Since today is Labor Day, I figured Marquita’s Messy Mondays should be about someone working a little too hard.

Insert Lena Dunham.

To be completely honest with y’all, I have never cared for her.


Her depiction of her life in TV show form, Girls, just never appealed to me. Growing up in New York City, Lena’s NYC wasn’t my experience. There was not one black person on her show the first season. I mean black people weren’t even walking around New York City on her show.

A NYC without black people?



Then she tried to solve the problem of there being NO BLACK PEOPLE in her show by bringing a problematic republican black male as her love interest….

She had to go.

But the reason Lena is the subject of my messy Monday is that she took it upon herself to talk mess about Odell Beckham Jr.

Beckham is a lovely and beautiful football player for my favorite team the Giants, and was an attendee of the Met Gala. Where apparently he was seated at the same table as Lena and didn’t say anything to her.

He wasn’t obligated. He was probably just as mad as I was that Rihanna wasn’t there.

Somehow Lena took his silence to mean that Odell thought she was fat, unattractive, and not the type of woman he would want to have sex with.

Once again Odell said not ONE word to her.

Lena, baby.

Poor woman who believes her existence is that important. Lena is just straight up messy. Not only did she publicly come out and act as if she was exposing Odell, she also told on herself.

What better way to tell the whole world that you dislike yourself, than by creating insults no one said to you?

I almost feel bad for her.

On top of all of this, her apology to Odell addresses her insecurities by her saying there is a violent history of white women lying on black men. This is very true but it just felt wrong coming out her mouth. I just want her to sit down and explain to her boyfriend why she was stressed over another man.

So Lena you are the topic of my messy Monday because you just confused the entire world with your anger and ranting. We didn’t want to hear about you, but then you did this, and now we roast you.

My final note:

Lena, leave Odell alone, he has to keep playing football for my city and being very very attractive.











Here it is! The first in my series of Marquita’s Messy Mondays, where I discuss something that happened in pop culture in my witty voice (lol).


Sunday night was too much for me to handle.

Who knew I would wake up to be STRESSED at all the activities that happened last night at MTV VMAs?

So here is what I learned at 6am on Monday morning:


  • Beyonce took up 15 minutes of the VMAs, killed it, and I teared up to be honest with y’all. She performed the poems too….
  • Rihanna wore the coolest (kinda weirdest) outfits, was gorgeous as usual, and won an award
  • Teyana Taylor. Girl. Chill. But also don’t chill.
  • Iman Shumpert, you blessed.
  • I like Ariana new look. Its cute.
  • Why is Nicki still with Meek?
  • Following Rihanna’s snapchat is the best choice I have made in life
  • Also Kanye might not be so crazy….


But the HIGHLIGHT of the night was Drake professing his love to Rihanna.

Now this isn’t just important to me because I love Drake and adore Rihanna.

This is important because this union is honestly a very healthy representation of a woman running thangs.

I know all of you are like “Marquita, how are you about to pull this argument off?”

Stay with me. I promise I won’t take long

Rihanna or Robyn (as I call her) is the epitome of the carefree black girl. She walks around wearing whatever she wants, looking gorgeous as hell, got all her best friends a job, and is hard working. She about her business and she doing a damn good job. Girl got eight albums, outselling tons of artists, and most importantly, rock a new hairstyle each week. And her clothes, y’all, her clothes. I have pictures of her outfits saved just so I can recreate them.

RiRi fell in love and was abused by the one who she loved. She went against everyone’s wishes and tried again with Chris Brown because she loved him. I mean how relatable is that to people? Rihanna feels like a tangible entity and she thriving.

Drake. He is a lot but I am about it. Drake is out here in the strip club with girls, trying to save them but also being extra. Rihanna and him have this on and off thing and I have always supported it.

But last night was important because Drake said he loved her, Rihanna blushed, he went in for a kiss, and she curved him. Honestly I don’t even need to know if they are together for real or not because my life was made.

This woman has complete ownership of herself. She curved Drake on stage because she can and then she took pictures with him and her mom 5 minutes later. These are they type of images we need for women. We need authenticity. These are goals.

We will  always wonder if Rihanna loves Drake.

Or if Drake was doing that thing men do: lie.

 Either way my life was made last night and now I know going to bed and being responsible is the wrong thing to do.


10 Things I Learned In A Week


I am sitting here sick and tucked into bed before 9pm on a Friday night celebrating the end of my first week of work! Woooo! Party! And while most of my blog posts are creative pieces, this one is more of my own musings and lessons I got from this past week.

  1. The first job you get out of college does not make or break you or decide your career. I knew this for a while but this week affirmed it. I have been doing enormous amounts of research and something I keep seeing is that a person’s career is filled with twists and turns. You can be in finance and then become a record producer. In order to make it happen you need to work.
  1. Wherever you work hired you because they believe you can do the job. Sometimes that is all the motivation you need.
  1. I can still look up amazing quotes while working. This job is meant for me.

