#keeseneysayssunday

[keeseneysays]

Sometimes We Just Need to Talk: An Exploration of Character Development Influence on Love and Interaction Through Short Fiction

That was the title of my thesis; the greatest most frustrating thing I’ve ever written in my life. Through my proposal I was to explain what it was I wanted to do, why I wanted to do it, how I planned on doing, and why I planned on doing it that way. Once that got approved, I was able to start my project. Within this thesis, I created 2 short stories, 3 flash fiction stories and ANOTHER proposal to remind my readers what I wanted to do, what I did, why I did it, and how it worked out for me. A WHOLE LOTTA SHIT! Still, the stories I created, if I do say so myself, were AMAZING. I questioned my every move, my every detail because I knew I would have to defend what I thought was right. Which is usually how life goes. ANYways, instead of repeating myself and explaining all of what I created, I decided to creatively explain my thesis through receipts. Ha. I’ve been infatuated with love and relationships for a long time. Although, it’s only because I was surprised, so surprised, to see so many people get it wrong! How? I now see why I grew up to be a writer because it angered and worried me for days when I would watch a tv show, a movie, OR READ A BOOK and the writers were so worried about love and making it believable for their audience that the characters always somehow seem to fade to the back. Don’t get me started on BLACK characters and the narrative writers love to play into when it comes to BLACK LOVE. That’s why I let it be known that my stories were black with black characters, black culture, and a black writer to match. When I think of how to explain in all, my mind points me to the two greatest television series to ever exist; Living Single and A Different World. If you don’t agree, yikes. I spent my childhood watching these shows. A Different World is the reason why I even enjoyed school so much. I wanted to go to college and be able to experience the feeling given by Hillman life. Unfortunately, my dreams of going to a HBCU didn’t happen, BUT I never forgot WHY I was in school, PWI or not. Living Single was my mother’s favorite television series, and it soon also became mine. I LOVED how black it was. I loved how there were BLACK women simply being BLACK. A writer, an actress, a lawyer, and a fashionista were ALL black women living—surviving—in Brooklyn. They were friends that supported every step of every journey their friends took. I loved seeing that. Add in BLACK men who allowed women to be women without allowing the patriarchal background of America to influence their behavior, AND they were just as unapologetically black, proud, passionate, and thriving within the community. Making them equal. Making them their own individual selves. Therefore, when these two unapologetically BLACK shows tackled the topic of love, they undoubtedly produced the BEST two on screen relationships by allowing their characters to gravitate towards one another, willingly and tastefully. Who are these 2 couples? The queen of bad and boujee Whitley Gilbert and the only man to make math interesting Mr. Dwayne Wayne. Annndddddd Maxine Shaw Attorney at Law and Mr. Suave himself Kyle Barker. Now I won’t sit here and take you through their entire relationship—I’m already a little offended if you don’t know them—but I will explain what about them makes me label them as such. Whitley and Dwayne interested me because, as a child, I didn’t see why the hell Dwayne was so persistent. They didn’t match and they were FAR from the same background, yet Dwayne never really gave up hope that he was going to get his girl. Which made me take a closer look at Whitley, and thank God I did. (Jasmine Guy is the GOAT) Whitley had the best glow up because I felt like it was the first time I had ever watched a woman correct herself. Whitley entered school stuck up, yes, but mostly oblivious. Her spoiled, snobbish attitude was unbearable yet lovable. My mama used to say, “that’s what happens when you already have it and don’t care how you got it.” When it was time for Whitley to care, she had to learn how to. That’s where Dwayne came in. I feel as though both of these characters saw potential in the other loooonnngggg before they saw it in themselves. That’s beautiful to me; to fall in love with someone’s potential so much that it fuels your own. It’s like having the right pieces but the wrong puzzle. From the break ups, make ups, proposals, to the INFAMOUS wedding crashing, every development on their relationship was preceded by their own, noticeable, personal growth. Maxine and Kyle were similar in a way. Maxine Shaw would be my favorite on the show, but Khadijah James is the GOAT. Still, Maxine comes close second because *sigh* she was Max; all day and everyday. She was a black, college educated woman, who was also a dedicated lawyer—successfully navigating her way through a male dominated world. She was also a sexually liberated woman who put the F in feminist. Kyle, on the other hand, was a handsome, well dressed successful stockbroker, who prided himself in his many sexual relationships. Through these descriptions alone, it’s easy to see why these two characters didn’t get along, yet they maintained a honest and heartfelt friendship. That’s what I loved the most out of their relationship. They were never truly overly affectionate, but I feel as though their personalities created challenges for one another that allowed them into each other’s heart. Here you have two individuals with the education, talent, looks, and salary to back up their lifestyles, yet they find interest in the other; alpha for alpha. Watching these characters compromise their own beliefs to positively affect someone they’re trying so hard not to be affected by was BEYOND interesting. I remember the episode of Kyle’s birthday—when Max continued to complain about her newfound girlfriend duties. She kept saying how she had to get rid of Kyle by Christmas. Still, by the end of that episode, Max was standing inside of a washer trying to cheer up her aging boyfriend. She simply told him she was his gift because the guy he used to be would have never dated a woman as strong minded as her...which the same can be said for Max—as shown by her planning and saving her boyfriend’s 30th birthday. You can’t help but acknowledge these characters separately. Although, it wasn’t hard comprehending their pull towards one another—especially since they were the ones doing the pulling. So with those examples inspiring my research, I was able to create my own love stories through the development of my own characters. And it was damn fun.

#keeseneysays #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysayssunday #blog #blogging #blogger #blog post #black girl blog #black women #black is beautiful #black love #Black Writers #Black Hollywood #Black Authors #Black Author #living single #a different world #maxine shaw #kyle baker #whitley gilbert #dwayne wayne #black tv

[keeseneysays]

This is What It is About Me

I don’t shut the fuck up.

Here’s how that’s a good thing and a bad thing.

The bad thing about it is...I don’t shut tf fuck up, and sometimes...you need to shut tf up.

(Here’s the difference between me and some people; I recognize this.)

The good thing about it is...I don’t shut tf up. Meaning; I’m gon spinnablock. Meaning; I’m bussing back. Meaning; if you make a commotion, be prepared for the noise. Meaning; I am capable of comprehending that you have an opinion. Meaning; I am hoping you are—also—capable of comprehending that I am—also—comfortable with providing mine as well. Meaning; I can converse in a conversation—if you are comfortable enough with accepting a response.

