Another Monday and once again some more messiness.

This time multiple people are being messy.


Everyone who is against the NFL players who are kneeling during the National Anthem.

Now this backlash against Colin Kaepernick who started this protest has been going on for weeks now, but I chose to talk about it today because I read a statement by model Kate Upton.

Kate Upton was appalled that football players were kneeling during the National Anthem on 9/11. She goes on to release a statement as to why she thinks its wrong to kneel during the National Anthem.

Please read this (I cut out some things but here is the gist):

In my opinion, the national anthem is a symbolic song about our country. It represents honoring the many brave men and women who sacrifice and have sacrificed their lives each and every single day to protect our freedom. Sitting or kneeling down during the national anthem is a disgrace to those people who have served and currently serve our country. Protest all you want and use social media all you want. Recent history has shown that it is a place where anyone no matter what race or gender has the potential to become President of the United States. We live in the most special place in the world and should be thankful. After the song is over, I would encourage everyone to please use the podium they have, stand up for their beliefs, and make America a better place. It is a shame how quickly we have forgotten this as a society. Today we are more divided then ever before. I could never imagine multiple people sitting down during the national anthem on the September 11th anniversary. The lessons of 911 should teach us that if we come together, the world can be a better and more peaceful place #neverforget.

 In the nicest way I could ever say this,

Kate Upton needs to shut up.



She missed the point.

Kaepernick and the other football players are protesting because the treatment of people of color in this country is atrocious. It has been that way since our ancestors were brought over in ships to become slaves. This country has never been for black people. In fact when the National Anthem was first created in the form of a poem, black people were still considered 3/5ths of a person.

Fast forward to today where despite the fact that there is a black president, black people are still being killed in disproportionate numbers by the police. The very people who are supposed to protect us, instead kill us. Everyone should be protesting, everyone should be upset that there is still inequality. This little statement Upton posted is offensive because she distances herself from the atrocities in this country and allows her privilege to paint a rosy America.

The fact that she believes she has the right to tell people of color how they should protest and when they should stay quiet is mind-boggling. She will never understand what it is like to see people who look like you being killed at growing rate. She will never know what it is like to be racially discriminated against. So for her to tell black people to be grateful and wait until the song is over to protest? That is disrespectful and insensitive. The oppressors cannot tell the oppressed how to free themselves.

I can go on and on about this topic but I am going to keep it short because I have work tomorrow.

Kate Upton and every other person trying to tell black people how to fight racism….





In Case You Didn’t Know: Rape is Wrong

Rape is wrong.

If you don’t agree with that please go to the top of this page and click the exit button. Thanks.

If you are still here, I am infuriated/disappointed with the defenders of Nate Parker right now. For anyone who is not up to date, I am going to give you a short summary.


Nate Parker, an African American actor who has starred in many movies and is an “advocate” for black people, raped a woman. He and his friend, who co-writes with him, raped a woman. They raped her while they were college students and then harassed her for reporting them. Nate Parker was found innocent because he had consensual sex with her prior to the assault. His friend was found guilty and then the case was dropped because the victim did not want to testify again. The victim was traumatized for the years following and eventually committed suicide a few years ago.  

Okay now that we are up to speed, here is my rant.

For everyone supporting and defending Nate Parker, you are truly misguided. He raped a woman and then harassed her. There are reports and witnesses that saw him harass her. She could not finish her degree due to the harassment. Penn State gave this woman a settlement after she sued them because they handled the situation horribly. She attempted to commit suicide two times before she succeeded.

She is deceased.

Nate Parker and his friend, Jean Celestin, destroyed this woman.

They destroyed her. So forgive me if I am seething with anger because people are defending this man. Rape is a common crime, yet it is so hard for people to believe a woman when she says she has been violated. I have never experienced rape, but I can only sympathize with the idea that one’s own body is the site of their pain. That when you touch yourself, your body is somehow a crime scene and a sight of supposed eventual healing.

