Life is a journey, sometimes we think we know our destination, but the majority of the times we are just wandering around in the darkness trying to figure out if we made a wrong turn somewhere. You tripped and you fell, you sat in that spot for a while wondering why you even bothered, you can’t see anything but the pitch blackness that closes in on you. Just as you have completely given up on it all and you are ready to just lay there and wallow, you look up and you see it, the biggest most beautiful star in the sky. Then something deep inside of you says, “Get up and walk”. So you do just that. You get up filthy, covered in dirt and despair, weak, and you walk, not knowing where you are going you just follow the star and with each aching step you feel the strength building inside of you. The darkness that was inside of you is now non-existent and as if someone took the sunglasses off of your face you see a pathway that is aglow. The abyss that you once laid in no longer existed in your eyes. You walk and walk, of course you got tired but that thing in you refused to let you stop and when you finally got to where the star stopped you fall to your knees because you see the glory of it all, all of the hurt, the heartache, the tears, the bumps in the road and the obstacles, were trivial to this moment, the moment that you finally see what God is doing. He told us that he only has plans to prosper us, so after all that you went through, when you finally discover the purpose of your journey, you bask in the brightness.





See, I had a dream but I woke up to a nightmare, you would think that in this day in age all colors would be treated fair, but it seems to be no matter how high our achievements are as a whole, it looks like we are reaching for an untouchable goal.

This nation has lost faith in us, so we lost faith in ourselves.  We struggle, stumble and fall, allowing people to steal our wealth, falling prey to the system letting them deteriorate our mental health, not stopping to think about how this isn’t the hand that we were dealt.

Blood of slaves, hearts of kings, drop the shackles and gold chains and let freedom ring, take a look at your past, you descended from kings and queens, so rock your stunna shades every time you step on the scene.

Hustler, convict, baby daddy, thug, stop accepting these labels, they weren’t given with love. These are stereotypes meant to break our people down, but try these new labels out and you tell me how they sound.

Doctor, lawyer, engineer, activist, husband, father, wife, mother, college graduate, business owner, CEO, Olympian, song writer, cypher, author, poet…

They say turn down for what and we finally have the answer. Turn down the stereotypes and our empire will grow faster.

I’m not LL so don’t call it a comeback, we never left our right minds are just coming back, we were lost but the dipper helped us find our way, and that’s why I can stand here today and say THE WORLD IS MY KINGDOM AND I’M HERE TO CLAIM MY THRONE THIS IS THE RETURN OF THE KING, DON’T ACT LIKE YOU DIDN’T KNOW.

Black excellence isn’t a noun it is a verb, you have got to make a statement in this world if you want to be heard. If you want it bad enough, it is within your reach, just remember to keep your stunna shades on, so that you can see.

Colored Girl

Colored girl I almost didn’t recognize you. It is crazy to see what society has done to a descendant of an African queen. Sad thing is…you don’t know that you are free because the only ancestors you see are the ones that worked in the fields, obeying “masa’s” every command.

Colored girl, I see the anger in your eyes. The law may say you are free, bu7t you are not treated as such. All you know is what your mama taught you. “Keep quiet, blend in, and do as you are told” and that’s the last thing she said before she was sold…

Colored girl, I understand your silence. What can you say when a nation is against you? They tell you separate but equal, but equality clearly doesn’t exist in this bastard land. Jim Crow is your new masa, putting legal shackles on your wrists and ankles instead of literal ones. I see anger as well as the acceptance. They break the fight in you every time they tell you, you aren’t good enough to eat, sit, learn, or be in their establishments

OH, colored girl, I see that the African girl is still in you. You don’t see it yet, but your anger isn’t anger, but passion. It is a burning desire to change things for the future, true and absolute freedom. Whether you choose panther or peace, Malcom or martin, you begin to realize your true roots!

Colored girl OH colored girl, I misjudged you. I thought you forgot who you were. I thought you gave up because you were afraid, but you didn’t. You were waiting, waiting for your time to strike back. You channeled the songs that were stained with pain and bloodshed. You channeled every lash of the whip, every time your brothers and sisters were called Nigger, porch monkeys, coons and pickaninnys. You waited =, like a lion watching its prey, and you attacked.