“Writing can be lonely but it’s a wonderful kind of aloneness.  I often reach a point where the world I am creating seems more vivid than the world I occupy.”

                                                                                               -Hanya Yanagihara

  1. Kindness is everything. Some people have said to me in the past they hate the workplace or internships because they have to smile at everyone and it feels false. I totally understand. I mean how many times can I smile at the woman who always seems to use the bathroom at the same time I do? I don’t know how many times, but people remember those moments and when I need that woman for something my smiles will go a long way.
  1. The world of education is so fascinating. Its more than just sitting students down and teaching them. It is so complex. I cannot wait to learn more.
  1. On that note, I am learning everyday.
  1. I have officially become “boring” in the span of a week. I wake up at 6am everyday, go to the bathroom, get dressed, and eat a bowl of Cheerios. I look in the mirror, contemplate wearing foundation and decide not to wear it. I end up just doing my eyebrows and wearing mascara. I catch the same train and arrive at work early. I leave work and come back to watch tv, think about work, and go to sleep before 12am.
  1. (Look at #7) I love it. What you may call boring, I call being stable. And after four years of different schedules, dorms, and sometimes friends, it feels good to predict my next step.
  1. Everyone asks for help. Even your boss and if they don’t, you should be worried.
  1. I know that despite the natural hierarchy that most offices and businesses run on, my youth is not a hindrance. And I am not afraid to voice my opinion. I have enough faith to know that my being comes from a unique perspective that no one else has. That alone makes me useful in ways no one else can be.
  1. Success never happens overnight. (I know I said 10, but hey, you only live once!)

Needless to say I am content and I am excited to see what is going to happen next.

As always, I will find time to write.

How Do I Write This Story?



I want to tell a story.


I want to give the protagonist a beginning, middle, and an end.


I want them to enjoy childhood, go to school, fall in love, work, and find a passion.


I want them to encounter a problem.


Endure it.


Overcome it.


Learn from it.


I want there to be supporting characters that challenge, love, and nurture my protagonist.


I want my readers to see the human in the protagonist’s flaws.


I want the story to have the resolution that stories have.


But what if my protagonist is black?


How do I tell that story?


We are being killed before I can finish my sentences.



2016-03-16 17.00.39

Stare into a hole in the ground. It has changed into the shape of a rectangle. Look deep into the hole and step close to the edge to feel the sublime of falling in. A beautiful ivory colored casket with caramel accents is slowly but quickly lowered into the hole. The people surrounding you sob a silent screaming pain. Your vision blurs away as water fills your eyes. The strain of holding back tears is difficult as everyone else cries.

Friday November 12, 2010: two days after my birthday. I was still in the birthday spirit as I take a whole week to celebrate the occasion. It is a national holiday to my mother and me. I finished French class, a rather relaxed class from my previous ones. Earlier that day, my advisor summoned me to her classroom after my last class. Believing the meeting had no real urgency, I paced slowly upstairs. Pausing, to get water, I observed the sun land on my face and the bubbles in the water dance around the cup, skirting at the edges. I drank only half of the water in the cup, before throwing it away. I walked up the stairs and opened the door to see my advisor. After a few words she tells me to call my mother. My stomach turned into knots while my pulse began to quicken. The phone rang three times and my mother answered greeting me and asking how my day was. After small talk she says she has bad news. Pause. “Your Aunt Jennifer passed away.”

Utter silence and shock are my responses, then a pound of bricks hit me forcing out the breathless, choking sobs that engulfed me. I could think too clearly. I could hear my mother’s questions, my mumbled answers, the click of the receiver, and then the steps across the recently buffered floor my advisor took to give me a hug. Everything was crystal clear. I walked out in a daze, not registering what I just learned. I walked down the stairs I just walked up, sliding my fingers on the wooden rail as support. The ton of bricks hit me again, and I sobbed and trembled all the way back to my dorm.

That was less than a year ago and now my world seems to be falling back into the right puzzle pieces. Except the puzzle piece that had my aunt in it, that will be forever lost. What will not be lost is what she did for me in her life and even in her death.

My aunt embodied the qualities of a fierce, loving, encouraging, and intelligent woman. She had beautiful eyes and perfectly applied red lipstick that would always land on my face after a welcome or goodbye kiss. Though, her beauty was not two-dimensional. She always had a positive word to say to my mother and me. She expressed to my mother how proud she was of the way my mother raised me. She always encouraged me to keep succeeding in life and keep up the hard work I was doing. I know she supported and loved me. Her loving personality was infectious and is one of the reasons she is missed.

