Quick update

I'm in a weird place right now...some things I am so sure of, others are a mystery. Is life supposed to be this way?

still in love
still trying to lose weight
still trying to figure things out
a little wiser
a little older
a littler thicker
still annoyed
not writing as much as I want to

Wow...

I can't believe this is my first blogspot post here of 2007....

Your Revolution. . .

So, I've been in the writing mood lately. I've been very creative in my own work, and I'm getting into different artists right now. I'm reading Memoirs of a Geisha again, as well as a few other of my favorite novels. I wanted to share one of my favorite pieces today. Please enjoy. . .

your revolution will not happen between these thighs

your revolution will not happen between these thighs
the real revolution ain't about booty size the Versaces you buys or the Lexus you drives
and though we've lost Biggie Smalls your Notorious revolution will never allow you to lace no lyrical douche in my bush
your revolution will not be you killing me softly with Fugees

your revolution ain't gon' knock me up without no ring and produce little future MCs because that revolution will not happen between these thighs
your revolution will not find me in the backseat of a Jeep with LL hard as hell ya know, doin' it & doin' it & doin' it well ya know, doin' it & doin' it & doin' it well
your revolution will not be you smackin' it up, flippin' it, or rubbin' it down nor will it take you downtown or humpin' around because that revolution will not happen between these thighs
your revolution will not have me singin' ain't no nigger like the one I got your revolution will not be you sending me for no drip drip VD shot
your revolution will not involve me feeling your nature rise or helping you fantasize because that revolution will not happen between these thighs and no, my Jamaican brother, your revolution will not make you feel boombastic and really fantastic have you groping in the dark for that rubber wrapped in plastic
you will not be touching your lips to my triple dip of french vanilla butter pecan chocolate deluxe or having Akinyele's dream a six-foot blowjob machine
you wanna subjugate your queen; think I'ma put it in my mouth just 'cause you made a few bucks please brotha please!
your revolution will not be me tossing my weave making believe I'm some caviar-eating, ghetto mafia clown or me givin' up my behind just so I can get signed or maybe have somebody else write my rhymes? I'm Sarah Jones, not Foxy Brown
your revolution makes me wonder, where could we go if we could drop the empty pursuit of props and the ego we'd revolt back to our Roots, use a little Common Sense, on a Quest to make love De La Soul, no pretense...but
your revolution will not be you flexing your little sex and status to express what you feel; your revolution will not happen between these thighs will not happen between these thighs will not be you shaking and me faking between these thighs because the revolution, that's right, I say the real revolution, you know the real revolution, when it finally comes, it's gon' be real.

Click here for an audio version of "Your Revolution"

Click here to visit Sarah Jones' Official Website

Old and Mad

I got to thinking about this yesterday as TV One constantly ran commercials for Cathy Hughes' conversation with the legendary mad Black man Dick Gregory. He dropped such priceless jewels as:

". . . every person born in the US within the past 25 years has a microchip up their butts. . ."

and

". . .Cheney will be president in 2008 with 98% of the vote because Condoleeza will be his running mate. . ."

and

". . .the levees didn't break, they were blown up . . ."

Maaaaaaaan, there is nothing like a mad black man. Even Nelson Mandela gets mean. He has called out Tony Blair, George W. Bush, and other world leaders on their bullshit. At Coretta Scott King's funeral, co-founder of the SCLC Joseph Lowery called out Bush on the lack of WMDs and his other shoddy work. Bush was sitting right behind him, with that plastic ass smile on his face. That was classic. Most cats don't even have the balls to confront someone these days. Diss records don't mean crap, you ever seen 50 Cent step to someone, for real?
When they're in the public eye, they are sometimes are asked to apologize for comments that are deemed inappropriate. Suuuure they do, but you know they really don't care. Harry Belafonte calls out the president whenever he gets good and ready. He called Colin Powell and Condoleeza Beans and Rice "house slaves" for their compliance and allegiance to the White House, which does sort resemble a Southern plantation, in my opinion anyways. . .
They've been through the marches, the hoses and the dogs. They have been treated as less than men, and denied basic civil rights. They have plenty of good reason to be mad. They have lived hard lives, paving the way for generations who may not understand or appreciate the sacrifices they made. There's nothing better than hearing Sharpton's sharp talk, or Farrakhan's quiet anger, or even Cosby's mumblings. Behind all that gray hair, permed or not, there is much knowledge. Not just book smarts, but life smarts. Let 'em talk, there's no reason to shut them up. I wanna marry a man that's gonna be just as mad as these men when we get old and gray.

