No She Didn't!!!!

“If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad. . .”
---Sheryl Crow,


We all know that chick. We whisper about her, we roll our eyes in her general direction, and of course, when we find out the latest thing her triflin' ass has done, we say, "Oh no she didn't".
At least, I know her. And at times, I've been her. I think all women have been her at some point. The one who did that crazy thing knowing she could have done something better, made a more rational or popular choice. If you haven't then maybe you should.

Ladies, how many of us have done some shit behind a building, in a park, or in a car that could have gotten us arrested? Or slept with someone's man, knowing they were attached? Or slept with more than one guy at one time? Etcetera, etcetera.

Some of us have done things that would make Janet Jacme blush. And to me, there’s nothing wrong with that. What's so wrong with this woman? What's so bad about the things she does?

There are women who live their lives with reckless abandon. One night stands, double lives, and side hustles exists everywhere. Like Ying Yang Twins say, "She's a schoolgirl by day and a stripper by night. . ."

My God I can't believe I am quoting those clowns.

Should you really be concerned with what other women think about you? They are going to talk if you're doing well, or if you're doing badly. So I say, let 'em talk.


Yea a chick might take her clothes off at night to make money, but she's paying for school. No one else is going to do it so she's making a way. Who am I to judge? She's at peace with herself, so that should be enough. It’s not for me, but that’s her thing.

Eventually, at least according to my beliefs, we all go before God with everything we've done. As long as you can look in the mirror and be PROUD of yourself, then fuck what others say.

Some women are born to be saints, and some are born to be sinners. I think most women are born to be somewhere in between. It’s all about letting go, and being who you want to be, regardless of what others might think.

I’ve lived a great deal of my life focused on what other people think about me. I’ve wondered, ‘what would my mom do if she ever found out I (dirty deed here). . .’, Or even my sisters, or my daddy, or anyone in my family. Now I’m like, ‘Hey, it’s my life, I gotta live it for me, and if you have a problem with something that I’m doing, then it’s best you press on. . .’

How happy can you be to go through your life, knowing that you did everything right, resisted all tempting things like drugs, alcohol, and sex? I'm happy knowing that I have those certain private moments, tucked away somewhere in the back of my head. I can make myself smile years from now on those days when I'm settled down.

My mom would flip if she knew half the stuff I’ve done. And I’m glad. And I don’t have any regrets, or doubts in my life right now. Think about it, how many things are you curious about trying, but won’t do because of what others might say?

RESPECT THE WRITER

Don't discount my talent.
Don't think of it as a fluke.
It's not a phase, not something I'll get over.
It's not novel, I'm writing novels.
Everyone can't do this.
I'm a writer, and I write.
Like Gwendolyn Brooks said, 'Writers write'
Don't roll your eyes when I say I'm working on the book.
The book is real, the ideas, the creativity is flowing.
Respect the writer.
Dammit.
Thank you.

**This has been a blog rant brought to you by a true Aquarius. Please enjoy the rest of your day.**

I CAME TO THE CROWD

So, tonight, I went out. . .again. It's a bit early to say I'm becoming quite the socialite. We didn't go to some club, or a bar. We went to the Kamikaze Coffee Shop on Warrensville Center Road. For the past few years, they've been having an open mic night for poets. Looking back, I'm not sure why I was so nervous about getting on that stage, but tonight. . .I DID IT!!!

Tameka signed me up, I protested slightly, but something inside of me urged me to go on. I emailed my poem to my cell phone, since my printer is down, and I didn't have time to write it out. Of course the reception in the spot was crappy, so I was about to give up. . .of course that voice pushed me on, so therefore I ran out to Tameka's car and jotted the poem down quickly with a few changes.

I was a virgin. . .as they say. Everyone stood and gave me love as I approached the stage. I read this sexually charged, erotic piece of poetry. I got "alrights," and snaps and all that. I am so happy. I got love that I've never felt before. I popped my cherry right on the stage.

Seriously. . .It felt like some sort of shield was removed from my body, and a new woman stepped out. Maybe this is the poet in me coming out. I don't know. But the feeling I felt when I said the last line will be with me forever. I realized that I am a writer. I was born to perform my poetry onstage. I have to do it again.

I'm telling you, I am coming down from an awesome high. It feels like I smoked something lethal. I'm hungry, sleepy, happy, horny and excited. People congratulated me as I walked out of the door, and told me how awesome the poem I read was. I just love when other poets praise me.

From what I've heard, when you get that first hit or whatever you smoke, it appeals to you so much. You yearn for the next time you connect with that drug.

Hi, my name is Shatira. I'm a poet, and I am addicted to the mic. I'm itching for my next hit.

I came to the crowd seeking friends
I came to the crowd seeking love
I came to the crowd for understanding
--Taken from Nikki Giovanni's 'You Came Too'


For the curious. . .this is the poem I read tonight. . .enjoy.

