Browsing Category : Prose

Complicate.


There have been a few moments in my life where I have prayed for a mind that functions in lines instead of circles. Lines show progress. Lines get you somewhere. Circles refuse to end, no matter how hard you with the ends would recognize themselves as ends and finally separate. Sometimes my circles meet each other and send me spiraling…

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Confess.


I confess that I have a penchant for denial and a knack for self-sabotage. I blame my mother. Let me explain. My mother has always classified herself as paranoid, to which I have co-signed the title. Outside of any psychological diagnosis (because we’re Sierra Leonean and don’t do that shit, right?) I always could feel the tension my mother had…

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Black Woman Gone Bougie & Other Grad School Fears


My grad school acceptance felt like a fairytale. I imagined myself as a little girl, a Black braided Rapunzel in reverse, looking upon that big white tower in front of me with wide eyes and ambition. I see myself tossing my braids to the highest window of the tower, pulling myself up, right foot over left, with fervor. I trek,…

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Baby Hairs & Black Girl Magic.


What always mystifies me about Beyonce is her ability to ruin the lives of the same Black women she puts on for in her music and videos. Immediately after the release of her latest song “Formation”, I played the song on repeat for the next hour, screaming expletives at my computer screen and reaching for what was left of my…

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In Celebration of The Black Mermaid.


As  a youngin, almost all of my favorite movies were Disney movies. I can vividly recall rewinding my Disney princess sing-a-long video, grabbing my robe and umbrella, then performing the entire choreography to the opening song in Mulan when her grandmother prepped her for bridal status. I even had a plastic cricket on a keychain that I carried on my…

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When Growth Feels A Lot Like A Hot Mess: Adieu, 2015.


Growing up, I could always count on three things: 1. Rice and some sort of stew would faithfully be in my family’s refrigerator 2. Mr. Randolph’s locs would be swaying along to the piano’s beat every Friday during school mass and 3. My mom would cry as the ball dropped on New Year’s. She always swore they were tears of…

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The Science Behind Handling Microaggressions*


*hint: there is none.  Last year, my alma mater launched a campaign entitled “Language Matters”, focusing on the hyperpresence of microaggressions and providing a step-by-step guide to conscious word use. The presentation was, for lack of a better word, poppin, using a fancy Prezi and informative, sometimes humorous videos to tackle the issues of misgendering, racial/ethnic microaggressions and sexist comments.…

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Blog Posts That I’d Love To Write But Don’t Have The Energy To.


So I’m going to be completely honest; I’m exhausted. Absolutely, one hundred percent exhausted. After spending three months traveling the continental United States and finally settling in Chicago as a new resident, my mind has been racing with new ideas. My body, fingers mainly, have refused to cooperate to write a decent blog post. Because the notes section of my…

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Posts From The Crypt: A Read For Rachel Dolezal


Believe it or not, I’m actually a Black woman. Wide-lipped, broad-nosed, kinky-haired, chocolate-skinned Black. Followed around department stores once or twice Black. “Mhm sista girl” when white women wanna relate Black. Always capitalize the B in Black, baby, Black. Rachel Dolezal, who bestowed herself with the title of Black woman ten years ago, is not. I’m not wasting my energy…

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