Lionesses Loom Legendary

Black women make history. It takes more than a months of February and March to the honor the intersection of black, woman and history.

In keeping with the theme of this month, Black Women making history and of black women in history, I ask you to consider the lioness. Not the phrase female lion, but lioness. She is distinct from her male counterpart, intuitive and just as ambitious towards care and care of the pride as she is. She is integral because she is indispensable.

One of those women is on my list of personal sheroes: Maria Chappelle-Nadal. In times of crisis black women always seem to show up, create solutions and walk them through. It’s what we do! It’s just what we do. With the bars of our ever-FLOTUS, “If you want impossible done, gimme about a week.”

From Ferguson to voting rights to the ecological and environmental crisis happening in Bridgeton, Missouri, Maria has shown the same fearlessness that makes her adored and feared. She is symbolic of knowing on whose shoulders she stands*. It is that fearlessness that is embodied by a quote a local pastor said:

Your compassion should compel you to action.

In times such as these, we see this new wave of lionesses emerge to glean from their foremothers to rub faster and further and smarter. I am glad that in the face of times like this, I can add my roar to hers and my own pride.

It is this taught sense of self that keep black women formidable. That allow us to to make do and make space and take no prisoners when we know we are right and close to victory. These are key components when deciding to change the world when people only whisper about what to do.

Add your roar, don’t fear it.

You can do it.


*-I know what Missouri State Senator Chappelle-Nadal said about the Imposter POTUS and being assassinated. Back up off her! And second, as much isht as this country is in–as much as is about to blow up, y’all need to pay attention to the people who are really for you—rather than the ones that wanna rob you and kill you slow. To know more about the Bridgeton Landfill clean up and her involvement click here.

In Memory of Ida B.

Whenever I think of Women’s History Month, I think of my personal shero, Ida Bell Wells Barnett. I adore for the same reason, I adore State Senator Maria Chappelle-Nadal. She is unfuckwitable. Why? Google her.





Women’s Rights Advocate.

Community Organizer.





I found Ida B. Wells Barnett in fourth grade. There was a power to her I noticed when I was a pouty, moody nine-year-old girl. She was my secret push to continue to write, and command  language and be, or become unfuckwitable. I loved how dynamic she was in a time where to be at the intersection of black and woman was detrimental to sustainable progress.

Ida B. is one of the reasons why I am so passionate about education, my own blackness, writing and the development of my own community. She is the reason why I was committed to becoming a better woman. I revere her like I do my mother, and grandmother. With no plan, clue or map, she did it. Whatever she set her mind to do, she did it. As a little black girl, you need heroes. You need heroes that are ahead of their time, and take a machete to the path they are on to leave a trail for those that are coming behind.

For a little girl that had no idea how to change the world, I needed that path. I needed there to be an Ida B so I could be a Jennifer. I had to see there was someone before me that did what I desired to do with half of what I currently had.

I needed there to be an Ida Bell Wells…I needed to see what I could become.

I always thought it was amazing that she died fifty years before I was born. I thought that her dying in 1931 was significant, mystic even. There was a sense I had to her, with her, that she could have been a grandmother, and I her granddaughter. I felt as though she passed into the next world with secrets and strength I needed.

Yet, she left her books–her words–to remind me, us whom are her fellow oracles,  to keep going. Not to stress, but to push and get through it, because the it doesn’t define me.

That’s what good mothers do. They leave a path. They leave a trail. They make waves and ways. They leave a light.

Thank you Mama Ida. Thank you for showing me what an oracle can be, should be, and is. My prayer is that one day, my work, my words can do the same.

1808-This Doesn’t Happen In Wakanda

(Remember, 1808 means this is NSFW.)

I spoke about this story when I first heard about it before Christmas. Click here for that initial tea. See this link for this low-grade fuckery out of Hartford University.

I cannot say what is in another woman’s heart, or their faith, but a girl that put my toothbrush in her ass needs to take an L. I in no way can advocate for her on any level. Help me be better Jesus, because I can’t and don’t ask me to!

Chennell “Jazzy” Rowe went to the sentencing hearing of a broad that wiped menstrual blood on her things and spit in her lotion and put her toothbrush in her ass. The Lord says to forgive, but you ain’t gotta do this here! I can’t do it bruh. I can’t do it!

The problem I have with this is the constant assault on black women. The barrage we are subjected to simply for being melaninated! This silly clear trollop said she did these things to her after she found out Jazzy put a video of her snoring on social media.

Aight. 😒

Even with that being so, this shit is uncalled for. There are different ways to handle a nasty b!tc#. I’m from St. Louis, Missouri bruh, Idda handed out an ass-whuppin once I found out, since we one-uppin!

I am proud of Jazzy’s poise. And restraint. I am over how black women are treated and expected to hold to his Mammie expectation that everything done to us by those white folk that don’t know no better just needs to be forgiven!