In no particular order, here are my Top 5 Old Mad Black Men
Harry Belafonte
Dick Gregory
Bill Cosby
Al Sharpton
Joseph Lowery

Younger Men with Mad Old Black Man Potential
Nas
Chuck D
Spike Lee

Kanye West

Damon Dash

Jonesin' for Lauryn

Listening to: Ms. Hill by Talib Kweli (off the Right About Now album)

I like Coltrane's music. "In a Sentimental Mood" and "Naima" are two of the most beautiful pieces of music I've ever heard. That says a great deal because I am addicted to music, the way my aunt is addicted to crack. . .but that's a tale for another day.
I love The Artist I've Always Called Prince. His music is beautiful, controversial, erotic, sexual, sensual, and sexy. There was never a pause when we debated in high school, Prince vs. Michael Jackson. . .The Artist always had my vote. The fact that he wears his hair like my mother does can't sway the way I feel about him. . . Prince is sexy

As far as female artists, I could go on all day naming the ones who have made me think, crave, cry, and remember. India, Alice Coltrane, Minnie, Billie, Janet, Toni, etc., etc. But none of these women have moved me in the ways that one Ms. Hill has done.

I first heard her on Blunted on Reality, but I really noticed her on Nas' joint, "If I Ruled the World". I seen a couple Fugee performances on tv, and I was so impressed that this chocolate girl was killin' em, and the crowd was loving her. It was powerful for me to see during a time when I was wondering so much about my place in the world. Granted I was young, but I've always felt wiser than others at my age, despite anything else.
Once Sister Act 2 came out on video, I heard Lauryn sing "His Eye is on the Sparrow". To this day, I still get chills down my spine when I hear her rendition. Her voice was rich and clear. I couldn't quite place it back then, but now I realize how special her talents really are.
The Score comes out in 1996. It was one of the first CDs I owned. I loved it from cover to cover. I played it until the disc damn near ran thin. I loved the singles, "Fu-gee-la", "Ready or Not", and "Killing me Softly", but I loved the other tracks as well. The Fugees were an awesome group to me. Collectively, they were confident, but not arrogant. They were talented black people making music that was against the grain, and I appreciated that.
Flash forward to 1998, my sister gets The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill for Christmas. That album was, and still is beautiful, It's as relevant today, as it was when it first came out. In Talib Kweli's song "Ms. Hill", he says what the album did for black girl's self esteem is so important. I won't speak for all, but that album affected me so deeply. The album touched everything from relationships, to the music industry.

My Favorite Tracks:
Lost Ones
When it Hurts so Bad
Final Hour

from the title track:
". . .I look at my environment And wonder where the fire went What happened to everything we used to be I hear so many cry for help Searching outside of themselves Now I know that His strength is within me And deep in my heart the answer it was in me And I made up my mind to define my own destiny. . ."

It seriously gets no better than that. This is female artist who refused to be mass marketed, who does not need a cologne, a doll, or a clothing line to be established or validated. She has her voice, her opinions (remember she let them know the deal in Vatican City 2003?), and her lyrics to do the job for her. I'm always writing and talking about warrior women, and she's one of them.
Back to Miseducation. . .it was worthy of the accolades and then some. The hater/critic/naysayers wondered if she could come back with a sophomore solo release that generated as much heat as the first. I wasn't worried, even as time ticked on.
Few years go by, I'm growing, the world's changing, music is on the same old bull. I listened to the Miseducation like a new release.
2002 was a weird year for me. I freed myself from someone toxic, and I became more serious about my writing. I listened to lyrics like I never had before. And Lauryn came out with an MTV Unplugged album.
Whoa. Always a fan of live albums, but I never in my life had heard one like hers. In one word: Raw. Her emotions poured from her, as if she was oblivious to the audience. She explained the processes behind songs and played guitar like a folk singer. I only know one other person who feels me on this album. Freestyle fans should hear her spit on "Mystery of Inequity". . .that's what's up.