Some people aren’t, and that’s completely okay.

Those people aren’t the ones I want occupying my space.

And that’s okay too.

Nevertheless, an individual— like myself—is comfortable with responses—given properly. Why? I am completely prepared to listen and, if needed, give a proper response as well.

But I can also spinnablock.

If you know me, you know I was raised in the church. Meaning; I know patience. Meaning; I know faith. That’s my story, not yours, but that’s what has always helped me grow. Faith taught me how to choose my battles. My mouth is a battle I do not choose to fight against but with. Meaning; I silence myself, but I don’t silence myself. When I need to be heard, I will be heard. It’s just that. I know who I am, and what I need to work on with myself. Meaning; I know how far I can take it. Meaning; I know what I’m capable of.

The difference—now—is, I know when taking it too far meets it’s not worth it. Meaning; I know I can jump off the mountain, but why tf do I need to jump off of this mountain? Meaning; I know I can swing, but why should I?

The thing is, I don’t have to swing to connect? Meaning; I don’t shut tf up.

Therefore, I don’t feel the need to battle something I can—and am willing to learn how to—control. Not every situation brings the same result, but I have faith that I can navigate through any destination. I can do this through teaching and/or learning. Meaning; I am capable of teaching myself to control a situation. Meaning; I am capable of learning why some situations are not mine to control.

But there is compromise! But, whew, that’s a book itself. Why? Because when I don’t have to compromise, I won’t. Meaning; I am comfortable with acknowledging when I am giving more than I am receiving.

Somethings I am comfortable with makes others uncomfortable, and that’s okay too. Meaning; those people aren’t the ones I want occupying my space.

Just like I don’t want to bring bad to you, I would never bring bad to myself. Meaning; I wouldn’t walk into a wall. (Unless there’s something distracting me at that moment. Allow your mind wonder.)

I’ve been bringing so much bad to myself by making myself uncomfortable in order to allow others to feel comfortable.

I got feelings too.

So I went back to being comfortable.

#keeseneysays #blog #blogger #blogging #black writers #keeseneysayssunday #keeseneysayssundays #black girl bloggers #self reflection #growth #happiness #comfort #self care #black woman #black writers matter #support black creatives #black mental health

[keeseneysays]

Yeah, I’m late again...

It’s really not my fault.

This corona shit got me STRUGGLING.

I’ve never been forced to pause and keep going at the same time, and this shit is fucking with me.

I’m not afraid to admit I’m struggling mentally right now. And I’m just as proud to admit that I’ve really gotten myself together on more than one occasion.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on in 2020 right now. I don’t think any of us do. That shit frustrating too. I already don’t know what to expect just being myself on a regular fucking basis.

I will say this though, this forcing me to have some time with myself shit, really has got me looking at a few of yall confused. Confused as to why you do the shit you do. Confused as to why tf I’m still involving myself with you. Friends too. Or whatever you call em.

I feel like, if I’m trying, AND YOU SEE ME TRYING, and you insert yourself as an obstacle, you toxic.

Friends. Family. All yall.

Why the fuck is it so hard for some of yall to be happy for people? No matter the depth of their progression?

Bad energy is the most visible thing. Ain’t a damn thing more clear.

Yet, some of yall think that chip on your shoulder got an invisible cloak on top of it or some...

And I will admit, I have my toxic moments, so I’m listening to myself as well, but shheeeiiittttttt some of yall got me BEAT.

I would be exhausted.

And you know what, I am exhausted. Not from that. From getting settled back into school—as an online student. From completing homework. From meeting deadlines. From typing papers. From being back in a place that’s known to disrupt my peace. From looking for temporary work. From minding my own damn business and washing my face.

The point is, when you got stuff that you actually care about surrounding you, the other stuff don’t matter. Which is why, you roll up, reflect, and go wash your fucking face. It’s good to think on it, not about it.

You acknowledge every situation that makes you feel any discomfort. You owe it to yourself.

That doesn’t mean you give it more time than you’re supposed to. How much is too much? That’s for you do decide.

As for me...

I’m about to go wash my face.

(If you don’t get it, travel a few rows up)

#motivational #black writers #keeseneysayssunday #keeseneysayssundays #black authors #blackwomanwriteswednesdays #black girl magic #black girl blog #blog #blogging #blogger

[keeseneysays]

How a little black girl used Boys n the Hood to call out cultural appropriation while attending a PWI

Boom, if you’re new to this, this what we call

#KeeseneySaysSundays

 During my second junior year of college, I took a Sociolinguistics class. There were 4, maybe 5 undergraduates in that class—including myself. There were definitively only 2 black students—including myself.

I don’t even remember the guidelines of the paper, but I do know that taking a class about language and how it affects—and the effect it has on—our society with a bunch of white people wasn’t a very insightful class. Now don’t get me wrong, this class is definitely top 3 of undergrad, BUT I had to make it insightful.

I remember one of my presentations—that I didn’t plan for—was really used to call out white people on their shit. *shrugs* I remember standing in the front of the class and asking a classmate—a white male, that was an army veteran with a white picket fence, a wife, 2 children, 1 on the way, and a government job—how would he greet the student next to him. He responded, “Hi ma’am. How are you?” I then asked him how he knew that the student was in fact a woman and wanted to be identified as such. He responded, “because she looks like a woman.”

Soooooo, you see how I was being messy…because I could be…because there’s literal proof—history books—of white America being insensitive, disrespectful, thieving ass animals.

Which brings me to our final project. All I really remember is that the paper, of course, had to centered around the effect of language and culture within our society. I chose to explain the cultural connection and foundation of African American Vernacular English versus the Standard American English.

“In our society there is such a thing called Standard American English and then you have African American Vernacular English. Only one thing separates these “two” languages; culture. AAVE speaks to and from the African American culture, and, of course, that’s not easily identifiable among our society. The similarities are the words that origin from SAE, but the differences are held through the identity of African Americans. The culture aspect relays the meaning towards those who identify with the culture. While Standard American English is preferred in our society, it is taught; it is not something you’re attached to.” (Randle, 2018)

Now, myself and frat—the other black student—had already been showcasing our culture throughout the class. We were all assigned discussion leadings and presentations throughout the semester, so it was easy to decide on what to showcase within my writing.