Colored girl, I admire you. You fought for what was stolen from your ancestors and rightfully claimed it as your own. You are not the African girl you have more strength, you carry her beauty and confidence but developed thicker skin from living in this land. Although you aren’t free to sing with the canaries as those before you once did, you are beginning to relearn the definition of FREE.

African Girl

African girl, so beautiful with her nappy curls and her wide brown eyes that held so much freedom and love for the motherland. With her curves and long legs covered in the deepest of chocolate, the deepest brown, symbolizing her deep roots, her connection to the motherland, mother Africa.

African girl, roaming around the land, her land, free as the canaries that flew around her as she took her every step…bound, chained, kidnapped, beaten down, African girl…Taken from the motherland and tossed into the bastard land, that rebellion land, the thieves…

African girl, where are you? Hidden behind the rags that you were forced to wear as opposed to the colorful Ankara garments only fitting for an African princess to wear. Where is your pride African girl?  Your long stride? Stripped from you with every lash of the whip that struck your back, legs, and arms. With every lash of the tongue as they called you little nigger girl, and take turns violating, raping, you and everything that you stood for…

African girl, what happened to your freedom? African girl why won’t you fight? You can’t see your freedom anymore? Your eyes cry tears of blood. Blood for your brother that was beaten to death for speaking the language of the free, blood for your sister that was raped by “masa” then beaten to keep her mouth shut…

African girl…you don’t fight for freedom because you see no freedom, not even the North Star can brighten this darkness… African girl, what happened to your voice? You sang with the birds, beautiful melodies. Now your songs are pained and stained with sorrow as your hands bleed, leaving red drops on the cotton you picked in the fields. African girl? What happened to your roots? The joy that your deep skin brought to your village? The African beauty…she’s bitter, scared, dirty…

Nigger girl, Black girl! Why are you so dark? They would ask…The same girls that suffered with you, black girls, lighter skin, walking around with the pride you once had when you had the freedom to say…

African girl, black girl, why are you trying to be like the ones that robbed you of your culture, your roots, and your pride in mother Africa? Why? Why have you allowed them to make “African” a cuss word? As if having the roots of that sweet land in your skin is a curse, a disgrace!

African girl…I mean black girl… why do you straighten your nappy curls and shun your beautiful curves? Erasing mother Africa out of your mind, making the bastard land your home. Why not rebel? Why not fight? Oh, yeah, I know why…. its cause you aren’t African girl or black girl…you are that scary girl that gave up…


Lost in My Thoughts

Lost in my thoughts I’m so lost in this walk,

It is as though every step I take a little piece of me breaks off

And I stand and wonder who this girl is that is traveling this journey

It’s not really me but society has become my reality,

I no longer differentiate, and that is why it is so hard for me to collate

The right words so that I can be heard…

There is so much going on in this world and I have a voice to speak

But I find myself becoming meek, when the times call for me to be bold

And each day I grow cold to the heart

Forgetting my art

Running away from what is hard

When the world is screaming MOON WHERE ART THOU…

Then I begin to wonder how I got here…

This shell of the woman that I haven’t even become yet

I don’t know what is so hard to get

I’m scared…

The world I live in…so full of sin and I fear that I am stuck within

No matter how hard I run towards salvation my soul there is no savin

And I will be lost among the ones that are hopeless and faithless

And I will just be left being less, less than I was supposed to be

Less than the real me

The me that he sees

No one will ever meet her….

Lost is what I am and I run as hard as I can

Trying TRYING to reach his hand

I see it being held out to me

And even though I run til my feet bleed, lungs burn and tears roll down my face

I just don’t quite make

The cut… and that painful feeling in my gut that says stop trying you won’t make it

I can’t take it!

I just wanna cry

I just wanna hide

I just wanna wake up and be in the sky

But I can’t because my voice means something to someone

Somewhere, they are waiting for me to be me

The me that he sees

The me that I have been running from

They call for me like a light in the darkness

As a beacon of hope faith love

They call for me

Lost in my thoughts…I’m not lost on this walk.