But the rapist is somehow the victim. They are the victim of time and place. Of misguidance. Of one too many drinks. They didn’t mean it. It was a painful time in their lives. We have to let them grow from their mistakes.

This brings me back to Nate Parker. Now, a few days ago he was interviewed about this rape case. He said things like “It was a painful time.” “I now have a wife and five children.” He acted like a guilty man. Because he is. Then he had the nerve to write a post about his innocence while acknowledging this woman’s death….

I read the court documents and a transcript, because I wanted to do research. They were deplorable. I mean I don’t understand how they weren’t found guilty. But then again this is the American justice system we are talking about. Here are some links:

When I read that Mr. Parker was proven innocent because he had consensual sex with the victim before, my jaw dropped. Having consensual sex once does not mean it will always be consensual. Please read that sentence one more time. This is how rape can occur in relationships such as marriage. No one in this entire world has FULL control over your body but you. So yeah Nate Parker raped this woman and then in a phone conversation tried to convince her she gave consent. He got off. His friend eventually got off too. Literally and figuratively. And they were both allowed to flourish and live their lives.

Let me remind you. She is not living.

I don’t care that he has been in lots of movies. I don’t care that he is talented. I don’t care that he wrote a movie about a slave revolt. He is a rapist. And for the black people who are saying he is a black man and we should still support him because he doing great things for us…nah. I am a black woman. Those two are inherently intertwined. My womanhood is my blackness and my blackness is my womanhood. Nate Parker isn’t doing anything for me, because he doesn’t respect womanhood and therefore he doesn’t respect my blackness.

I am not going to watch his movie.

Because every time I see him on a screen I will think of the woman who lost her life due to his violent act. The victim who wasn’t sure if she was pregnant. The victim who kept asking her assaulter questions that he couldn’t answer. I will think of the women I personally know who were violated. And I will cry and be angry because his narrative and many rapists’ narratives are still prominent. People are arguing about him and what this will do to his career, but rarely talk about the victim. Some news sources are calling her his accuser. I cannot with this world. We defend murder and rape. We protect the famous and discard the future.

Nate Parker is a rapist.

He has a family, writes, acts, preaches about blackness and….. is a rapist.

He is not the first nor will he be the last.

And this conversation will just continue to tell survivors that they live in a world that doesn’t support them. Some will choose death like his victim and some will fight on forever scarred.

Rape is wrong.

That is a fact.

Why is there always a “But…”


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.

Do Black Girls and White Girls Mix?


I was watching a reality show recently and this white woman on the show expressed her opinion on interracial friendships. She said, “White girls and black girls just don’t mix.” Now I found this crazy coming from this particular woman as she had multiple black girlfriends and dated black men, but to her black girls and white girls do not mix.

Now I come from New York City, so just like my diverse city, my friends have always been different shades and ethnicities. In elementary school my best friend was Dominican and in middle school I had a range of black and brown friends. In high school, I left my city and went elsewhere, but my friends were still just as diverse; Black, Brown, White, and Asian. That’s the thing about me; I have never had a problem making friends. When you have a personality that people gravitate to, being a few shades darker or lighter than them does not change anything.

Of course I would be lying to myself if I acted like there are not people in this world who pick their friends according to their skin tone. I would also be lying if I acted like sometimes I never want to talk to a black person about an issue, because I believe they might empathize with me. But my White friends are just as important to me as my Black and Asian friends, because I value personality. I value someone who is going to be there when I need help, or someone who when I need to talk will listen to me. Even when they do not understand what I am talking about, they will still listen. That is friendship.