We, of course, had to use a number of sources, and one of those sources had to be some form of film, music, or television show. I thought of Boys n the Hood because this is a movie that is referenced the most when referring to African American culture.

I’m not saying we as black people don’t talk about this movie enough, but I do feel as though WHITE AMERICA TALKS ABOUT IT TOO MUCH.

Hear me out, I just can’t understand how a society who is so hellbent on silencing a community is so obsessed with the language in which they are silencing.

Long story short, I dislike how Boys n the Hood was seen, established, and treated as a ‘how to’ guide; how to be black without being black.

Therefore, the focus in my paper was how EVERYTHING that stood out as BLACK to WHITE AMERICA didn’t even scratch the surface of what we—African Americans—culturally communicated within that movie.

Why didn’t White America comprehend it?

WHITE AMERICA AIN’T BLACK.

Our language isn’t something that can be taught because it comes from our culture, our experiences. White America ain’t trying to experience what the fuck they put African Americans through.

Which is another reason why I picked the film because poverty and violence was at the center of the film; who the hell would’ve though the white people would find interest in some of the things they’re so fearful of.

White America and its corrupt government don’t even set foot in the hood, yet they try to badly to be it. It’s almost like they think they unlocked the gateway to poverty.

“Standard American English is just that, the standard. It’s the mainstream, publicly accepted and expected language to be spoken with the best reputation attached to it. This language is seen as educated and is often used in a professional manner and/or setting. As a collective, it is understood and communicated the same among our society, which is one of the main reasons why it so highly encouraged within our school systems. When you think correct spellings, correct punctuations, and correct pronunciations you’re thinking of the Standard English Language. The ability to communicate this language to a variety of people and have them all comprehend it the same is what makes it “correct.” (Randle, 2018)

Therefore, I used the late John Singleton’s Boys n the Hood to communicate how, even though the film is filled with African American culture, it still doesn’t give you access to the culture. The things the film introduced White America to—because we not about to act like this isn’t shit this country is already familiar with—are things that African Americans were already aware of, had been introduced to, and, for some, were—and still are—experiencing.

“In 1999, John U. Ogbu focused on how one speaks using Standard American English within a school setting vs. how they speak in a home setting, using African American English. Beyond Language: Ebonics, Proper English, and Identity in a Black-American Speech Community showed how within a setting around others not so familiar with the culture, African Americans chose to opt out of using African American English. Instead, they spoke the societal preferred Standard American English. “A person is considered a competent speaker in a speech community if he or she knows both the language (i.e., vocabulary, grammar and phonology) and the cultural rules of speaking--when to speak (speech situations), which speech event is appropriate (e.g., conversation, lecture, or debate), which communicative code (verbal or finger-pointing), and what style.” (Ogbu 1999.) This is an example of Standard American English. You are taught the ins and outs of the correct way to speak the correct form of the correct language. This is another way to show the culture produced style of African American Language. You can’t be taught or corrected on who you are naturally; it comes to you because it’s you. “They are fully aware that Standard English or White English is required for school success and good jobs. However, partly because of how and why they became minorities,’ immigrant and nonimmigrant minorities interpret and respond differently to the requirement of mastering the Standard English.” (Ogbu 1999.) Another example of how the culture in which you are a part of limits your abilities and opportunities within this society unless you master what they want you too. Meaning, basically, we know you speak differently because of who you are and where you come from, but, since we neither like it nor understand it, we refuse to allow it.” (Randle, 2018)

 I should’ve created a citation page, but that’s enough…for now anyway.

#keeseneysays #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysayssunday #blog #blogging #blogger #blog post #black girl blog #creative writing #creative nonfiction #support black creatives #writing #writer #writers #Black Writers #Black Hollywood #black culture #AAVE #SAE #Black College Girl

[keeseneysays]

Allow Me To Walk You Through How I Survived A Mental Relapse

#KeeseneySaysSundays

I haven’t been very active on here, but, as a writer, I’m glad. The shit I would’ve written...would’ve been ass. I wasn’t in a space to be honest. I wasn’t currently being honest with myself, so there was no way I was going to be mentally prepared to share my craft, to share my writing. I hope it shows by now that I take my pen sears (no that’s not a typo) ANYway, the shit I had written out, nah. It would’ve been cap. Therefore, I pulled back in certain areas.

I pulled back from life too.

I’ve always been good at hide and seek. When I don’t want to be found, you WILL NOT find me.

For about 3 weeks I wanted to be lost. Because I was lost. 

After graduation, after I confirmed that I had indeed graduated with my Masters in English Publishing, oh baby, my mind FLIPPED. It was like a switch. The darkness that flooded through my mind came fast. 

I honestly cannot tell you anything about these last few weeks. That’s how disconnected I was with myself. That’s how much in pain I was. My mind was screaming and I couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on. I kept thinking; school is over, what the fuck do I have to worry about right now?

That’s when I realized...what the fuck I have to be worried about right now.

And here’s where my problem comes in because I’m still learning to be aware rather worried. I’m working on getting to where I can be more aware of my circumstances and not worried about them. And here’s where another one of my problems come in at because I’m not the type of person to sit around. I can’t do it. I’m learning to rest—notice a pattern of balance—but sitting around is impossible for me. I’ll go stir crazy. I have to be doing something, meeting some goal. I love crossing finish lines. 

That’s when I realized...just how many fucking finished lines I’ve crossed this 2020.

I envisioned 2020, and it started off just how I intended it. Living beautifully. Care free. Happy. I felt my confidence returning—because ask about me—this year, and it makes me emotional because it’s an addicting feeling. I loved making myself happy. I WORKED to make myself happy. That’s the key point here. I was a second year graduate student taking 16 credit hours, working on a thesis, and working 3 jobs. I didn’t celebrate publicly often, but, within my lil college apartment, I was—I was good. Real good. Even the times when I wasn’t good—which was only once—I’m proud in how I leaned on and supported myself when it came to protecting my mental state. That was—that’s growth within me. 