My favorite tracks:
Just Like Water
Mystery of Inequity
So Much Things to Say

So, I've been getting into some other types of music and artists, but I've never forgotten Lauryn. Since the appearance at Dave Chappelle's block party, and the BET Awards, there's been much spark and speculation about the revival of Lauryn and the Fugees. I anticipate it, but I'm not looking for the old Fugees to return. I'm ready for a newer, older, and wiser bunch to come back. She isn't herself, they say. The clothes, the wigs, the cracking voice,etc. I'll just wait and see what's next. I read the Essence article, and it made me want them back more. I was a big Fugees fan almost as much as I was a Lauryn fan. Even if the Fugees and Lauryn aren't poppin' like they used to be, it'll be good to not not have to wonder what if . . .

To Be Young, Gifted, and Black

**Because there are some who still don't know*

To Be Young, Gifted, and Black
To be young, gifted and black,

Oh what a lovely precious dream

To be young, gifted and black,

Open your heart to what I mean

In the whole world you know

There are billion boys and girls

Who are young, gifted and black,

And that's a fact!

Young, gifted and black

We must begin to tell our young

There's a world waiting for you

This is a quest that's just begun

When you feel really low

Yeah, there's a great truth you should know

When you're young, gifted and black

Your soul's intact

Young, gifted and black

How I long to know the truth

There are times when I look back

And I am haunted by my youth

Oh but my joy of today Is that we can all be proud to say

To be young, gifted and black Is where it's at. . .

Note: "To Be Young, Gifted And Black," written 1969 Nina Simone and Weldon Irvine, Jr., was -- inspired by Lorraine Hansberry's play of the same title.

So. . .

***Originally posted on my Yahoo 360 blog Christmas Day. . .



Christmas was good. The same as every year. The sibs played with their toys all day, and I ate too much. I watched the Heat/Lakers game, and old Christmas episodes of 227 and The Simpsons. It was a good day.

My Cavs beat the Bulls tonight. . .yeeeeeeeea boy.

I'm not big on New Year's resolutions. People make them, and they are usually forgotten by the third week of January. I've done it before. I've made lists, long ones that seemed rational, but I could barely remember what was on them. I did keep my promise to workout. I'm more content with looking forward to the new year with a sense of optimism and just going from there.
I put aside my writing for a little bit. I had so much studying to do this semester, that my writing seemed like a chore. Anyone who writes with passion should understand how scary that is. My stories were becoming like chores so therefore, I haven't really written anything in about two months. I have so many ideas in my head now, so I guess I'll get on it soon.

I had this whole blog about people who lack tact, but I deleted it. I decided that I'm not really caring what people say to me, or how they say it. I want respect, but very little fazes me these days. I'm currently in a stage where I am listening to that little voice inside, and going with the gut, instincts and shit like that. I was all set to be pissed over some comments my ex who lives down the hall made about me, but then I decided that it really didn't matter. I could have told him about himself, but he knows he was wrong. I could have launched into a tirade about all the things wrong with him, but I wasn't on it. I wanna say that in 2006. . .I AIN'T ON IT!!! But hell, why wait?

I talked with one of my oldest friends a few days ago, and he tells me how he and another friend nicknamed me "Sweetface". He claims that when people first meet me, they think I'm young and naive. They think I'm too nice to let people know the deal, or too nice to see the truth. Maybe I won't mind this young face when I'm 40, provided that it's still here. So does this mean I need to toughen up? Nah, I'm pretty hardcore already. Should I work harder to prove my edge to people? Nope. You know why? Because I AIN'T ON IT!!! All I can say is don't let the sweet face fool you. That's it.

