Even as I write this I’m thinking, “Your friends are going to think they’re right — You’re bitter and lonely.” Nope, I’m not, but I am hangry. I’m love hangry. Yes, I’m trying to make love hangry a thing because not feeling love is a real thing; and it happens with or without a bae, or boo thang.
“Love Hangry” is the state of feeling or desiring sincere relationship. In other words, no time for the foolery; sick of surface symbols of affection instead of substantive, honest connection.
Back to work and back to a phrase I hate: “lessons learned”. Too often, it’s the authorized cop out. It’s code for “See? We know that’s a lesson we should learn. Box checked.” As long as someone says “put that in ‘Lessons Learned’,” all is forgiven. It’s from the same dusty library as “coulda shoulda woulda” or “oh, well,” and has the same shiftless effect on our growth, cementing us in place, or worse standing in quicksand. …
There are so many reasons my heart wants to sink at the news of the division and daggers thrown at Black people in this world. From the sting of supervisors’ implicit bias to the cry freedom to #EndSARS, it can be like walking the edge of a chasm, edges crumbling. As a Black man, the dagger’s blade is coated in the salt they used to price our ancestors’ worth in bondage. Overlooked, over-blamed, and our energy overdrawn by sapping social biases and criminalized existence. James Baldwin said, “to be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is…
Flame on. You’re a superhero.
Big and Bright, take all of your space. Take all of your time. It’s yours.
Throw that ball. Paint those nails.
Light your truth in your tales. Protecting yourself doesn’t mean hide.
Watch honesty crack the bolt on your heart and uncloak fear disguised as pride.
Stand up proud. Speak aloud. You’re allowed.
Free to step out and into self care. Free to talk and sis that walk,
Whenever, wherever, walking with or past whoever’s there.
Your time, your story, your power — all around, all in you.
There’s no hallway, no aisle, no door…
The bus was crowded. My nose, in fearful anticipation of the funky haze curling and creeping through my nostrils, twitched with agitation. Its hairs, small and brave, recoiled, preparing to be singed by the orchestral funk floating from the bus’s backside. Packed like sardines, everyone was checking for their personal shield — Damn a personal space.
The night sat on top of that bus, the fogged window corners dotted with water. Inside, the bus felt even heavier. Folks jostling their headphones, neck pillows and each other — It was time to go! Eyes rolling angrily into the backs of bedheads…
Can Black be King when only one version of Black must rule? Beyoncé says no, and to that I say yes!
And yet, some still tell her “no.” Along with the advent of Black Is King, an homage to our humanity’s homeland, come many critiques. Art is supposed to spark discourse — proof that it’s good for the mind and always good for marketing. Still, some criticisms only result in crystallizing historical distance between ideas and people, freezing them cold. Many social curators and critics, such as Afro-centrist, Judicaelle Irakoze, and self-proclaimed good troublemaker, Luuvie, have picked and thrown their…
It’s close to midnight and another Loving Day has passed. This day acknowledges the landmark case and legacy of Mildred and Richard Loving (Loving v. Virginia, 388 U.S. 1), the couple who loved across society’s racial lines and fought for their right to love. The Lovings would fight for society to acknowledge their legal right to love, and as praising posts spring up on social media like dandelions, the arduous work of their love is honored. Or is it?
As people acknowledge the importance of Loving Day, I hope we learn more about The Lovings, their lessons, and why interracial…
Believer in Community Health & Wealth