Self-discovery is what I see

Time to step in to the true me…

Because this little light of mine

No matter how surrounded by darkness it is

I shall let it shine

Because what is within me is divine

Is God, Is me

I am a part of the heavenly family tree

And the roots are so deep

That no matter where I run, walk, stumble, or fall

They will be there guiding me

Lighting the path leading me back to him

Back to the palace

Back to the place that he called me to

Back in his arms where I feel strong

And my light grows

Because I was never lost in this walk to begin with…


I Had a Dream

I had a dream, and I woke up screaming, gasping for air, choking, with a sharp pain in my chest, strikes on my back, bruise marks on my wrist and ankles. My body was on fire, my stomach was empty my mind was restricted, my eyes brimming with tears, my lungs full of water, my spirit broken, and as I stumble to the bathroom and turn on the light, there I am, in the mirror, perfectly fine. No evidence of the torture that my body, mind and spirit endured. Then I turned on the water, brushed my teeth and started my day…I had a dream.

I was sleeping, oh I was sleeping, I was falsely under the impression that the American dream was also for me. I believed that for the simple fact that my birth took place on American soil, I was an American so I shared the dream too. I once believed that equality, fairness, unity, and progression were entitled to me. I believed that if I just worked hard, everything I want, education, promotion, comfort, peace and contentment would be at my fingertips. I believed that if I just stayed in school, stayed out of trouble, stayed away from the wrong crowd, and obeyed the laws set in place, then things should be a breeze, there shouldn’t be any hiccups. I was asleep, and let me tell you I was dreaming good.

I started to wake up, I had to get the crust out of my eyes. I started to see the way teachers would look at me when I had my hand raised for every question, I started to catch onto the snide remarks of my “friends” for reasons why I had to give up a turn, or go last, I started to understand why I was rejected. I was waking up. I didn’t say much about it, but I noticed that adults would be surprised at my vocabulary choice. I started to see the patterns of not being chosen for better opportunities even though I was just as smart if not smarter or just as good if not better. I could recall a teacher asking me in the fourth grade, “Did your dad grow up in a house or a hut”. I recall the lady at the front desk of my high school asking if my parents were divorced.  It began to make sense that I was not fitting in, the things that I earned, honors classes, nominations, awards and recognition were all dominated by people that hated my roots. I was getting the crust out of my eyes so I could see the way the world really saw me.

I am awake. The American dream isn’t mine. It was never mine. I see things today that I only read about in history books, I experience things today that I only heard about from grandma and mama. When I watch the news, I see yet another face of a black child gunned down in the streets like dogs. I see no justice for them. Tell me, how am I supposed to feel when people who thought just like me, stay in school, stay out of trouble, don’t hang around the wrong crowds, obey the laws, are killed for looking suspicious.  I am awake and I can see that me being black and a woman is considered a double whammy. I notice the bold statements that are made eluding to a false pretense that we are inadequate in all areas of life, education, family, relationships, careers. I am awake and seeing that in all honesty it’s not just people from other races…it’s my own people too…I am wide awake

I stand in the mirror. Looking at myself, and I see all of my reflections. Me, with Ankara clothing, head tie and gold jewelry complimenting my coco brown skin, me with ripped and dirty clothing, with my hands calloused and whip marks all over, me with a nuce around my neck, me with sweat and scorch marks on my skin, me drenched in water from a fire hose, me in all black with my fist held up high, me in an orange jumpsuit and hand cuffs, me in business attire, me in a black hoodie and jeans holding an Arizona and skittles with a bullet wound in my chest. I look at all of me, and I ponder my favorite poem, “What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun, or does it fester like a sore and then run…I looked at all of me, all of my reflections, all of my history, all of what made me the person I am today, this is what a dream deferred looks like. A dream of democracy, rights, liberty, opportunity, equity and freedom is what we want…but it was never presented to us as an option.