Ahhh, felt good to ramble for a bit. . .Peace, y'all.

Truth. Secrets. Apologies

**Originally posted on my Yahoo 360 Page.


Secrets. Truth. Apologies.

I think we hold secrets in that don't necessarily need to be kept. Just one (or two, or three, etc) more things that we bury deep inside of ourselves, we find solace in convincing ourselves that it's irrelevant, but in truth, we are slowly dying. . .

Isn't that scary?

I've said, 'it's killing me to keep this secret' too many times before, and I'm starting to believe that it really can kill you to hold things in. I used to feel a real need to have a secret. People would divulge juicy secrets to me, and I'd either keep them or spill them at my own discretion. Of course I'd deny being the squealer if it ever got back to the person. I'm sorry for that.
I've lied at times, horribly to get what I want in every area of my life, whether it be from a man, a sibling, my mother, or any other relative. NO, I never lie to other relatives because I don't want or need them to give me anything. The relationships have been strained for years for a variety of reasons, and I don't know who needs to mend things.

My mother has made me lie. I resent her for that. I don't want to make it seem as if she's ruined me for life, but over the past few years, she's really made decisions that I don't get behind, yet I give support because bottom line, that's my mother. We're supposed to honor our parents, and so I do.

Can you honor without respecting? Nope. Honor is basically a show of respect. So I guess I don't honor my father, because I can't respect him. I think about the things I've dealt with because of him. He has abandoned his children and only thought of himself. I used to cry and wonder why he didn't love me, if there was something I could do to make him love me. I realize that he didn't come from a place of love, because his father wasn't there for him, and his people aren't the most affectionate. So once again, here's another young woman scorned by her daddy, that has tried to find all the things she needed from him in others. (Damn, listen to "Father in You", on Mary J. Blige's new CD Breakthrough. It's all in there.) I used to think, "how can a man who helped create me, not love me? And if this man, whom I eerily resemble, whom I am a part of, the second child from his loins, cannot love me, then what man could?" It affected me more than I ever realized. As I grow older, I realize what the lack of a daddy does to a girl.

Men lied to me, cheated on me, even stole from me, and I've done the same as a sort of revenge. The problem was, I wasn't doing these things back to the same people who did them to me. But inside of my sick little heart I was happy. NOTE: When I say stole, I am not necessarily referring to material possessions, I am also referring to things such as my innocence, my trust, and my love. Taking advantage of the caring nature of a person is a crime in itself.
I have to admit that I have said and done certain things to people for my writing. I know my power not only as a woman, but as an intelligent, creative, and persuasive woman. I've dragged men through encounters or relationships with me just so I'd have a good writing experience. I used to laugh it off with a friend of mine and say, "What the hell? It's for the book." But in reality, the experiments and ideas began outweighing the book. I was writing less and plunging deeper into this self that I didn't respect. Mental manipulation was always my intention. I remember professing to love a certain person, and wanting a relationship with them just to see what emotions I could bring out, and that was wrong. I stroked his ego, and got some decent poetry from it, but it was wrong because I deceived this dude. So, when you read this, NO, you aren't being vain, this really is about you, and I truly regret what I did.

I'm in love with my whole heart for the first time in my life. It's a scary, sexy, amazing, blessed experience. There are so many obstacles in the way of this relationship, but there's so much potential there. Despite what others say, I cannot give up on this, and I would never forgive myself for not giving it every chance in the world. My heart is filled with optimism for the future.

The thing about this man is that, no matter how I've tried on a number of occasions, I cannot lie to him. I tell him when I haven't gone to the gym, when I'm not eating right, and when I get bad grades. I take his criticism, his praise, his bitchings, his moanings all in stride.
I have given him more of me than any other man. This has been my most special relationship. We laugh and joke and share things with one another that either no one or only a small few know. if it's going to hurt me, but help me, he does not hesitate to share it. I am working on being the same with him. I'm good, but still a work-in-progress.

You know, the early morning hours bring out the honesty in me, I should write like this more often. . .

