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keeseneysays · 4 years
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Niggas Talk More Than Bitches These Days...
Not all of them, but the ones who want to belittle a woman because of what she expects from a man. There’s been crazy talk surrounding women in music right now because men are feeling threatened.
Welcome back to #KeeseneySaysSundays
Women have been making statements in MUSIC for a looong time. Although, for some reason, artists like City Girls and Megan Thee Stallion have been ruffling some feathers. Which makes me think pass hip hop.
Erykah Badu started a song with “I’m getting tired of yo shit. You don’t never buy me nothing.”
Destiny’s Child gave niggas a list of bill options to pay and followed it up with, “if you did, then MAYBE we can chill.”
TLC literally made a song that listed every trait a weak ass nigga can have. Then Ms. Lisa Nicole Lopes rode the fuck out the same beat when telling niggas “See, if you can't spatially expand my horizons, then that leaves you in the class with scrubs, never rising. I don't find it surprising and if you don't have the G's to please me and bounce me here to the coast of overseas.”
MUTHA Janet Jackson knew she was talking to each and all niggas when she said, “I never ask for more than I deserve, you know it's the truth,” in a song titled, What Have You Done for Me Lately.
Looking back at Hip Hop…
How can I not mention Kimberly Denise Jones—the queen of pay up or shut up. It’s a thousand of Kim’s bars to use, but, “Nothing make a woman feel better than Berettas and Amarettas, butter leathers and mad cheddars” and “I let him know we bout that cake straight up the gate. We independent women, some mistake us for whores. I’m saying, why spend mine when I can spend yours,” just hit different for me.
Melissa Arnette Elliot also let the male generation know exactly what the qualifications were when she said, “Hot boyz, Baby you got what I want see cause y'all be driving' Jaguars and the Bentley's, and the Rolls Royce, playing hardballs with them Platinum Visa's.”
I just don’t get what’s the problem with, “Boy, this pussy talk English, Spanish and French, Boy, this pussy talk Euros, dollars and yens, Boy, this pussy talk Bentleys, Rovers and Benz, Boy, this pussy fly private to islands, to M's.”
I’m confused as to why the individuals who like to be labeled as a provider feels a way about a woman asking them to provide. “Ima boss bitch, I don't need help. Ima tell him to buy it, but I can get it myself. Rich lil' bitch, don’t be speaking if you broke. Rich ass bitch gettin' money on my own.”
After all, we are a generation that were taught, “if you laying up with a nigga, at least make sure he can afford to lay up.” The lady who told me that was born in 1926. I’m definitely listening to her.
“Now every time I ask you for a little cash, you say no, but turn right around and ask me for some ass. Oh, well hold up listen partna I ain't no cheap thrill cause Miss Badu's always coming for real, you know the deal nigga,”
And Miss Badu.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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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.
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keeseneysays · 3 years
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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.
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keeseneysays · 3 years
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Faith Without Work
This is #Keeseneysayssundays
Okay, I won’t be here for long, but I just wanted to check in and say how beautiful MOREvember is coming. (Even badgalriri ducked in to remind us how important Self Care and Sunday’s are.)
And who am I to go against the savage herself.
I’ve always enjoyed Sundays because of the calming energy that surrounds the day. I was raised in a black household, by black women, the oldest being born in Mississippi. If it’s one thing I know, it’s the church house. And on the seventh day, he rested. Sunday has been known to ,literally, start the week. Although, Sunday is also known to, physically, end the week. Imagine resting before it all begins or once it all ends. Sundays taught me faith. In the words of Katt Williams, you better believe in something. If my God is not something you can relate to, that’s your business and shouldn’t bother me none. My prayers and his love will still surround you. Now the fact that I know God and have no problem coming to him for guidance shouldn’t bother you none either. You don’t have a testimony? I’m not so sorry because I do. I’ve always had this spiritual connection and/or acceptance early in my childhood. I’ve always trusted things. I’ve always had faith in things. I’ve always required as much as I give. I’ve always watched with a happy heart, excited to explore what was next. I’ve always had faith. I was known by first, middle, last name, AND birthday in both my and my grandmother’s church. Why? I had no problem sitting around black people and hearing them talk about why they continue to push...why they continue to fight...why they continue to smile. I enjoyed being around individuals who were not the same but treated everybody as if happiness was free to give out. (We not talking about the messiness that is the church house, yikes) Then I made my greatest discovery as a child; happiness is free to give out. Sundays introduced me to black women with the strength to lead and the power to follow. That’s what Keeseneysayssundays are; unlearning and adjusting. Feeling and rediscovering. Loving and spreading happiness.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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I Don’t Think People Understand How Strong Negativity Is...
