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Why can’t we be friends?

Why can’t we be friends?

Was the level of intimacy so deep that you fell into the pit of me and fear climbing out would take too long to escape once more?

Can you still feel all of the painful sin worthy lies that you painted down my spine when we twined our bodies into one more than a million and one times?

Could it be the inescapable scent of my pussy on your top lip from moments of hip writhing Harvard worthy brain?

You are very educated in that sense aren’t you?

Why can’t we be friends?

Does it have anything to do with your homies lusting after me like you lust after those random chics whose ponytail holders and bras I found stuffed down my throat late nights so tight that I should have spoken up but I was dickmatized and couldn’t speak?

BTW….you need better hiding spots because where I put my shit but deep in the back is DUMB.

Why can’t we be friends?

Is it because after 4 Crown on the rocks you tell me you love me during deep pulsating strokes and passionate kisses but roll over in the morning and look at me like a stranger and dap me out in the afternoon ya boy?

Why can’t we be friends?

We can’t be friends because…..when he says my name…he… lets every letter fall like raindrops.

He kisses my lips like he’ll never see me again….he holds me tight like my favorite sweater on a cold winter’s day and he can make my body shake with just his breath in my ear and most of all….he means it and is sincere.

We can’t be friends because you’re no longer wanted here.

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Unbalanced–This poem blew my mind!

Y’all, every now and again your run into someone who so cleanly and clearly articulates the tangled mess of emotions we feel inside. Let me introduce you to Unruly Spoken a.k.a Jashonia McQuin (pictured above). In her piece “Unbalanced,” she captures the anguish, anger, resilience, and the suffering that comes with mental illness. It’s something we’re taught not to discuss as black women, but she goes there. Read and absorb…



by Unruly Spoken

Unseen wounds and scars make the battle invisible to those who remain clueless. Internal turmoil that comes with a beautiful smile and pep in her step leads all who see her to believe she is on top of the world. Little do they know that the demons she battles daily make the villains in comic books seem like pound puppies waiting to be adopted. The Dreaded words MENTAL ILLNESS, oh no…HELL NO. Black women are NOT mentally ill, they’re just crazy and controlling. Kiss my ass. We raise your children, clean your homes, suck your dick and stand by you on the front lines while “THE MAN” tries to take it all. White women, we clean your homes, care for your children, do your work while climbing the corporate ladder and you took the elevator. Think that doesn’t stick pins in my psyche? Think again Becky, you and Megan took what I earned and flaunted it in my face. Watch me blow up in my car on the drive home. Oh, Brad asked if chocolate tastes greater with milk deep inside of it, gather your man before I do. I will not fall…..I will not fall. I will not fall for the suck it up and smile line to appease the masses any longer. I will not prance around pretending to be stronger than I am to make the world comfortable around this angry black woman who could have torn this plant to shreds ages ago had she chosen to. How easily one forgets that without us…none of you exists. We fight this war daily and are told to get over it, we think we are weak once we do finally seek help and we hid it from others. We are like beautiful stained glass that has been shattered but can be repaired when the right hands and minds come together to take the time to put us back together again.