The Predictable "What I am Thankful For" Blog

I was one of those kids who enjoyed this assignment in elementary school. I guess it was the early writer in me. Well, I'm grown now, but I'm going to do it anyways. I want to share the things I'm grateful for, as well as putting those things into perspective for myself. So here goes, y'all.

How you feeling?

Give thanks and breathe it in

Give thanks and breathe it in.

‘Cause we’re blessed.

I believe that part of being thankful is acknowledging the blessings in your life. I was listening to the song "Blessed 2 Have" on Floetry's latest Cd, and it really made me think.

Blessed to have another moment,

Some more time spent,

Some more minds to get into.

Blessed to have another daydream,

Another maybe, Yeah.

Those lyrics really made me think. It's been a rough year for me. I've dealt with a lot of different things with school and with my family, especially with my mother. I've lost good friends, or friends that seemed to be good. I've dealt with so much heartache and disappointment, almost too much for one person. That's where I have to stop feeling sorry for myself. As Christians we're taught that God never puts more on us that we can bear, so there it is. I had hard times, but I was HERE to have them, and that's what I'm thankful for. So many people lose their lives, or don't even live to see 22.

I may not have done all of the things I wanted, or done all of the things I needed to do, but I have tomorrow. That seems like a procrastinator's mantra, but it's true. I'm thankful I have some sort of freedom, and a relationship with my family that allows us to beef, fall apart, and then reconvene. I'm thankful for the real love I have in my life. (FINALLY)

Chances are there’s still a chance.

Forever is your state of trance.

Give thanks.

Breathe it in. . .

I have many opportunities that people before me did not have. Hell, there are people today who don't have the opportunities that I have. I think about that so much right now. I'm thankful that when I mess up, there's still hope for me. Some things are one shot, and some things are trial and error. I'm thankful for the options.

Enjoy your holiday.

Solitary Contentment to a Point. . .

So lately I've really been feeling like being alone. I think we all get like that from time to time. It's cool to hang out with friends sometimes, but it's also a very good thing to spend time with yourself. So many people don't understand that, but it's alright. I have one friend who I will refer to as "Vanity", who thinks that if I don't want to deal with her, then I must be either mad at her, or depressed. So any time I get in a mood where I wanna be all by my lonesome, I get voicemails from Vanity that go like this: "Hiiiiiiiii, Shatira, I hope you're well. you know you can talk to me, I hope you feel better soon." When in truth, I'm not sick, I'm watching a good movie, wearing a mint julep facial mask and eating ice cream. Or writing, or reading, or listening to music, or God knows what else. . .you get the point.

I think that if you constantly have the need to be around other people, then you have issues within yourself. Get to know yourself a little, you might be surprised what you learn.

I need my quality time with myself to gather my thoughts. I can honestly say i enjoy my own company. However, I got a little rude awakening yesterday about my personal down time.

My girl, my ace, my best friend who I have known damn near my whole life needed me. She had been calling since last Tuesday, but i kept putting off calling her. I was thinking it was something not important, but I was wrong. She called last night and had gone through one hell of an ordeal. I couldn't believe it when she told me. She was cool, but I know she was very hurt that I wasn't there for her. She has two other close friends, but they didn't support her in that, "I might not agree, but I love you" sort of way you need your girls to come through with.

So, my point in all of this is that even though it's cool to be by myself, it's also important to still be concerned about my friends. It only takes a few minutes to call and check up. For no good reason, I wasn't there for her, and she's been pretty good about coming through for me, so I need to be just as mindful of her situations.

Ahh,new revelation, the journey continues. . .

I'm Trippin' (Part Deux)

Song rolling around in my head: Here We Go Again, Trina ft. Kelly Rowland

*I am tripping on Pastor Mase's, no excuse me, Murda Mase's new song "Checks Clear". . .He's not serving God anymore, he's on G-g-g-g-Unit. I think that everyone has a special and unique relationship with God. This allows us to be the people we are destined to become. However, just a short while ago, Mase was walking around claiming to be devoted to spreading the gospel. He had the opportunity to reach out to people. His regression back to his old ways is probably all about ego. That Welcome Back album didn't sell like he wanted to do, so now he feels like he has something to prove. Whateva, Mason Betha. I'm not the only one trippin'. I damn near fell outta my chair when I heard this line in his song:
"Call Q, you know what to do, put Brandy on the phone, you know the hoe used to love me. . ."