#KeeseneySaysSundays
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but it’s okay to look at the bright side of a situation. EVEN IF THAT SIDE IS NOT VIEWABLE, it’s okay to predict and wish happiness and positivity into your life. There’s no crime against that. Negativity is the most visible, honest thing ever. You can’t hide that type of energy. Negativity is clear through back handed compliments, unnecessary competition, faux happiness, faux support, etc. Baby, a text message, a post, a like, allat shit that disguised as good has the possibility to reek with negativity. I remember when I first heard a person speak on how they go out of their way to like a person’s post that has already received more of the other reactions. That’s the most willingly, time consuming, negative shit anyone could ever do. Needless to say, I don’t associate myself with that person anymore. Why? Because I can’t blame someone for being a shitty person, that’s not my business. Whereas, I CAN blame myself for allowing a shitty person into my life, creating an opportunity for them to do shitty things to me. That’s what I can control. That’s the responsibility I have. If I don’t want negative responses, I have to cut them off at the source. I’m too happy for myself to allow people around me not to be happy for me. You can’t be mad at the people that you ALLOW in your life. You made that choice because you saw potential in their presence. Which means, you either ignored what you couldn’t see or ignored what you did see. Either way, you gave that energy permission to affect you and have an effect on you. If you don’t like it, change it. If you have people in your life that are no longer speaking to the person you’re becoming, tell they ass to move around. That’s your job. Then there’s that thing called communication. I always felt as if NO ONE knew how to talk, understand, comprehend, apologize...ALLAT! Therefore, I never wanted it. Anybody who knows me know, fuck three, one strike and you out. You show me one time that you don’t wanna be here and you won’t be here. Friends, relationships, family, ALLAT. Have I gotten better at it? Yeah. Sure. Do I still cut individuals off immediately after having me fucked up? Absolutely. Why? I’m 25, if I have to teach you how to treat people, I don’t want to be one of those receiving your treatment. Notice I said TREAT PEOPLE. I didn’t say TREAT ME. I’m fully aware of the role I play in helping, ASSISTING others on how to love me as an individual. Whereas, it ain’t no way in hell I’m about to take a grown ass individual step by step on how to be less of a shitty person. Again, that has nothing to do with me because I have the choice not to put up with it. Therefore, I don’t. I’m all for helping anybody, if I possibly can. Trying to convince someone to stop being who they are when they see nothing wrong with who they are will only slow down who you are trying to become. And I ain’t having that. I used to be that negative person. I never believed anything will ever go right for me, and it used to hurt to see things going well for others. The difference was I saw the problem. I WAS THE PROBLEM. Therefore, I worked to fix that problem. Because that was something I had control over.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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In My One Little Opinion...I Don’t Think Growth Should Ever Have a Negative Response
Have we looked up the definition of growth lately? No. Well, according to FACTS, growth can be displayed by maturing mentally, physically, and/or spiritually.
Welcome back to #KeeseneySaysSundays Now, this is not a bashing or shady—oops—post because, say all you want, just don’t leave out that I know my business and I stay in it. Meaning, I am aware of what I lack and where I have flaws. While I am still gaining knowledge on those situations, I’m humble enough to know it’s still shit I lack knowledge of. (You see how I said the same thing before AND after the comma, yet they were communicated—therefore comprehended—two different ways?) Therefore, I am NOT the one to judge. So I don’t. But I do call out bullshit. I’ve—unfortunately—been a part of groups where the topic is always someone else. I’ve—unfortunately—witnessed individuals go out of their way to make sure their negative energy was received AND accepted. I’ve also—unfortunately—stuck around while the angry searched for more anger to dispose of on their next victim. Now, again, like I said and like it’s known, I’m not a walk in the fucking park. High school me was an unhappy bitch. College me was an angry bitch. Putting both them girls together, caused for an interesting 5 years of undergrad. ANYways, the difference is, as I stated at the top of this post, I know my business and stay in it. And you know what I realized—by minding my own? It’s TOO many glass houses throwing stones. I have a huge disliking for any energy that comes with a side of, “...but, so.” Them faux celebrations and compliments and congratulations and happiness always end with a “...but so.” And it’s very rare that those words are actually used, but that “...but, so” is always communicated. One thing I know—always known—about myself is I’m a happy bitch. I try to take care of everybody because I feel like I was never properly cared for. (NO disrespect EVER to my mother and grandmother. Their arms were the strength I didn’t have.) I want to heal the world if I can, and if I can’t, that just means I need a better plan. Although, I lost that energy for awhile. Why? Not everyone is ready to be healed. Not everyone is familiar with the power that lies within the healing. Not everyone is ready for the WORK that is required by and for that healing. I used to be one of those everyones, but, somewhere down the line, I got sick and tired of literally being sick and tired. Not everyone makes it there, and not everyone wants to make it there. Not everyone wants everyone to make it there. Some people want better for you only because they KNOW you don’t want it for yourself. They don’t mind putting the dream in front of you because they know you’ll never go chase after it. But never say never. I see A LOT of black women—black people—winning, and it makes me smile. You know what even more uplifting, they fact that those women look like me. Skin color, age, background, hood, city; just pick one. Yet, there are so many others that’s hell bent on making sure these individuals don’t forget the misfortunes they’ve endured in their lifetime. Why? I hate it. I hate it. It’s so disgusting. I don’t have to know you. Hell, I don’t have to like you, but if you once felt like you weren’t worth everything you’re working for now, baby, I’m happy for you. I’m proud of you too!! I want you to keep going! I want you to give yourself every bit of happiness that you’ve once felt as if you were undeserving of. Why is that so hard? Why do so people want to remain in the same cycle? No matter if you find a way out, if you’re responsible for keeping someone else in, you’ll never leave. You’ll always be worried about if the next person‘s plate gets too full. Never mind the fact that you’re not eating from it. I write. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, and that’s all I’ll ever do. But, just like me, my pen is very, very, VERY resourceful. (I’ll be changing that to flexible soon.) To each and every individual who came from nothing and you bagged that shit up and sold it? Congratulations! You made something out of nothing—and profited. Never, and I mean NEVER, wonder what the next person may think, they’re the ones rooting for you. Sometimes it’s the one closest to you with the problem.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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I Know You Care
Welcome back to #BlackWomanWritesWednesdays
This week, I requested my own song because I have been obsessed with Chloe x Halle new album, Ungodly Hour! From the music, samples. beats, to the lyrics, I’m in fucking love! Which why it doesn’t surprise me that I started writing this story before I even decided to write this story.
