letters from a muse.

there was once a time where I just wanted your space.
your love.
your light.
the intense desire to become a memory you’d never erase.
like the muse of a young Lauryn,
you inspired me to be the higher me.
your love made me better
your words, I did treasure
between obsession & insanity,
I often tethered.
my need to help,
matched with my need to heal.
your need for acceptance,
matched by your need to feel.
I watched my blood spill onto the pages of your notebook,
my sorrows into the melodies of your songs,
my pleasure woven deeply into the canvas in which you painted our story;
a story that I’ll never forget.
a story that I’ll one day regret.
an experience that you needed to to quench your creatively driven thirst.
one that for me will always be considered the worst;
the worst heartache,
the most foundation shattering earthquake,
the time when I loved too much to realize what was happening.
back before I knew what it meant to be a “muse” & my foolish herb influenced mind thought I was in control.
before I shed tears to mourn the love I thought I’d never replace.
before I realized that I was simply acting as a place–
the truth that hit me like a boulder.
a reality that shook my core
a love that could never be much more.
the old “fall in love with an artist & you’ll never die” saying bears some truth.
the scars that I bear on my heart from the strokes of your paintbrush,
I offer as proof.

why I’m not a “writer” or any other label.

This past weekend I had the luxury *sarcasm* of being called young, dumb, and misinformed by twitter extremists when I said that men could support equal rights and not necessarily identify as “feminists.”

…I guess. 

I wasn’t exactly annoyed by the drones of tweeters with “sex positive, feminist, womanist, everything-that-can-possibly-end-with-ist” labels in their bios. I was actually enjoying a pretty tasty chicken burrito bowl from chipotle so I was amused, to say the very least. Their commentary didn’t do much more than get me to thinking about why I reject labels completely and always have. I’ve never liked being thrown into a group of countless others for the sake of having a name. This is probably why I didn’t fair very well with the sorority I tried to join in undergrad but that’s neither here nor there.

More recently, I’ve been fighting this “writer” label like two strippers who accidentally danced in the same area and can’t seem to separate the proceeds like civil human beings…idk why, I’ve just never really felt much like a writer, or anything else for that matter. I talked to a few of my writer friends and aside from them being seemingly annoyed with what can be perceived as fake modesty, they offered some pretty decent insight and unlike the twitter-ists from this weekend, informed me that I didn’t have to study and train my entire life just to be considered something…which in this case, is a writer.

For me, like many others, I think it’s much easier to tell yourself what you aren’t instead of giving props for what you are. I can tell you that I almost always ruin “simultaneously” without spellcheck. (swear on everything I fucked that up before spellcheck dissed me with the red squiggly line). I can also tell you how I am completely off balance almost 100% of the time. One of my friends once likened me to the Gumby-looking blow up things outside of hood car wash places and now that I think of it, that’s a pretty accurate description…of every single day of my life. I could also tell you that at 23 I am still not completely sure if I can ride a bike without any assistance and this may or may not be the exact reason why I don’t have a driver’s license. Or maybe talk about how I have absolutely no rhythm so at a young age I learned that if you know all the songs and rap them as if you were in the booth when they were produced, no one will ever notice the fact that you can’t actually dance and just big up your faux rapping skills.

But since I’m on this whole “everything is awesome! let’s all be super positive!” kick I’ll try not to harp on my flaws too much and tell you the things I can do:

I have an impeccable ear for production…music production that is. It’s like my hidden talent. I even went as far as emailing the good folks at DONDA to tell that I’m nice enough serve as an apprentice of some sort to Kanye…I’m not exactly sure why they couldn’t find it in their hearts to give me a shot but I’m sure he’ll regret that shit when I’m on TV.

I may or may not be as great of a pop-locker as Omarion when I’m drunk. In my mind I look like the dance part of the “touch” video, but in reality I’m certain that I look like Leo DiCap dancing in the wedding scene of The Wolf On Wall Street.

Lastly, (believe me, this list was so fucking hard to shorten because I’m pretty much amazing at everything…don’t laugh. that’s what whiskey tells me & whiskey does NOT lie.) I’m pretty good at seeing the beauty and good in others. For some reason I have this whole Negrodamus thing going on where I can see the future or at least be so arrogant to try to make someone believe that they should listen to my drunken predictions…idk. The Negrodamus thing sounds cooler.

The point of this is to get you to consider what’s great about you. It’s easy to talk about your cellulite or how you should probably get better at being a person at some point but that shit kinda gets you nowhere. If you train your eyes to always see a glass half empty, you’ll never celebrate the coolness of having it half full.