*I'm trippin' on Trina's latest single, Here We Go Again. I've never really been a fan of her, yet oddly enough I've wound up with all her albums. I seen her on 106 and Park, promoting the video. I watched it and I wasn't really moved. Typical she-man man hating, don't need a man, kick em to the curb, etc. But I was walking home the other day and I was listening to the song closely and had a moment. A while back, I was that girl listening to the same bullshit over and over again. I was dealing with a dusty dude with an even dustier girl on him. I mean she was on him hard. Harder than I was trying to be. There was so much going on in that relationship that I couldn't see a way out. Like the song says, I wasn't trying to hear it anymore and I finally got fed up. I never thought a Trina song would affect me like this one did, so on that I am truly trippin'.

*I'm trippin' on how quickly the US went to Pakistan, but took so long to get into New Orleans. Think on that. . .AmeriKKKa at it's finest, y'all.

*I'm trippin' on the Japanese lady at the beauty supply store calling me homegirl. She don't know me like that.

*I'm trippin' on this gorgeous wooden bracelet I bought the other day for a dollar, and on the fact that I seen it on QVC for $20.

*I'm trippin' on the fact that I finished a 10 page paper at 5a.m. today. I have reached the pinnacle of my procrastinating and I am gonna put an end to it. . . tomorrow.

*I am trippin' on this lady at the grocery store yesterday:
Her (smelling like straight up liquor): Hey you usin' your food stamp care?

Me (Trying to be polite, because I was taught to respect my elders): No ma'am. I don't have one.

Her: Well, if I let you use mine, can I get the money from you? I'll give you a 2 dollar discount.

Me: No, that's alright. I'm using a bank card.

Her:Awww, c'mon, I need some money. . .

I was so outdone I left her standing there. If I'm out there like that when I get old, somebody please get me some help.

*I'm trippin' on the guy in a ski mask, a bad wig and a dress that approached my sister Free this morning at the bus stop. He told her some long story about how he didn't want his neighbors to know about his lifestyle, which was why he wore the mask. She was polite, and probably a little scared so she listened to his tale of conflicted identity, making her a better one that me. What I'm trippin on even more is the fact that the same guy used to approach my older sister and I when we were walking to junior high school over ten years ago. . .damn I'm getting old.

*Finally, I'm trippin on the last Zane book a read, her latest novel, Afterburn. I had sorta written her off, but something told me to give this book a try. Awesome read. I'm telling you. The end caught me off guard. I was finishing it up in my math class and me being the softie I am, the tears started rolling. . .

Oh wait a minute. . .

***It ain't over, to be continued.***

The Call. . .

"You think I'd leave your side baby, you know me better than that. . ." - Sade, By Your Side

I woke up in the mood to hear Sade. I looked outside, and the weather had drastically changed. I watched the news yesterday, so I knew it would, but for the forecast to come to fruition, I was a little crestfallen (Yea, I felt like using big words this morning too, fuck it). I always think weather like this is ominious.

So, it's almost 9 am, and I'm sitting here. Just being here. I got a strange phone message this morning. I mean it was filled with care, concern, and love, and I felt all of that, but it was still weird. Whenever you get those "if something should happen to me"- type speeches. The mind strays, and all the crazy shit that could ever happen dances in front of your eyes. It's not like this world is sweet and pure filled with genuine people with pure intentions. There may be some, but we live in a world full of terrorist, snipers, and coldhearted motherfuckers. Nothing could happen, but something could. So it got me to thinking. . .

What would I do without him in my life?


I'm feeling weird right now, like I'm typing but I don't know what's going to come next. I kinda like this feeling.

I have no idea where I'd be without your influence. My heart races when I think about you, and dammit you make my skin boil. I cherish the moments we spend together, and at the same time appreciate our space right now. I'm counting the days until we see one another again.