Friendship is not about having someone share the same traits as you. Having the same skin color, hair type, socioeconomic class, and personality does not make you a great friend. Yes, in this world humans separate themselves into groups and we prefer to be with our “own.” That is just human nature, but we can be flexible with our minds and meet new people. One of my closest friends is white and she has been my friend since high school. We used to live in the same building and now we live miles away from each other. But for the two years we have been separated, we are still good friends. I am not her friend because she is white and I am sure she is not my friend because I am black. I am her friend because she is an awesome, smart, and humble girl. And being her friend does not mean I lose who I am as a black woman. She is different from me and I love that. And that is the thing about friendship; you do not have to see that person everyday to be their friend. (I learned that from my mother!) You do not have to change yourself to be their friend. It’s about the times when you do talk and see each other and see that the friend dynamic has not changed one bit. 

My closest friend from college is a black girl; we even share the same zodiac sign! Our birthdays are five days apart, but she is bubbly and sweet and I am the firecracker in our relationship. She is different from me and I love that. Are you sensing a trend? We see each other every week and despite distance we still talk. I value what people are on the inside, so the people who limit what their friends look like are just limiting themselves in life. But that does not mean that everyone should start molding his or her friend group like the rainbow spectrum, because that would just be weird and offensive. Be open and genuine with people and you will get the same in return.

So it is not a question of whether black girls and white girls mix, it is a question of whether you and I mix.

Sexual Colors

I had sex last night with a boy the color of snow.

He said it was never that good for him before and he told me that the rise of my ass made him thank the lord for my existence. I smiled, pleased to please him.

But I walked away feeling as dirty as the color of shit. Feeling like I let him drag me into the depths of hell like Persephone and he only let me out when the sun rose. Feeling like my skin was only appreciated when it matched the night sky. He told me that I was worth fighting for, but he only seemed to fight with the old woman on his floor who told him he needed to find a woman the color of snow.

Everything we did was confined to darkness. It was as if he was following the rules of my skin. We only ate in the dark, laughed in the dark, slept in the dark, fucked in the dark. It was a pattern that sickened me like the black plague. My skin was a trap. I could only see the sun when alone.

So I had sex with a boy the color of cinnamon.

He said he only dated, I mean fucked lighter than him. I was the exception. I smiled, pleased to please him.

With him I needed justification. He needed to explain to boys darker than indigo that I was good to have on his arm. But the words from others kept slapping him and punching me. He let me fall like a rotten plum to the ground. I think he went lighter again.

So I had sex with a boy the color of obsidian.

He said he used to be fucked up and only dated snow, but that he came back to his roots. He said that our babies would be revolutionaries fighting for the cause. I smiled pleased to please him. That their dark induced skin would make them hyperaware to the tragedies of the world. He said I would be their keeper and I would foster them into changing the structure of the world.

He said I would be their mammy, I mean mommy.

So I stopped having sex.

I did not want to be an experiment hidden behind laboratory doors, or an exception for what I was made for, or a womb for the next revolution. I wanted to be the love of someone’s life, allowed to exist in my skin without the consequences of color. I did not want to smile pleased to please him. I wanted to smile. Pleased to please me.

My Son


         My son will be a boy of the chocolate variety. My son will be a black boy with heritage bleeding through his veins. He will be my pride and joy and I will nurture him with my soul and my warm chocolate eyes. My son will be loved, that I know for sure. 

When I was younger I wanted a little girl. I wanted to comb her thick, dark, coarse hair. I wanted to make her me. But as I get older, I realize I do not want to create someone like me. I want to raise a man.

America’s past events have not deterred me from having my son. Since the Trayvon Martin case, so many black people have said they are afraid to have a son. Nope. Not me.

I will never be afraid of my brown skin pouring through my veins and into the growing embryo in my stomach. I will never be afraid of my ancient, rich DNA forming the little boy that I will chase around my house. I will never be afraid of continuing the race that has made me strong. 

In America where it is apparently ok to pursue and murder a boy simply because of his physicality, I will raise my son. Not out of spite, but out of love. I love myself and I love myself enough to extend a part of myself to another human. 

Racist people (aka scared people) want me to be afraid to raise my son. My son will be a reminder to those scared people that we as a race are here to stay. 