But then this Rona hoe came. Then I was forced back in the city. Then there was no work. Then there was no classes. I was recording 15 minute narrated PowerPoints and presenting them to a discussion board while currently living in a space that—if we’re talking electronic/technology wise—was basically prehistoric compared to campus life. And I still had my thesis. And I still had them 16 credit hours. Then I lost one of the most purest and most beautiful bonds I’ve ever had in my life. Then I had to—I REFUSE TO SAY REPLACE—her and continue on with my thesis. Then there’s finals. Then I find out I actually failed one of my course classes with a B- and I was 2 points away from a solid B—yeah, that’s Graduate school. Which means I was taking a summer class because TWO points cost me 4 credits. Luckily, I got those a two points, that credit, and that degree.

See how that shit could be stressful? In the midst of all of that I forgot about every good thing I highlighted in the beginning of this post. Therefore, my mind wasn’t registering any of the good. It was exhausted and filled with stress and negativity. School was over, and once I allowed myself to take it all in, it came down heavy.

You never know how strong you are until you’re forced to be as strong as you are. I surprise myself every time. I have my mother’s strength and her patience, and it’s the reason I was able to deal with my recent mental breakdown. This was the healthiest darkness I’ve ever be secluded in. Why? 

I knew it I would come out of it. 

My patience allows me to be able to—now—allow my mind it’s required time to be alone. That’s not so simple. Being alone for me used to be dangerous, scary, and, although these past few weeks were dark, I knew there would be a moment when I was ready to see light again. 

That’s the difference.

My strength allows me to have faith in my mind and my spirit. When I’m not forcing the doubts upon myself, they seem unreachable somehow. Therefore, if I have nothing stopping me from going forward, nothing is stopping me from going forward.

#keeseneysays #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysayssunday #blog #blogging #blogger #blog post #black girl blog #black girl magic #black women #Black Writers #Black Hollywood #Black Authors #Black Women Writers #mental health #mental heath support #black mental health #encouragement #creative writing #creative nonfiction

[keeseneysays]

By Any Means

Welcome back to #BlackWomanWritesWednesdays 

Another chapter added to the The Chronicles of Hip Hop

The request I accepted featured the lyrics from TWO songs by the late Nipsey Hussle. A MAN, okay? Whether you knew of this man or not, that you have no choice but to admit. He was a GREAT man. A great BLACK man.

Sometimes perfect timing feels like I'm too late But I know you still great in spite of your mistakes Before you run your race you gotta find a pace Just make sure you cross the line, and fuck the time it takes

Perfect Timing x Nipsey Hussle

I'm finna take it there, this time around I'ma make it clear Spoke some things into the universe and they appeared I say it's worth it, I won't say it's fair You find your purpose or you wastin' air Fuck it though, y'all niggas scared

Victory Lap x Nipsey Hussle 

By Any Means x Keeseney

Jamaal slapped his alarm off the night stand, silencing the ear splitting ringing that he hated hearing every morning. His refusal to say no to his crew was the reason for his sluggishness this morning. He pulled himself up against his headboard and painfully smirked at the damage left from the previous night. As he lit his pre-rolled blunt, he shook one of the women next to him hoping one of their mouths would calm his headache—and his morning wood. The woman he managed to wake up brought a frown to his face. He didn’t remember her at all, but she was more than willing to help. Therefore, he enjoyed the rest of his blunt and responded to some emails and texts—while he could—as he slowly came undone, captured between her lips.

Once she finished up, he climbed out of bed and entered his bathroom. He cleared off the counter before retrieving his toothbrush to rid his mouth of weed, liquor, and whatever the hell else was left over from his pre-celebration.

“Jamaal?”

He turned towards the door to see all 3 women awake, nude, and seductively smiling at him, “want some breakfast?”

“Nah, I gotta be somewhere. Yall head out. See tonight at the party.”

He had already turned back to the mirror when they muttered their ‘goodbyes’ and ‘congratulations,’ reminding himself that he really did it. 

He smirked into the mirror, “Cause I’m that nigga!” 

After his shower, he was walking into his closet, headed for the back wall. It was bought for him months ago. Skit told him he wanted him to walk away from today with ‘somebody’s fine ass mama,’ so he was going to handle his clothes for the ceremony. Every week Jamaal would smile at the garment bag, anticipating the moment when he could place the clothes on his body. The moment had finally arrived, and today was the day for him to wear them.

After he was dressed, he found himself standing in front of his garage. Skit told him to go all out because he ‘did some real nigga shit, and only real niggas can do that.’ So that left him to wonder, what would a real nigga drive? Especially to an event as such!

“Fuck it!” He shrugged before walking over to his brand new Rolls-Royce convertible and hopping in. It was literally an impulse buy. He found himself at the dealership to get a Range Rover for his little sister’s birthday. He saw this car after he had already made his purchase, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t make another one. So he did. (Ended up getting a G Wagon for his mom as well.) He still hasn’t driven it yet, and today felt like the perfect time to do so. The weather was nice and the wind felt good in his hair.

He pulled into the driveway with maybe 45 minutes to spare, so he hopped out and quickly made his way to the door. After having to knock a few times, he was let in by Skit’s twin brother.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Einstein! Looking good my boy!”

Jamaal chuckled, “thanks geezer! Is yall ready? Mfs can’t be late.”

“Calm down, damn! Yall women get so uptight on yall big day. Put yo hat on and shut the fuck up,” Skat teased

“Aye, fuck you nigga!“ 

“Whatever. I been ready for the past hour. That nigga in there handling business.” 

“What you mean? We still going to Mexico tomorrow, right?”

“We better be!”

Jamaal laughed and headed down the hall into Skit’s office, where he found him with a blunt in one hand and a gun in the other.

“We’ll see you tomorrow.” Skit finished up the chat and turned to his baby brother. A smile appeared once he saw the graduation cap sat on top his head.

“Nigga, if mama get there before us, we all dead!” Jamaal laughed

Skit laughed, “look at you, baby boy! Pops would be proud. It’s up from here.”

Besides Jamaal, their father was the only one in their family to ever attend college. Everyone else was too involved in the streets to think about taking off 4-5 years. That’s why his father didn’t. He hustled in the streets alongside their grandfather AND earned a degree. Jamaal’s father raised the 3 of them the same way his father raised him, and, unfortunately, he died the same way his father did—shot down in the streets while Jamaal was away at college.