Don't ever scare me like that again.

Fuck the meantime, you're worth the wait.

I'm Trippin Part 1

I’m Trippin’. . . (Part 1)
Right now I’m trippin on a lot of things, some make sense and some don’t. If you can rationalize, feel free.

• I’m trippin on the fact that someone came to class yesterday wearing the same perfume that I wear, (Body by Victoria) . . . but I’m trippin more on the fact that it was a guy.

• I’m trippin on the fact that before my Creative Writing class, I had only seen the movie Slam once. It’s one of those flicks that make writers.

• I’m trippin on how Pookie corrects me, and I don’t mind it at all. In fact, it’s kinda sexy and it keeps me on my toes.

• I’m trippin on how it’s almost been three years, and it seems newer everyday.

• Speaking of my toes, I’m really tripping on how I’ve been wearing my toes out all summer, and I used to have BAD issues with my feet.

• I’m trippin on how ever since I got this new hairdo, the fellas have been checking for me harder than ever, and on the fact that it cost me $25 to do this style, and the shop was gonna charge me $150

• I’m trippin on how my mother thinks that just because I’m her child she can scream on me. I give her the utmost respect, but sometimes she makes me want to step out of my walk. . .

• -I’m trippin on how small Cleveland is. You can’t date or meet anyone who doesn’t know someone who knows you. Especially as far as the black community is concerned. I mean, you mention the general area where you were raised, like Kinsman, Wade Park, Miles, wherever, and someone can name a cousin, a classmate, or ex-boyfriend on the spot. I was talking to this guy the other day, and there was something so familiar about him that it was scary. After giving it some thought, I realized that he was friends with my first love. Before there was Facebook, Yahoo 360, or even Blackplanet, you could find lost relatives and friends in the streets. I just think it's crazy how small our black planet is. Six degrees of separation is dwindling down to 3 or 4. You know when you meet someone, after finding out where they're from, you ask if they know anyone you can think of from that area. And it's a trip how for the most part, they will know at least one person you know.

• I’m trippin on how this was supposed to be a quick rant, but turned into something else. . .

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.

School Daze all over again. . .

"I'm focused, man. . . . ."



So, another semester in. Of course I'm looking forward to the end, but I'm also looking forward to experiencing what my classes have to offer. I have a heavy load this semester: Math class, some computer work, managerial accounting, and 2 classes in the Pan African Studies building, Oscar Ritchie Hall. For those not familiar, Oscar Ritchie was the first African American faculty member at my school, Kent State University. This was way back in 1947. Black United Students petitioned to name the old student union after him following his death in 1967, thus making him the first African-American to have a predominantly white public university building named in his honor.

Ok, now that the history portion is over, I'll continue.

I'm really looking forward to getting the damn math, accounting, and computer classes out of the way. I'm going to enjoy the 2 classes I have in Oscar Ritchie. It's been a few semesters since I took "black classes", so it'll be good to revisit those feelings of awareness and pride I felt as I sat in those classes.

I'm very excited about the African World Creative Writing Class. We'll be reading the poetry of Amiri Baraka, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Haki Madbhuti. In addition we're also going to write and have our work critiqued by classmates. We introduced ourselves yesterday. Everyone is a writer, whether poetry, plays, novels, or music. It's an awesome feeling to be surrounded by so much talent.

The other class is African Social/Political/Economic Systems. . .a mouthful, I know. It seems interesting. I was slightly intimidated by the fact that when I first walked in to the class, I was the only chocolate face in a sea of milky white. I swear, I thought I was in the wrong room, until I seen everyone had the book for the course. Overwhelmed, I walked out of the class to get some air, since I was fifteen minutes early. I was grateful when six other black people finally showed up in true CP fashion.

I plan on throwing myself completely into school and make the most of my final moments in college. I cant tell it'll be easy to fall behind, but I don't plan on doing so. As long as I stick to my studying schedule, I'll be good. . .Lawd, lawd please let me be in the final moments!!!