I had a dream that the American dream was for me. My father did not come to this country for anything less than a better life for me and my brother. I will accept nothing less than a better life for me and my brother. I will fight, I will scream I will shout I will cry until the dream that was not offered to me is mine. I will no longer accept a deferment I must have it now. Our time is now. My time is now. I look at myself again the torture my mind, body and spirit endured now fuel for me to start the day. I’m awake, but ingrained in my veins is a dream that I am suited up to claim.

I have a dream, that one day, my voices are heard. All of them. From the royalty and freedom of my African soul, to the beaten and tattered slave soul. My civil rights soul will shout freedom as present day me continues to feed the fire. What happens to a dream encouraged? It is burns bright like the sun, like the burning bush, it is motivation to run, run toward the fight and not give up until you have won.


I am awake, now, I must wake up my brothers and sisters.


The Evolution of a Negus

Here in America they called us niggers


Ignorant, incompetent, uneducated, unable, to be worthy of rights of a man

Basic rights every man should have we were stripped of when we were taken from the motherland

The true land of the free and home of the brave…they tried to break us down, had us bound

Not just physically but mentally, letting us be lynched in our thinking, because dividing us buy age, complexion, and gender was the nuce that that they handed us…and we were to ignorant, incompetent, uneducated, and unable to realize that we were the ones that put the thing around our necks and just left it there….

Here in America we call each other Niggas


But why? What’s the difference? Nigger nigga? A black individual? We made nigga familiar, a term of endearment just as I would say my mother, my brother, my sister…. My Nigga!

We made nigga exclusive, you can only say it if you are a part of the club…right? We made it something that others want to be… but Pac said it best

The only difference between a Nigger and a nigga is a nigger had slavery chains around their necks

A nigga has a gold chain around his neck

But the thing we can’t see is that once again that gold chain is modern day nuce that we choose to wear

Still being lynched in 2015 I see… team dark skin team light skin, the young disrespecting the old, the old not understanding the young, the men not appreciating the women, the woman disrespecting the man, a lack of trust on both sides…men being snatched from their children and wives, murdered, arrested, or occupied by the shiny pipe dream that they gotta be separated from them to make it in America but that is actually when a black man is the strongest…

Yeeahh they are still lynching and I’m not talking about strange fruit…that mental lynching can be a killer…

In Africa…In Ethiopia…In Amharic…they call us Negus


Just like Kendrick said N E G U S! Kings, rulers, emperors…

Surly not to be confused with niggers or niggas or even Negros but Negus…

Above the nuce and shackles and gold chains

Above the physical and mental lynching

Why? Because we, once upon a time, were running things

Never bowing down but being bowed down to…


Today in America what would you choose to be?

Are you gunna be a nigger with slave chains?

A Nigga with a gold chain

Or a Negus with a throne, a kingdom, an empire, a voice…

It’s all in you…




Never in a Million Years


What do you say when the most verbal person you know admits to being verbally abused? Sweet words, confessions of feelings deeper than friendship, kisses and long hugs, turning into hate, cuss words, spite, yelling, and balled up fists…

Even though he didn’t have the guts to hit me, he always wanted his hands on me, not understanding the discomfort that I felt on the inside because I knew it wasn’t right. He didn’t want to hear, “no, stop, not now” he wanted what he wanted and because he wouldn’t hit me he let his words slap, kick, stomp, and punch me until I complied with his wishes.

The saddest part about it was that I ALLOWED him to yoyo me like a toy, I was his toy to be played with. “I Hate you”, “Leave me ALONE!”, “you NEVER LOVED me!”, “You only care about YOURSELF!”, “just go away FOREVER!” and after hearing these things over and over I mustered up enough courage to walk away, only to be sucked back in with, “no baby don’t leave me”, “don’t you love me?”, “I love you.”, “you saved me!”, “you are my angel”, “You are my EVERYTHING!”. Up and down, up and down, up and down, like my feelings was a game to be played.