“You think he knows I went back? Like not on no ‘dead people see everything shit,’ but you really think pops knows I did it? That I did what he picked me to do?”

“Jamaal, he picked you because he knew me or Skat wasn’t doing that shit. I couldn’t do them books, and Skat was born to shoot; we know that. He handed down that knowledge to you because he knew you would put it to use, baby boy.”

Jamaal watched his big brother walk back around his desk, retrieving a locked box from the top drawer, “pops would’ve been gave this to you, but I decided to wait for this day because I knew it was coming. Now hurry up because we piss mama off, she ain’t gon cook.”

Jamaal laughed, while accepting the gift and pulling back the latch to reveal his father’s gun. He had seen this plenty of times before, but he has never held it in his hands. His dad always told him he wasn’t ready for it yet. He looked up for his brother, only to be met by two sets of familiar brown eyes. The eyes that have protected him and guided him since the day he was born. He had always admired them. The third pair was missing, but he wouldn’t dwell on that, not right now.

“Even pops would say yall crazy as hell for sacrificing one of moms meals. We could’ve done this sentimental shit in the car!” Skat complain

“Nigga!” His twin groaned

“Baby boy know I love him! I love my mama fried chicken a lil bit more though,” he laughed before wrapping his arm around his younger brother’s shoulder. “Let’s go business man! Today you graduate, tonight we celebrate you, and tomorrow it’s off to Mexico to watch the mini pops in you work your textstreet magic! Sound like the ending to a hood ass Disney movie, right?”

“What fairy tale movies you know got drugs, guns, and money in them?” Jamaal threw back at him 

“The real ones,” Skit smirked while locking his office door

#keeseneysays #blackwomanwriteswednesdays #The Chronicles of Hip Hop #nipsey #nipsey hu$$le #TMC #nipsey hussle #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysayssunday #blog #blogging #blogger #Black Women Writers #Black Writers #Black Hollywood #Black Authors #creative writing #fiction #black girl magic

[keeseneysays]

If you’re a college student, I just want to wish you the best of luck this coming week of classes. Remember that victory is at the end of all of this.

With all of this shit going on, I know it’s hard to remain motivated—especially if you’re graduation was taken away—but you didn’t let anything stop you from coming this far, what’s a little more studying gon do but boost yo grade.

You can do this! I believe in you! Shit is tough right now, I know, but nobody ever said it would be easy. You shouldn’t want it if it is!

So go! Go study! Go organize! Go highlight! Go note take! Whatever the hell these professors got yall doing to end this weird ass semester, end this shit the way you said you were back in January—when we was allowed outside.

Stay focused! You’re almost there!

Class of 2020, despite this shit, we did it. We’re graduating. Can’t nothing take that away from us.

#college #finals #motivational #keeseneysayssunday #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysays #corona #blog #black girl blog #blog post #black authors #black writers #black hollywood

[keeseneysays]

Live.

I had plans to post yesterday. You know, #KeeseneySaysSundays. Right? I had just been on an amazing trip to New Orleans, and, as I was in an Uber on my way to an airport, my friend shows me her phone stating Kobe Bryant was killed in a helicopter accident.

As this story developed, we learned his daughter was with him as well. As this story developed more, we learned his daughter’s teammates were with them as well. As this story developed more, we learned his daughter’s teammates parents were with them as well. As this story developed more, we learned his daughter’s coach was with them as well. Then, of course someone has to fly the plane.

As this story kept developing throughout the night, it became more and more devastating. I can’t say how many tears I have cried over this horrific event. (My lashes are DONE)

5 families were destroyed yesterday. Many people hearts across the world were broken. Many BLACK BOYS just lost their hero. My 93 year old grandmother mourned her favorite basketball player. 5 families.

Everything about this situation hurts. 4 parents were on that plane trying to console and comfort their children as they neared their death. 3 young lives were taken, on their way to doing something that brought them happiness, something that filled them with joy. There are wives and husbands waiting on their spouses to return home. There are mothers and fathers waiting on their children to come home. There are children waiting on their parents to come home. There are children waiting on their siblings to come home. Waiting on them to come home from the normal, everyday routine. And they aren’t coming home.

This, this is why it’s important to be free. To be happy. This is why it is so important to evaluate your life and think about the mark you want to leave on this earth. Kobe fucking Bryant left his mark, and that’s why we’re feeling his absence. It’s nothing compared to what his wife nor his children nor his family are feeling, but it’s all coming from the heart. I’m a sports fan prefers football to basketball, and I know the kind of impact Kobe left. It was damn good one.

No ones saying go be the next Kobe Bryant—there will ever only be one—but I am saying live your life. Tomorrow isn’t promised. My mama told me once, “only thing guaranteed is God calling you home.”

Yes, we live to die. We know this! That’s why you gotta get off your ass and do something while you’re here. You’re only getting this opportunity once. Happiness starts with taking care of you. After that, I promise you’ll feel unstoppable. Every W will be another level and every L will be a new direction. Nothing that is for you will ever pass you. You just gotta work hard enough to be there to receive it.

For everybody that has ever shouted “KOBE” while throwing something into the trash, you’re aware of the mentality. Use it. Then create your own.

(Father, I asked that you spread your arms around everyone involved in this tragedy. Comfort the families and loved ones. Help guide them to some kind of peacefulness. Protect the souls that have been damaged. Full their hearts with love to replace the sadness they may be feeling. Watch over their mental, Father. In Jesus name, Amen.)

Long Live Black Mamba

Rest peacefully Mambacita

RIP to the other lives that were lost. Your lives mattered just as much.

#writers #keeseneysayssunday #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysays #black girl magic #black girl blog #blogger #blog #kobe bryant #mamba #mambacita #mambamentality #motivational #motivation

[keeseneysays]

Trey Songz x Drugz

Keeseney x Cat and Mouse

#BlackWomanWritesWednesday

“Say ‘daddy I miss you’ and whine a lil bit,” he laughs.

I roll my eyes, but, despite myself, I’m smiling. He looked so cute tucked into bed. It’s my last night here in Miami, and I just wanted to enjoy it and go home. Mostly because I missed him. We both ended up on separate trips—visiting his brother’s new home and my cousin’s birthday—and it’s been officially a week since I’ve seen him.

I laugh in response, “I’m not saying that.”

“And why not?”

