Google]



An apple away keeps the doctor away. And being a Firestarter helps you think better. At least you aren’t married a dude who calls himself DJT. You winnin’ fam, you winnin’.

#DanityKane #DanityKaint #AudreyODay #DJTRunFade #RunBoyRun #VanessaAboutToWin #ThisIsAboutToBeGood #TeaSip #PassTheSauce #WhatTheHellIsNext

There has to be a bottom. There has to be, but every time I think there’s  bottom of this Tr*mppedup bullsh!t, there’s a ratchet genie granting wishes and selling wolf tickets! So as I discussed last week, Vanessa Tr*mp is about to be paid, and DJT den had a whole affair from the girl best known for getting thrown out the group Puff Daddy put her in because she always had something to say.

In the age of #MeToo, may I suggest #BihWhat. Like for all this ratchetness and foolishness, you should be able to tag discovered bullsh!t with #BihWhat. Like I can’t with this! He cheated on his wife (chip off the old block!), while she was pregnant (being a bastard is a genetic trait), with a broad who was working for his father! Vanessa confronted her with her daughter present on the phone! And supposedly the affair was so lit she dedicated a song to him and it.

Oh myy.

Rich people rachetness is a level of ridiculous which amuses me. I am so serious.

As these chickens come home to roost, Burn it down Audrey, burn it down! When these chickens come home to roost, they make gumbo!


#AniyahDay #Aniyah #Motherhood #BeAMother #DickDon’tMakeHimDaddy #Fatherhood #WhatTheHell #BeAMama #MamaBear #BearAndHerWhelps #IDontGetThisHere

I don’t understand.

I was fortunate to have my father for seventeen years, and am raising two children as a result of divorce. I would never think of harming my children because of how I felt about their father. This story, and others like it enrage me! I don’t understand the mentality that goes into killing your child, or allowing someone else to harm them to the point of abuse is ridiculous. This child was abused and emaciated, while her mother looked smug in court as charges were read. I saw her father break into pieces about the life of his daughter being taken. “You killed my daughter!” her father screamed. My heart…smh.

There is no excuse for this. None. Aniyah was four. The only thing I could think of is her mother and her mother’s boyfriend (in the face of CPS neglect investigation!) killed her for a double reason–because they could, and to hurt Aniyah’s father. My resounding reply is this:  If she didn’t want to raise the baby, no longer wanted her, she had an option–give her to her father.

Again, I need to emphasize the need to be involved in the life of your children. Be adamant about their well-being, safety and convey your desire to protect and equip them for the onslaught of the life and world that wishes to devour them. You cannot have the lions in bed with lambs and lock the door. As a mother, as a parent, you are charged to nurture and defend. Don’t be lax in this warning or duty.

#StephonClark #BlackLivesMatter #TheyStillKillinUs #StopKillingMySons #TheyAllOurKids #Community #TheyStillKillinUs #LifeWorkIsToJustLive

They killed him in his backyard, with a phone in his hand police though was a gun. How? why is whiteness so disturbed by blackness? I was in grade school when I started to hear the stories about children my age who either had run from the police, knew someone who was running from the police, or who knew how to run from the police.



Stephon was running through yards, minding his business unaware the PD was after him. But–dammit! I am tired of having to Monday morning quarterback these murder hashtags–what they decedent was doing, how good a person he was, meanwhile you got whole homegrown terrorists in Austin, Texas blowing people up with FedEx boxes because they feel ‘disenfranchised’ as a straight, white male in America. This one took me out a little y’all. it really did.

In a world where the leader of the free-greed world is a reengage Jim Henson muppet, no one darker than orange is safe.