I have learned that I need to live, truly live. No more allowing fear and anxiety to engulf me the way those tears did. Currently, I am applying to college and embarking on my senior year and it is scary and intimidating, but I will not let that stop me. I may have big dreams for a 17 year old that seem unrealistic to others, but I believe and know I will be successful. Going to college will turn my dreams into tangible goals. I am going to be an author and you will see my book in many Barnes and Nobles across the country and even world. I will become an actress and perform to allow people to experience jubilee the way I experience it when I perform. I will help others who have ambitions in life during my quest of achieving my goals. No matter what I will never give up; no one can deter me from becoming the person I aspire to be. I have one last request for you. Believe that my applying to college is not just to access a college’s name or to continue a process of life; it is to become the best Marquita Amoah I can be.

The Boy Chronicles


During my sophomore year I started to write about some of the males in my life, just as a past time. I decided to write vignettes about them, as I could divulge information but never allow readers to guess who the men were. These males are family members, friends, strangers, and even men who do not affect my life. These vignettes have been written sporadically over the past two years.

Each week I will publish four vignettes, enjoy!


The Boy Chronicles: Installation #1


You are a spice. Cinnamon, like your smooth skin. Easy on the eyes. You make girls swoon with your words and Latin tongue. Fire you speak, or fuego that is.

But, I have always had a preference for ice.

You are the epitome of boy giving too much. Tell this girl that, tell another one this. Stop spreading yourself too thin, baby. Be real. Never fake. Say how you feel. Do not hurt my friend.

Wait, you already did that.

When I see you disappointment is plagued on my face because I know that you can be more than what you portray. I know you can be it all. Baby, maybe I am closed off because you seem unworthy of me opening my doors.



Down. That is where you come from. But just because you are from down does not mean you are not special. You are everything we ask for. Caring, funny, attentive, and best of all you are a great listener. You love us. And we love you.

Your persona is more than what you wear and look like. You are more than what other people see. You are the surprise we got while waiting for the main attraction. When you speak we listen. Helpful.

Is it because of this that we are not with you. None of us want to make that step. Is it possible to love someone to a point that friendship is all one can imagine? If so, we have hit that point. We love you and you love us. That is all that matters to me.



Mister, excuse me for writing my thoughts. You told me that you wanted to hear about me so here we are. I am the wind blowing trying to make you feel the cold I felt. I am the hail trying to make you hurt the way I did. I do not know if I love you. Is that bad?

To not know if love is in my heart for you?

Do you love me? I know it’s the question that sends most of you boys running. But I want to know if you love me. Not that it would change the past, but it would show me that in words you understand what affection is. Obviously you lack that in actions.

I know that she is not better than me. That is one thing you never have to tell me. I know my ability is way more than hers, but reminding you of your lost opportunities is never bad. Mister, excuse me for not saying what you wanted to hear.

I’ll walk away now.




You are too special to see what you mean to us.

You are too young to see what we see when we hug you.

You are too naïve to what we are trying to prevent you from.

We love you. But we do not want that for you.

They say you look like me. That makes me happy. Yet, you are becoming him.

I love him, but you more. I know it is wrong to say that one loves another more than the other, but I do, and she does too. Don’t hide your love from her like him. Do not depend on her like he does. Do not depreciate her life, like he does.

Be better. For her. For me. For you.

Beauty Can Go Screw Itself


A few days ago I decided to forgo beauty.

For all my life I have had a desire to be beautiful. Now before anyone yells at me while reading this, I know that I am an attractive young woman. But everyone always desires for more.

A few days ago I had a thought while looking in a magazine. Fuck Beauty. Fuck It.

It was not an angry thought, just a simple and sensible thought. A thought I should have had a long time ago. No matter how much anyone tries they will never be beautiful to everyone, so why the effort? Being beautiful has its benefits, I will not deny that fact. Being beautiful will get me through the front door, but will it get me all the way in? I don’t know, but I am not relying on something as fleeting as beauty to help me succeed in life.

Now I will not lie and say that I do not have things that I want to alter about my appearance, but it is for a different reason now.

You know what I want to be?

Striking, Noticeable, and Innovating. I want my presence to cause a frenzy. My eyes should make a person question their purpose. My mouth should cause intellectual debates, full of emotion. My skin will shine its importance to me and the world. If someone wants to call that beauty, then so be it. But I am done with beautiful…its too damn fickle for my taste.

Creativity, liberation, and success serve more stability in my life. I will take that any day over beauty.

I Had Sex With…


It came in one night, with a passion that I could not ignore. Crawled into my bed as I was laying there trying to reach the ignorance of sleep. It could see my vulnerability as I lied in the bed, trying to make the sheets spread over me in ways unknown.

As I lied there, I could feel it creeping onto my skin. The light touch from my foot to my hips. I knew it was wrong, but I never flinched. It touched my chest and finally I could feel a breeze on my lips. That was my chance. I should leave, exit this trap, and not allow it to go any farther.