“Simple,” I smirk while applying my lip gloss, “it’s not true.”

“Cap!”

I glance down toward my iPad to see him now seated upright with his back against the headboard. The sheet covering his chest had dropped, and, fortunately for me, he was shirtless. Such a pleasing sight.

“So you don’t miss me?”

“A little bit,” I respond. The look he gives me is promising—of soooo many things.

“I thought your flight was tonight?”

“Says the woman that don’t miss me,” he laughes at me before giving me a pointed look, “and it is. 8:47.”

“What time is it there?”

“Time for you to stop asking me questions!” He laughs before I’m faced with different views of the ceiling as he moves throughout his suite.

“Why am I looking at the ceiling?”

“Because the floor was too far,” I hear him respond before his face appears back in the frame with a smirk. This has always been him—a pure shit talker. He’s been the only one I know to put up with my mouth—in more ways than one.

“Don’t start.”

He scoffs, “you just told me you don’t even miss me. I don’t care about starting with you right now.”

“And I was lying, but you knew that,” I respond, rolling my eyes

“Roll em again.”

His one button, and I push it. I must admit, I’ve been pushing his buttons all week. I really don’t have a reason besides it’s fun and I know he can’t get to me. Yet. I know he’s simply waiting. I met his eyes through the camera, and he looks as if he’s daring me. I don’t know if it’s to roll my eyes or try him. Either way I’m a little scared—mostly turned on. So I did it. His body shook as a small chuckle tumbled throughout his chest, jerking his body toward a few times. His hooded eyes glare at him while his smirk stay locked in place. His top lip twitched a little before the left corners rose in anger. Or gratitude. He does like when I ‘act out’ because that means he can ‘straighten me out.’ Maybe that’s why I do it.

He spreads some toothpaste on his brush before he proceeds to brush his teeth, never taking his eyes off the camera—off me.

He suddenly stops brushing and shrugs, “Go get dressed. I wanna see.”

“Ew. Spit!” I whine before going to retrieve my dress from off the bed

“As long as you remember to swallow when we get home.”

I’m no longer by the device, but I heard him. Loud and clear. I hear the threat within the simple statement. And now I’m feeling scared—turned on.

“What color you wearing?”

As if the statement had not just left his lips, I walked back into the bathroom and turned to him, tilting my head, “orange.”

“How you gon wear my color when I’m not there?”

Now it was my turn to smirk. I say nothing as I untie my robe and let it fall from my body. I recently purchased some lingerie on this trip, and my favorite pieces have to be the ones I’m wearing right now. The bra is unwire and made of orange lace. The cups are sheer, and the top is outlined with small ruffles. The middle of the cup sits a small orange bow that keep my nipples hidden and my breast centered. The underwear is the best part. They’re also made from orange lace lace and are a little high waisted. The panties just so happen to be seamless, so they’re completely comfortable. Its cups everything perfectly, besides the bottom of my ass—which is hanging out since it’s the only part not confined by the material. I then grab my dress from the counter and, carefully, step into it. The dress is made of sheer material, and it wasn’t much material needed for it. Stopping at the middle of my thighs, the drawstring of the dress falls right between my legs—dangling. I then put my arm through each sleeve before fully adjusting the dress to compliment my body. It’s a bit snug, but one look into the mirror and I’m happy with my decision. Although, one look at my iPad, and I’m convinced I’m not the only one satisfied with the look.

“First of all, it’s not your color. Secondly, because I look good in it,” I shrug before turning around for one final once over. I take note of the fact that I still have yet to receive a response.

“Plus, yeah we’re going out tonight, but Maddie says it’s more of like a Caribbean bar. She said there’s a dance floor, but it’s mostly a chill spot.”

Still no answer.

“So a perfect place to go to after we leave the restaurant.”

Nothing.

I stop fussing over my curls and give him my full attention. He’s still present, connected, and seems interested. He also seem stuck. That’s when I see it. The look. Oh, he’s definitely interested as his eyes rake up and down my body.

“Babe?”

“Hurry up and come home.”

#blog #blogger #blogging #black women #black authors #black writers #blackwomanwriteswednesdays #black girl magic #black girl blog #keeseneysayssunday #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysays #creative writing #fiction #trey songz

[keeseneysays]

A few things

First and foremost, Happy Mental Health Awareness Month. To those who are struggling, keep fighting. The battle is hard, but it’s very much beatable.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there. There’s no greater joy than bringing life into this world, and you’ve done it effortlessly. I was raised by an extraordinary woman who had such a giving soul, and that woman was also raised by a woman with strong similarities. I’ve witnessed the healing qualities within the strength of a mother, and I hope to one day display them.

Yesterday was supposed to be the day I walked across the stage and received my Masters degree in English Publishing. That didn’t happen. Instead, I finished up a final, ran to the liquor store, did my makeup (if that’s what I wanna call it), and went outside on the block to take pictures in my cap and gown. AND my hood. IN my hood. As my sister was taking my pictures, and my backgrounds displayed vacant lots, grass, sunshine, and...just Chicago, I realized something.

I’m black. I’m a black girl from the west side of Chicago, Illinois. My grandmother was born and raised in Mississippi before she headed to Chicago, and eventually settled in an area known as Holy City. My granny would then remain in this area over 50 years. The room I reside in right now was my mother’s room when we lived up here. My neighbor next door and down the street are the same “uncles” that used to shoot the shit on the porch with my uncle during the summer. I can sit on the porch, and I’ll probably wave and greet more than 10 people driving by. They’ll know me. I won’t remember them.

So as I stood outside the same vacant lot I used to catch lightning bugs in, with my cap and gown AND hood on, at the age of 25, and people drove pass shouting “congratulations sis” or “do your shit” I realized...

it’s no mistake that I’m back where the hell I’m supposed to be.

And I’m proud, soooooo damn proud that the streets helped raise me.

#keeseneysayssunday #keeseneysays #blog #blogger #blogging #black writers #black girl blog #black women writers #blackwomanwriteswednesdays #black girl magic

[keeseneysays]

I like the idea of being happy...

I like being able to cry and actually know why I’m crying.

I like being able to wipe my tears and then getting up and continuing on with my day, with my life.

