Tag Archives : black woman

why i wouldn’t be me without “mama’s gun.”


It’s difficult for me to admit this now, but I desperately wanted to be one of those shea butter queens I make fun of now. I imagined myself with a huge afro before I had even cut the perm out of my hair, was two years early on the coconut oil craze, and used to take scraps from my uncle’s…

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in our terribleness.


  I wrote a fifteen page poem as a final paper for class. Multiverse Musu wrote the same paper and is equally as proud of it, only it’s nestled between the thirty-seven other poems she wrote when she decided to give up on academic writing for good. Thoughts of the multiverse have been saving me lately.

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Grad School: A Manifesto


  A few days ago, my Intro to Graduate Studies professor asked us to write a manifesto, a degree of our intentions as readers and writers in graduate school. My manifesto was tame, lame, beautifully written but missing so many elements of what I truly wanted to get off my chest. This is a re-write of my manifesto, a piece…

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a summary.


this post was inspired by solange’s 30th birthday instagram post.  at two years old, i stopped breathing and was rushed to the er. at four, my lungs learned how to function. i stuck a lego piece in my ear and got sent back to the er. at five, i wore a poofy pink dress for my party and took one…

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For The Imperfect Black Girls.


Recently I’ve been on this kick. This downward spiral, self-loathing, pick myself up again with Maya Angelou quotes and basil on my windowsill kick. This lack of water, skin breakout, healing myself and killing my wallet with skincare products kick. This telling everyone I know “yo this has been the hardest year of my life” kick. This PTSD and depression…

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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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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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