When Can I Write About Love?
When can I write love poems again?
I mean, I wanna write about wet spots left on my sheets, body tingling for weeks and puddles left on my belly.
Being someone’s ride or die chick fucking hard while listening to Makaveli.
Or lying beside a conscious brother head bobbing to Talib Kweli
I wanna write about him constantly on my mind, eagerly waiting the instant until again I stare into his eyes so divine.
I wanna write about stretching fifteen minute breaks into however long it takes to make the windows of his car fog…
I wanna write about long lasting lingering hugs and finding the perfect man, polite with a touch of thug
I wanna fill notebooks with notions about loving him so much, anticipating his touch, and admitting when I’m alone, thinking of him, myself I touch
When will I be able to write about love?
I wanna write about how when he is far, I am still wrapped in his closeness, how I’m relieved that my quest wasn’t hopeless.
I didn’t know I would be able to cope this long without the strong inspiration of love
I need inspirational love. When will I fall in love?
I wanna fall in love just so I can write about it.
I wanna write about indulging in you, tasting you like sweetest fruit, savoring the juice extracted from you.
I wanna write about time standing still when we are alone but together…
Seconds seeming like forever, minutes mounting in hours which are painstakingly difficult to conquer, and days dragging me along.
I wanna write a line that simply says, thoughts of you keep me sane, I stare at your picture in the frame, last night I lost count of how many times I came.

I wanna write love poems like, sunlight dims in the radiance of our union, my essence moves in unison with the core of you, I adore you, I give my love to you, I need more of you.
But the words don’t form as long as my heart remains scorned.
So I impatiently wait until love begins to form….Impatiently Yours.

Saturday Evening. . .

So I went out. . ..

So last night, I got all dressed up. I did the heels, the cute top, and makeup, the whole nine. Damn, I meant to take a picture. I went to the Spy Bar with a few other ladies. It felt good to be out with drama-free, mature women, as opposed to the chickheads I used to club with. The women (not girls) I kicked it with last night were down-to-earth, and all around nice. We had so much fun dancing in that circle we ladies dance in when the fellas are tired. I drank 2 drinks (I think) and was in a nice lil zone, yet still pretty coherent. I think I called and babbled to Pookie a bit. . .I'll have to ask later. I seen two exes. One spoke, one didn't. I was good either way. I seen SO many people I went to high school and college with. it was crazy.

The music was typical Cleveland club ish: drop it, shake it, wiggle it, give it up, etc. . .The vibe was good until it began to become overcrowded. The basement was playing more old school laidback music, my homie DJ Gspot did his thing. We left around 3am, and headed to the IHOP. Why are their pancakes so good? What the hell do they do to them?


I haven't been out to a club in Cleveland in such a long time, so it felt good to get my tail back out. I wouldn't do it every weekend, but once in a while would be cool.

Last night, I needed to go out. I had to clear my mind. I had a stressful first week of classes, and in light of Katrina, my heart was heavy. There were so many different emotions swirling around in my head. I was angry at the response of the government, especially the nonchalant attitude of our nation's CEO. "Pharoah", as Rev. Al Sharpton coined Pres. Bush, observed and commented from distances before finally taking his ass down there. I just feel like so much more could have been done more quickly. The response for the tsunami, and other tragedies seemed much more swift. My mom and my sister always tell me that I am too quick to go to the racial aspect, but I believe in calling a spade a spade. Yes, I do think that if this was some other region, some other are where there was a smaller number of minorities, and a greater number of whites, the aid would have some sooner. I guess we'll never know. God willing this doesn't happen again.

My heart was so heavy this week. Thinking about all those babies, the elderly, and in between. They were sent to a supposedly safer haven, but with no provisions. What the hell? It's like, 'y'all chill and sit in here,dont worry about water, food, etc. . ' It took too long for people to be taken care of. It's a matter of ethics, you know, like the question about the man stealing bread to feed his family.

I was angry at my people for looting items such as televisions, sneakers, and other items not necessary for survival. I mean, I understand stealing water from grocery stores, food, etc. There is no electricity or refridgeration, so most of that stuff would spoil anyway. It was embarassing to have the media portray US as they did, but you know what? A lot of that shit was unneccesary. Feed your kids, but where you gonna put that damn tv. I understand the frustration and desperation of these refugees, but raping and shooting wasn't going to ease the situation. It only made people more reluctant to give assistance.

Sigh. . .America is still the beautiful, right? Just checking.

Many celebrities are giving right now. I read that Diddy and Jay-Z gave a million, and Steve Harvey went down there. Jesse Jackson sent buses for transport, and I seen Morgan Freeman as well. That's all well and good, however I am loving the fact that everyday Americans are giving time, money, and energy to help complete strangers. Every little bit helps.

I'm staying prayerful for those people who have to start their whole lives over. I feel blessed to have the things that I have, tangible and intangible.