I’ve been very absent in everyone else’s life but very present in my own. It’s been refreshing. I don’t understand how it’s taken me this long to understand just why I enjoy being alone. Maybe it was the depression. That makes sense to me. Being alone with thoughts as dangerous as suicide can really make alone time very cringe worthy. 

Yet. I continued to be alone.

Definitely by choice.

I’ve recently been alone, and everything about it has been refreshing. If it’s not work or class, I feel like where I am right now, there’s nothing else here for me. I’ve also had to come to understanding that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I’ve gotten all I can, and the only thing left is already to transit. 

I like being happy.

I woke up this morning, and I spent the day with friends...FRIENDS. People who care about me and who I care about as well. That makes me happy.

I’m losing weight. That makes me happy.

I had a member of my thesis committee (although she’s so much more than that) praise my own creative work for my Master Thesis closure project. That makes me happy. Happy AF.

I’ve been limiting my time with people that don’t deserve it. That makes me happy.

I’m focused, terrified but ready. That makes me so happy!

My pen?! It’s not doing anything but getting better and elevating. That makes me happy. Hell, that makes me ecstatic!

Speaking of which, KeeseneySaysSundays would like to introduce BlackWomanWritesWednesdays. Yup, another hashtag! Every Wednesday, I am committing to creatively exploring a song of choice. For those of you that read and support me, here’s where I involve you as well! I’m also taking requests. Therefore, if you feel like you want me to create a fictional narrative of a song of your choice, make sure to submit your requests! You never know, your request may be available to read on a Wednesday!

#blog #blogging #blogger #Black Writers #black girl blog #keeseneysays #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysayssunday #blackwomanwriteswednesdays #black women writers

[keeseneysays]

Rihanna x Higher

Keeseney x I miss you

#BlackWomanWritesWednesday

“Janet, what are you doing?”

“What are YOU doing?”

He didn’t know why but he double checked his surroundings, making sure nothing was out of place because, well he wasn’t doing anything. He was hanging out with his friends—drinking, smoking, dancing, and having a good time. What was she trying to accuse him of?

“Janet, you’re drunk.”

“So? So are you!”

“Apparently, not as much as you.”

She grabbed his arm and dragged him into an empty bedroom. Their friend’s penthouse was too big. It was holding too many people, and it was too loud.

“Janet, what are you doing?”

“I miss you! Yeah, you get on my nerves, of course you do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you around!”

“Janet—“

“And then you’re out here enjoying yourself, and I’m glad because I want you to but why can’t you enjoy yourself with me?”

“What were you—“

“Whiskey! Whiskey, okay? The shit I hate but drink because of you. What’re you drinking?”

“Whiskey,” he answered

“Of course you are,” she sighed

He didn’t know what to do. Did you hug her? Did he hold her? Did he leave? He didn’t know, so he just stayed seated on the bed, waiting for...he doesn’t even know.

“I’m sorry.”

It certainly wasn’t that.

“What?”

“And I love you.”

“What?”

“You didn’t answer my call last night?”

“It was 3 in the morning, Janet.”

“Was that too late?”

There was a time when he told her she could call whenever. No matter the day or the time. He knew this. That’s why he sat up last night with the phone in his hand, watching it ring.

“I just wanted to say I was sorry about the other night.”

He assumed she meant when she chucked a hairdryer at his head before storming out of his apartment, after claiming she was done—like always.

“And that I love you.”

“Janet...”

“I couldn’t think of anything else to say but I love you. That’s all that would come to mind because I don’t think you know it. Do you?”

He had nothing. He didn’t even know if he did.

“Because I do. You make me feel so happy. Every thing you do. It makes me feel happy. Assured. There’s always good times, good moments, and good memories with you. I’m always on a high with you.”

“Then why keep walking away, Janet?”

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“Can we get outta here?”

“What?”

“Please.”

“Janet..”

“Look, I don’t have an answer for you, so that’s your answer. I love you. I really love you. So I don’t know why. I wish I did, but I don’t. So I wanna make it up to you. We can roll up. We can drink. Whatever. I wanna make it right. Please, can we just get outta here?”

“And go where?”

“Home. I got a lot to say.”

“Me too.”

“So we can leave? We can talk all night. About this, not this, whatever!”

He smirked, “the old way of communication? Without the hairdryers?”

She nodded, “I wanna go back to the old way.”

He stood up and pulled her into his arms, “come on drunk ass, lets go home.”

#blogger #black authors #writers #blackwomanwriteswednesdays #black writers #keeseneysayssunday #keeseneysayssundays #fiction #creative writing #rihanna

[keeseneysays]

Hennything is possible and anything could happen

That’s life. We can’t really do much about that. 

I have always thought that life prepares us for things by dragging us through it. The thing is for you to decide how strong of a grip you want to have while you’re cruising along.

I went from finally getting settled into a life of working 3 jobs again, while being a full time Masters student and working on my thesis project. I was going out more. I was talking more. I was getting comfortable being around other people again. I was branching out socially and culturally. I felt proud to see how much I had grown since being settled in one spot for so long. Nevertheless, I was in a beautiful, comfortable head space.

 A few posts back I spoke on the idea of becoming too comfortable and how dangerous it could be. Of course, this is all just my own opinion.

Still, I was happy and comfortable. Then I woke up the next day to find out that everything I was so comfortable with was literally being taken from me. I had 48 to 72 hours to figure something out. 

All of this brought me right back to where it all started.

I’ve always thought that the best endings are the beginnings. 

By that I mean the best stories always run their course.

By that I mean the best stories always know when to end.

By that I mean the best stories always have a purpose. 

Now excuse my absolutes, but I think I’m making some sense here. We all have a purpose. Our stories are written the way they are for a reason. As a writer, the character I am to develop through words has a foundation within the context of the story that guides them to and through the climax of the text.

He or she is to have a purpose. 

Why do you start a race?

To finish it. 

I’m saying all of this to say I started something, and I’m to finish what I started. 

In my eyes, it’s no coincidence that when I finally start to get my life together and a handle on my health--mentally, emotionally, and physically--I’m suddenly placed in a predicament where I have no other choice but to return to where it all started. 

To where my writing started. 

To where my imagination started. 

To where my creativity started. 

To where my pain started. 

To where my cutting started. 

To where my sadness started.

To where my life almost ended.