I’m not advocating vengeance, but fairness. Do I think this is hate crime? I do actually. If the girl was that mad about a roommate, she could have found another one. Point blank.

Miss me with she didn’t know, wasn’t aware and didn’t mean it. When you set your mind to put something I put in my mouth, in your ass, you aim to get all you got coming to you once I find out. Slap ya mammie, because she just as trifling and could teach you no better.


Mane, look.

Black people be thinking a lot!

Like a whole lot!

In my over quarter century of blackness, the continuous theme is, “Damn, can I just live?” Like what is really the issue with letting me and all my magic and melanin live?

There are so many forces that would, should let them, diminish the shine that our blackness gives! From movie theaters, to outdoor events, Spades games and graduations, can we just be allowed to be great? I mean…what is it about this magic and melanin that makes cats so nervous we need coded language and separate categories to describe the power of a group or collective of melaninated people?

As far as these right-wing State Fox News Reports, all black people be thinking is, “Damn! Can I just live?!” With the tea being spilt, sprayed and thrown scolding hot through GET OUT, we see that most people would do anything to be us, but destroy us if their ideal of blackness cannot be achieved.

From lips, to accents, to fashion, to innovation or athleticism, non-POC, want to become people of color only to toss us away like rinds of strange fruit, to quote Jesse Williams.

“Damn, can I just live?!”

-Proverb of unregrettable blackness

Black people be thinking, “You wanna be me until you get to be you. What part of the game is that?!”

How about this. In return for us teaching non-melaninated people the value of style, rhythm, minding your own business and seasonings, y’all tell the other colored people in blue, dressed in their wives’ good sheets, and dressed in the skin suits of US Senators, to stop shooting every black person they see, aight?


Then we still can’t breathe and still all we wanna do is live. Can we just do that?


Black Girl Magic-Part II

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“Don’t let anyone steal your magic.”

-Solange Knowles

Black women are complicated. We have learned that we can be many things to so many people, at time at the cost of ourselves. We become our own superheroes–push, hustle and flow to get stuff done. Our magic makes us pillars and targets. Our strength is our vulnerability.

In this age of the new Afro-centrism and pro-blackness, indeed this definition of the strength we house could only be defined as magic! And in that magic, we keep our worlds spinning…because we must. In the preservation of this magic, we often do it at the cost of ourselves.

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What makes Black Girl Magic so potent is the definite nature of self it grants. We own all who we are, all that has happened to us, and live our lives to determine our own futures–free from the say-so of others (at least that is the plan…). There are so many ways the world outside our windows try to take our magic, siphon it, to disavow its relevance to ourselves and the world at large.

The two ways this occurs this through loss of self-worth, and the loss of identity. Self-worth is what you think, believe, and know of yourself which you value. The loss of identity comes amidst the world which tells a little black girl what they are not, what they can never be, and who they should become. The list begins as such:

  • “You’re pretty for a black girl…”
  • “You too dark skinned to be pretty…”
  • “Your hair is too nappy…”
  • “You got a white girl name…”
  • “Your name too ghetto..”

And may all-time favorite, “You would be prettier if…”

When we as black women, even as little black girls, begin to internalize these things, these lies about who we are not and should be, with no countering voices, indeed we succumb.  The weapons against the loss of Black Girl Magic are self-love, mentorship and representation.

Never let the world steal your magic. On the off chance that it may try and steal it, you must remember who you are, not what people say. In refilling your magic, make time for yourself, learn what it is you love to do, and preserve your space. Take inventory of friendships, relationships and what you spend your emotional labor on.

All of your is precious, unique and your very presence is a mystique–that’s why they call it magic.

Black Girl Magic-Part I

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There is something about the air of the intersection of black and female.  We have the unique ability to make everything around us better, sweeter and lighter. In the era of Temperamental Tangerines, I am reminded of the women of this nation whom helped shape and enforce change in the face of tension, intolerance, and utter craziness.

How we are able to subdue, conquer and reinvent in the face of all that is offensive is nothing short of magical. I believe it was Audre Lorde who said, “Magic is older than writing, no one knows how it got started.” I believe it is the same with Black Girl Magic.  It is the latest version of this mystique, and indomitable nature of Black women.

There is this beat to us, this rhythm by which makes those on the outside looking in, jealous, envious or left out.


Indeed, we are magic. In the face of adversity, we rise up and withstand. We make do when there is no make. We make history on a daily basis–because we must. There is a element to this Black Girl Magic which allows us as black women to become our superheroes.   Indeed, we are magic. We are magic because of how we carry ourselves, reinvent ourselves, and never allow your circumstances to define us.

We make resilience.

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From art, to music, to science and fashion and beauty, we make our mark. We excel and make our presence known. We are indelible because we are incredible. Black Girl Magic is a secret weapon, rocket fuel and an anchor to soul. We wield it and harness it as earth hold the sun. We use it, reminded of its power and warmth and pushes what is inside out of us.

What the unfamiliar call magic, we call a normal day. Every black girl is magic.