He was my puppet master. He knew which strings to pull to get the proper reaction out of me. He even tried to play the religion card on me. “God is going to hate you for not OBEYING”, “you think you are special because those people at that church told you, you were? HA! They lied to you”, “I am your GOD now”.

Don’t look at me so shocked! Oh, how I wish I could say that, that stuff wasn’t true but it is, and it happened. Some of you will wonder how someone like me, smart, outspoken, opinionated, bright future ahead, could let that happen to them.

Most of you only know who I allow you to see. You don’t know that for every single nice thing someone says about me, I heard at least three negative, hateful, hurtful things that follow, or that I have been teased about something ever since I was a little girl. Either I was too tall, too dark, too “Fat”, not fashionable enough…something. Elementary, Middle, High School, College, always good but not good enough hearing things like, “you are cute, smart, total girlfriend material, but I don’t date dark girls.” Never good enough no matter how much someone tells me I am beautiful, special, and rare. So please understand the background of this scenario and don’t look at me differently because this happened.

I have learned that it’s not about how you entered the storm, or even how you go through it, it’s about how you come out. I realized I was in a relationship with the Devil himself, so I cut the strings. I found my voice, I got up off the floor so that he would quit walking on me, and I spoke the words my father told me to speak. He was so confused that he had no choice but to back down.

Never in a million years did I ever think I could be verbally abused but I also never thought that my words could combat the pain that he caused me. Now I would be damned if anyone tries to shut me up.

Why: Suicide

So full of life, you were so filled with joy.

You were that guy that could change even Oscar the grouch into a happy creature.

You were that individual that everyone wanted to know.

You were like a ball of sunshine wrapped into chocolate skin spreading light to all in your presence…

But wait, tell me what happened? Did the darkness catch you? Did you give up?

No, it couldn’t be that! No one could tell…

You must have contemplated it for a while…

Did your family cross your mind? Your mom, dad, little sister?

Did you tell anyone? A friend, a teacher?

See nah, you aren’t fair…

No warnings or telltale signs.

Just one action sending a ripple effect through the waters of the lives that were attached to you…

What was wrong? It had to be pretty damn bad,

But see you decided to take that brave new world approach.

That “shhh keep it hidden” approach,

That “display no emotion but happiness” approach,

That “soma will fix it” approach.

See you weren’t apart of the Brave New World…you were like the savage,

Understanding love, hurt and pain…

But he couldn’t handle it either because by the end of your story…

You were the savage…

Two feet hanging…


Will You Take a Stand

When shit hits the fan will you take a stand?

With a gun pointed at me I lift both my hands
My life in the palm of another man that battle with a God complex my life in the hands of a man in blue and because of the legal system I walk home red black blue this ain’t nothing new they just wear different uniforms now…they traded in the white gowns with white hoods for something a little darker, something to blend in with their mark, I’m marked by the color of my skin deep with melanin, a blessing that is treated like a sin in the old testament, punishable by death no questions asked….and when the beats of Africa drum in my chest I can’t help but to wonder and guess if I’m really home or if I’m a just a guest. they try to tell me that I’m so blessed, to live in a place of more not less but instead of more opportunities and less hardships I’m faced with more threats and less respect. My ancestors were Queens, Kings rulers, creators but these aren’t the things that we learn.

I don’t want to have to die to be heard! All I have in this world is my words and I scream them from mountain tops but no one is listening…I scream I can’t breathe but no one hears me til there is no breath left in me…I scream don’t shoot but I’m not heard until the bullet penetrates my body and life leaks out, I scream and I cry and I fight for my life but there is no justice even after I’m gone I don’t want to be another lifeless corpse that is cried over another black face amongst hundreds of others lost unjustly I don’t want to be a Facebook hash tag used to make people feel better like they were apart of helping because when I said something before no one wanted to know who I was…no one wanted to hear my words my heart my mind…I don’t want to die for this country to realize I’m a person…I’m not perfect but I’m human I don’t want to die before it gets better, I don’t want to have to die for us to love and support one another and stop killing each other…I don’t want to have to die again after I die because I was just a trend in death…I don’t want to have to die for what is right…but I will if I have to…