But I think I wanted it to consume me, because it gave me an excuse that I could use to not live life to the fullest. It slowly undressed me, and I did not place a hand on my clothing to stop it. The cool air hit my skin and I shivered, but never once pulled the sheets over me.

I knew it was wrong, I knew I had the power to stop it, but I relinquished my title. I let it become stronger than me. It grew stronger with every falling article of clothing that came off of my body.

It entered me and I did not scream. It was like my body was prepared. It continued to enter me until  its penetration reached my heart. It enjoyed that pulsating, warm part of me. But it loved my heart. It did not take too long until it reached my soul.

There it spread its venomous semen, and it impregnated my mind. Its job was done and I was just one of the countless bodies it inhabited.

I am still trying to shake that night off my body.

I am still trying to forget the night I had sex with fear.

P.S This post came from a prompt someone asked me to explore. What if you had sex with fear? Hope it was a good piece. Thank you!

I Almost Forgot


I almost forgot why I fell in love.

I was reminded on a Monday night. Talking is sometimes the best cure to amnesia. She spoke to me and told me why she loved so hard. As I listened, I realized I was a neglectful lover. The passion and fervor in her voice allowed me to realized that I used to sound like that, but in a month’s time, I almost forgot.

I fell in love when I was six years old, but I always fight the good things. I fought my love, for a long time until I fell all over again one night. I cried that night it happened again. It was stronger, more potent than the first time. There I was, sitting over the computer and typing at three in the morning. I cried the whole time I wrote and in that moment I realized my tears were jubilant tears. That was when it was solidified, my love was writing.

He waited patiently for me for years, way longer than I think any man will wait for me. He stood in the shadows and allowed me to continuously dismiss him. But when I was ready, he opened his arms and took me. I was crying because I was happy and so silly for not realizing earlier.

I have had writer’s block for the past month and that is why I have not written anything on my blog for some time. I had so many ideas, but nothing came out. Now I am writing as fluidly as before. In order to perfect my craft, to make use of it, and let it support me; I need to keep writing.

I almost forgot.

That was a scary feeling, but I remembered.

I remembered.

A Vivid Dream


We were sitting in a car.

He was reassuring me that our child would not be short. Due to my short stature, I was afraid our child would come out very, very short. Of course seeing as I just had my child I would not know if that would occur for quite some time.

We were sitting in a car.

A knock on the window alerted both of us and he motioned with his hand for me to exit the car. As I opened the door, a woman with a white outfit on smiled at me. For some peculiar reason, her smile quieted all the qualms I had about my child.

He was sitting in a car.

I walked to this room, which held the information about my newborn child. The woman with the white outfit on said to me, “Your son is beautiful and healthy. He is 7lbs and has a beautiful life ahead of him”. She also told me my son’s name, Isaiah.

He was sitting in a car.

I walked back to the car and opened the door. For a quick second, I saw worry plagued on his face. When he saw me, a smile started to spread. I told him what the woman in white told me. He was not there when I had Isaiah. He was elated because he had a son. A son is what he dreamed and here I was giving him his dream.

We were sitting in a car.

A knock interrupted the beautiful silence of two souls pondering the creation of life. It was the woman in white. “You can take your son home,” she said. He motioned with his hand for me to exit the car; he wanted me to bond with our son.

I looked at Isaiah.

Isaiah’s eyes were a pure blue and his skin was the complexion of creamed honey. Isaiah looked like him. Blue oceans were staring at me, trying to comprehend that I was the beholder of his life. Isaiah was absolutely breathtaking…that was the only difference between Isaiah and him. It took me a long time to look at him and get my breath taken away, but it only took seconds with Isaiah.

He was sitting in a car.

His eyes lit up when he saw Isaiah. The blue oceans stared at him too, trying to comprehend his existence. He was elated! A smile stayed plastered on his face, because he had been given a dream.

We were sitting in a car.

He started to drive, finding it hard to focus on the road, while looking at two humans who gave him purpose. I looked away and felt brown roots staring at me. I looked up and without him saying anything I could see the gratitude in his stare. He was thanking me for giving him life.

We were sitting in a car.

In the span of the drive, Isaiah grew. His blue oceans turned into hazel skies. His flawless creamed honey skin transformed into cinnamon swirls and pearls shone from his mouth. Isaiah was 2 now.

They exited the car.

For some reason I showed no protest when my two men left me, because I knew I would see them again. He was a simple man who created life with me. Isaiah was my seed giving me reason.

He was giving me solitude before I knew I needed it.

I went home.

I turned on the dimmed lights and lied down in bed. I was speechlessly, completely, and blissfully happy. I heard quickened footsteps. I sat up. Then I heard slow and calm footsteps… I drifted to sleep.