Don’t start clapping, I just made that shit up…like literally two seconds ago.  Does this mean I’m like a freestyle rapper…only of blogging? AM I A FREESTYLE BLOGGER?!

see, just discovered another reason to call myself amazing. start jotting down a list for yourself!


five chicks walk into a bar.

Every woman is apart of a clique at some point in her life, whether she’s aware of it or not. Cliques are funny. The group chats, the spats amongst members, the rules of “girl world.” If you’re reading this thinking, “I don’t have these issues I’m a grown ass woman” girl, shut up. You’re probably the annoying one.

So five chicks walk into a bar (or club, whatever.) and this is the standard breakdown:

Girl 1: “I’m in love. I have a man already. I don’t even club like that, just here for my girl’s birthday.”

She’s right, she NEVER goes out and if she does it’s ONLY because her man decided to go out for his friend’s birthday (he never goes out either, they love sitting in the house staring at each other). Girl 1 is ALWAYS ready to go. She might rap along with a song or two, get you hype when you’re doing your “it’s midnight and it’s my birthday” twerk but she has absolutely no desire to sit in this hot ass club with you wayward souls any longer. She could be at home, loving up on her man and she’s only here because you got mad about her flaking on the last few outings. Everybody knows that missing a birthday for any reason other than death is a mortal sin in girl world.

Girl 2: “I’m in love…with a dude who isn’t worth shit. I’m here because he isn’t answering”

You may think that Girl 1 and Girl 2 are the same but you are sadly mistaken. Girl 1 actually HAS a boyfriend, Girl 2 isn’t quite sure what to call her “situation.” Girl 2 believes that a bond is worth more than a title. She sits in her phone the entire night hoping that Mr. Aint Shit is so kind enough to bless her with a “what you doing later?” text. Another thing about Girl 2, she never really knows when she’ll see Mr. A.S. again so as soon as she gets the text you’ll see her trying to be low and gather her things. She knows she’s an addict. She knows yal are tired of the bullshit with her and her situation. You know it too but she’s cool. You all hope that one day when this is over, you’ll laugh at this…until she meets her next situation. She might say something like, “alright yal, I’m out. I’m kinda tired.” She aint tired. She’s going to get her fix.

Girl 3: “Fuck love. Don’t say anything to me OR them.”

Girl 3 is mean as fuck. She’s been Girl 1 and Girl 2 before and now she’s just over it. She’s usually the one you try to get the most liquor in, in hopes that she’ll be nice to the guys you meet. She’s in her phone the entire night too (on twitter or IG. no one’s texting her) and because she hates men most days she raps all of the “fuck niggas” verses like she penned them herself. You love Girl 3 because she’s a realist but you also know that she’s really not for the bullshit. When Girl 4 starts getting drunk and touchy, she’s the one swooping in like someone’s mama to save her. The ultimate cock blocker, especially “first time” cocks. She takes pride in feeling like she saved you from your hoe self. She has nothing for anyone who isn’t apart of the group she came with but one word answers. She got all dolled up just to come to the club and be evil.

Girl 4: “I’m okkkkkk! Seriously, yal. I’m fine! I’ll text yal when we get there!”

Oh, the beloved Girl 4. Girl 4 is a thrill seeker. She’s indulges in experiences like a coke head indulges in…well, you get it. She’s fun and sometimes you don’t understand how you got so close with someone so wild. Girl 4 usually has no issues with anyone…except for the habitual line stepper that is Girl 3. You might look up in a party and Girl 4 is over in a corner, tonguing down some random and setting up a situation for the end of the night. Like Girl 2, she will leave you in a heartbeat to chase her high. For Girl 4, “high” could mean men, drugs, or dancing with random homeless folks on the street. With her, you truly just never know what to expect. She usually starts off her crazy stories a little like, “Yal, don’t judge me but…” and despite her disclaimer, she doesn’t really care if you or anyone else judges her. Girl 4 marches to one drum, the one that she beats herself.

Girl 5: *Awkward Silence*

Girl 5 is an interesting character…she’s like a Girl 3 and Girl 4 hybrid of some sorts. The judge-y attitude of Girl 3 and the “down for anything” attitude of Girl 4. Difference is, Girl 5 actually cares if you judge her. She wants to be wild but hasn’t quite discovered the confidence to do so…so how does she feat this? By being wild behind closed doors and a bitch in the open. Unlike Girl 4, news of Girl 5’s bad behavior is almost always found out via secondhand accounts. With her, you really never know what she’s up to. Depending on tonight’s mood she might be apart of Girl 3’s peanut gallery or she could be setting plans with Girl 4. SN: Girl 1 doesn’t really care much for Girl 5. Aren’t cliques fun?!

So you know I gotta ask…which girl are you?