My womb will create a son with black heritage and he will be loved. He will have curly hair like me and his father will help me raise a man. The day I become afraid to create a generation of black people is when fear will overcome liberty. 

My son will be of the chocolate variety and his skin will be like gold to me. His skin will be amazing. But here is what the world needs to realize: His mind will be more powerful than his skin. 

I will love him.

Miley Cyrus And The Black Community



Pop culture is killing me. I am a 19 year old girl living in NYC and I go to college. Statistically speaking I am the target for all of the “cool things” in pop culture right now. Twerking, twitter, instagram, and snapchat. Justin Bieber, Glee, and unfortunately Miley Cyrus.

I am not a traditional teenager so I do not participate in any of the above trends (ok I was obsessed with Glee for two years). And I physically cannot twerk (I have tried). But what I am tired of is a white artist deciding that they want to make a change in their perception by borrowing black culture. 


Miley Cyrus is the same girl who said a few years ago, when she was a country artist, that she had never listened to a Jay-Z song. But didn’t her song Party In The USA feature a lyric about Jay-Z song?


Now fast forward a few years and Miley Cyrus is a blond, short haired, twerking machine. She has a song “We Can’t Stop” which is terrible and a video which is worse. In the video she is wearing all white and her black “friends” are wearing black and are supporting her. Like what the hell!?? Symbolic racism? Is she better than the black people she is using? It’s disgusting. She is also in a music video for Big Sean and I just cannot jump on this Miley Cyrus bandwagon. Its like she wants to be “cool.”

I cannot support someone who thinks it is okay to borrow a certain culture because it is “popular” at the time. What happens when people stop enjoying twerking? Miley Cyrus will be right back to being a country star. 

Some people say that I am hating on Miley. Some people say I am not letting her be herself. I am doing none of that.

I am simply observing the fact that Miley Cyrus is an opportunist and that when “black culture” stops being cool, she will move on. If Miley was an appreciator of black culture from the time she came out as an artist, I would support her, but she is not.

Now Miley Cyrus is not doing this on her own. There are of course her PR team and the black celebrities that are celebrating her phase. 

But Miley Cyrus is the one is who is portraying her new identity and I do not like Miley Cyrus.

Miley Cyrus stop borrowing the black culture, be yourself. You cannot borrow a culture to be cool or different. 



7, 8, 9, 10…Or Cry



I know I have not posted anything in a while…but I have been in transition from school to home. Anyway while going to visit a friend this week, we spoke about the rating system.

The rating system is a scale of numbers from 1-10 and the goal is to be on the higher end of the spectrum.  If you are on the higher end, you are more pleasing to the eye. This system is actually inaccurate in every way possible seeing as I could be a 5 in one person’s opinion and a 9 in another opinion. It’s just a simple way to objectify women and men. 

But why do we so readily accept this objectification? Every girl wants to be on the higher end and are devastated if they hear they are on the lower end. What is even worse is the fact that a person could misinterpret their rating. This system is soooo inaccurate. My friend and I debated for 20 minutes if a 6 was bad or not. I said I thought a 6 was good…. I used basic math and if you are above the half way mark, you are good to me. My friend believed 7 and up was what one should strive for.

But no matter what a person does, they will never be good enough…to at least one person. No matter how many times we hear “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” we still tend to ignore it. It is human to want to be beautiful, but a number should not hold that power.

Seriously there is always someone who looks better than you and worse than you. That is life and, I am not going to cry if I am a 5 in someone’s eyes. Because at the end of the day, I don’t care if the boy who rang up my groceries said I am a 5. Who is he to me??? 

The only numbers we should be worried about are the numbers that help us survive= MONEY. I guess time matters too.

We already have to worry about the institutional system put on us by society, we have no time to worry about a rating system that could be easily ignore.

Plus having self-esteem blows this rating system right out the water.