Tag Archives : self-love

i love myself when i am laughing…


Today I learned that Zora Neale Hurston wrote Their Eyes Were Watching God in seven weeks, garnered critical attention, and died alone in a welfare home. Alice Walker some decades later deemed herself Hurston’s niece so she could buy her a tombstone, a luxury she could not afford at the time of her death. I learned that Richard Wright hated…

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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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Heal.


I bought rosemary and basil and put them on my windowsill. I keep promising my body more water. I believe in Prince and Lemonade. Healing feels less like a baptism and more like running my fingers along a jagged knife. This post is part of Write Your Ass Off April, a Twenties Unscripted 10-Day Writing Challenge #WYAOApril. I am responding…

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Ascend.


  A Very Brief Love Letter. Prince Rogers Nelson, As a child, I was supposed to hate you and everything you represented. The gender fluidity, the provoking sexuality, the antithesis of everything I was taught to be. My family clung to Michael and rejected you, so naturally, I was drawn. You had the glitter, the extravagance, everything I wanted to be…

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Love.


No one ever sat me down and told me what healthy, wholesome love looked like. My concept of love has always been based on knowing what it ain’t: my parents. Love isn’t disconnected cable and alarm clocks when you don’t get your way. Love isn’t sequestered dreams and revenge plots, pettiness and microaggressions. Love is not hurting me. When I…

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14 Things I Do To Actively Love My Blackness


For the past month, I’ve spent my time in San Antonio participating in a program titled the African American Literatures and Cultures Institute under the supervision of the incredible Dr. Joycelyn Moody and Dr. Howard Rambsy. Through the program, I’ve made a pretty tight clique of young scholars on the path of reaching greatness in Black Studies. Through all the immense…

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