In my eyes, it’s no coincidence that once I started to become comfortable living as myself, I was faced with the things that made me uncomfortable living as myself. 

When I was very little, I remember hearing, “if you can’t buy two, you can’t afford it.”

To me, that’s kinda same thing. If you can’t face it, you can’t overcome it. You can’t afford to. You don’t have the resources to make such a move. 

And...I’m starting to realize I do. 

I have the means to continue to build myself. I have the means to continue to grow as a woman, as a black woman, as a writer.

By that I mean I have the strength to fall and get the fuck back up again. I have the strength to try again and again, knowing that there’s a chance that something might not work. I have the strength to remind myself of this journey thus far...and every other time when I said I couldn’t do it and I did.

And I can’t think of a better place to do it than Out West, Illinois. 

I’m back, Chicago!

#keeseneysays #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysayssunday #blog #blogging #blogger #Black Writers #blackwomanwriteswednesdays #Black Authors #Black Women Writers #chicago #creative nonfiction

[keeseneysays]

I have daddy issues... *shrugs*

But so does half of my city.

It’s either he was never there, he never came back, he comes back when he feels like it, or he can’t come back at all. Either way, our fathers were and are absence from our lives.

I don’t even know if I could say I HAVE daddy issues. Did I have em? Yes. Do I still think I have em? Depends on in what way you’re asking.

Do I wish me and my father had a better relationship? Yes. Am I putting in effort for that? No. Not anymore. That’s why I wouldn’t say ‘have’ because when I swallowed my pride and invited him to my college graduation...and he stopped taking my calls days before the ceremony, I knew then it was no longer worth the energy. Does that bother me? Bother? No. Disappoint?Yes. I literally feel as if I have no parents. My mother wasn’t perfect, but she made an effort to be a mother because she wanted to. Because that’s what she cared and learned enough to do. My father? I wouldn’t say the same. Now this is not a bash piece because I love my father. No matter how I look at it, he contributed to my existence, and I will always be grateful for that. I will always have respect because of that. Anything besides that, you can keep it. Have you ever felt as if some people are just past talking to? Like it’s nothing else YOU could do for them besides pray? That’s how I look at our relationship. We’ve tried. I guess. As much as I could I have, but I had to stop letting situations that I can’t control, control me. There’s history fueling that reasoning, and sometimes the impact of ‘what was’ is powerful enough to drive ‘what is.’

But, for myself, I had to move on. I was beginning to feel unlovable—as if it’s me who isn’t worth having a parent. I always say sometimes the hardest thing to do is the easiest thing to do. I didn’t let go of him. I didn’t let go of my existence within that situation, but I did let go of how far I allow myself to get involved within that situation. Why? Because I would I get lost in it. Pain is very powerful, and it is very easy to focus in on those effects more than others. Why would I continue to place myself in uncomfortable situations if I do not like being uncomfortable? Therefore, I dealt with it on my end. I dealt with what I could’ve done better. I dealt with my faults. I dealt with the progress, or lack thereof, within the situation, and I dealt with what the future may hold for that situation. Meaning, I don’t know what the future may hold, but I am confident that God will definitely have prepared me for it. As for the things God’s brought me through, outta respect for him, I’ve moved on. Why? I’ll never be able to focus on what’s in front of me if I’m continuing to glance back on what I’ve already overcome.

So, yes, I have daddy issues. I’m 25, and I honestly feel like I’m just now embarking on a father/daughter relationship—with a man who isn’t my biological father. Yet, he fills that void. I’m happy to bug him. I’m happy to come to him with questions. It even feels me with a little bit of happiness when I get in trouble—and I’m always in trouble—because that’s when he really get in his father bag. If I was still focused on my father not wanting to or not being able to be in my life, I wouldn’t be able focus on this man, this Sigma Man, who is ready to let my spoiled behind get on his nerves, turn his hair grayer, and ask him things for the rest of his life.

You learn self love from rewarding yourself, and what’s more rewarding than taking care of yourself. That is a statement. That is not a question. Therefore, remember to take care of yourself. Make sure to love yourself so much that others see just how lovable you are. That’s also rewarding.

Thank you to the man that helped create me.

Thank you to the man that stood in in the beginning.

Thank you the man that I know I’ll have by my side for the rest of my life.

#black writers #black girl magic #black girl blog #blogging #blog #blogger #keeseneysayssunday #keeseneysayssundays #keeseneysays #writer #writing #daddy issues

[keeseneysays]

Oh, yeah!

Happy Women’s History Month. If you don’t have a vagina, although we are equals, I am superior. One of me gave life to you. Now go give a woman you love some money.

#keeseneysayssunday #women’s history month

[keeseneysays]

If I’m keeping it 8 more than 92 with you ....

I’m supposed to have been done a lot of shit I’m doing now.

And that’s the fuck okay.

Hear me out.

I’m getting back to who I used to be by forgiving who I used to be. By forgiving myself for silencing myself so long ago.

Hear me out.

The person I was back then...

(Before I allowed my self confidence to be so low that I allowed myself to be stuck in pain bc I felt like I deserved)

I forgive her. And I’m still rocking with shorty. But I’m learning how to be more than her.

I’m still her. Oh, I’m still her.

But now when I fall, I know how to get the fuck back up and try again. I’m understanding my worth. I’m understanding my capabilities. I’m understanding just who in the hell I am. And she ain’t too bad.

Hear me out.

Not on no cocky shit.

On some confidence shit, I ain’t too bad. The depth of strength within me is mesmerizing. As a woman. As a BLACK woman. Don’t get me started...

It’s a privilege to be sitting here, typing this right now. That’s the bigger picture. But see, the difference between me and most, I don’t just look at the bigger picture. That’s why I’m a writer. I’m writing out those details.

Notice I said, “it’s a privilege to be sitting here, typing this right now.” (Keeseney, 2020)

Count how many blessing are in that quote?

Those details of your life are what make up your story.

Therefore, I ain’t too bad. My story ain’t finished. Just wait until the next couple of chapters. You gon start a book club then. Some people are already apart of some.

That just went over some of yall head.

NeverTHEless,

Those details weren’t to be in my beginning. I can see them being written into the future tho. Just a prediction.

#blog #black girl magic #writers #blog post #keeseneysayssunday #blackwomanwriteswednesdays #2020 #black writers #female authors #black authors