Chloe x Halle x Wonder What She Thinks of Me
Keeseney x I Know You Care
“You really don’t think this veil is too big?” She was paying attention, but, then again, his fingers playfully picking away at her nipples were very persuading. He was sprawled out on top of her—only an hour after being inside of her—yet his fingers were commanding her attention. He simply continued to scroll through veils, grimacing at ones he felt we’re way too flashy. He couldn’t imagine his wedding photos. He needed to find a way to meet her in the middle. “You’re not wearing it,” She sighed, his fingers suddenly losing their control on her mind. The veil wasn’t even that big. She could see herself now. The diamond crown seated comfortably surrounding her bun, and her bang sprouting from the rim and shielding the other half of her forehead. The diamonds shining under the lace material that folds over and descends her body—covering her chest and her trail. It was beautiful—and expensive. She suddenly lifts her head to look down at him, and his body stills under her glare. His brows twitched as he tried to figure out what he could have possibly done. Her attitude is something he’s very familiar with, so he tries to have as little to no run ins with it. “Is this about money?” He scoffed, “we both know I have plenty of that, so why would that be a problem?” She laid back down, not before rolling her eyes and bringing her hand down against the top of his spine, “exactly. Therefore, buy it and shut up.” He smirked feeling her now rubbing the spot where she had just assaulted his skin. He clicked back on the accessory and sighed. Suddenly it didn’t seem that big to him anymore—and it did go perfectly with her dress. “It makes the dress even more beautiful. Get over it!” He chuckled before tossing his phone onto nightstand. His body shifts, tucking his left leg into hers and securing his right hip with her own. Feeling comforted and safe, he buries his face into her breast. A heavy sigh escapes his lips when her fingers lazily glide their way up his spine. They whisper across the skin of his neck before settling into his waves, stroking it’s current. “Don’t you fall asleep!” “Why?” She sighed hearing the grogginess within his voice. He didn’t bother to look up or even expect a response. He was slowly falling into a peaceful slumber. “Because your mom is coming today or did you forget?” His head popped out of her chest as he glared at her. Well he was until he heard that. He didn’t necessarily forget about his mom, but he was planning on doing so while taking a nap in his lover’s embrace. Her tongue peaked out from in between her lips as she taunted him, clearly aware of his mood change. He chuckled before pressing a soft kiss to her lips before untangling his limbs and heading to the bathroom. She didn’t like how cold her body felt due to his absence, so she quickly readjusted herself. Her left arm kept her head upright and directed her body. Laying on her side gave her a perfect view of him in the bathroom. She was practically drooling at the sight of him. He was parked in front of the mirror with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and his phone in his hand. He almost regretted turning it off last night. Almost. He answered what he could—and wanted to—and decided the other notifications will have to wait until later. Sitting his phone down, he focused back on his teeth. Once he was done, he reached over to start his shower before returning to the mirror. And that’s when he saw it. “Babe?” He called while lifting his head and running his fingers over his skin of his neck. She was already watching him, aware of what was happening, of what he finally noticed. There was a mark; a mark placed there by her. Against his toasted skin, the mark was visible—red enough to give it away its origin and dark enough to give away the activities that led to it’s arrival. He turned towards her, and that’s when she saw the anger on his face. Although, it was definitely something else floating around within his eyes, something that made her that much more curious. He stalked his way over to her, letting his towel drop from his waist in the process. She was surely distracted now, especially since she’s still nude herself. He walked to the foot of the bed and grabbed ahold of her left ankle. He made sure he held her eyes when he yanked her body down to him. As he looked down at her, she could see the twitch in his brow. His face displayed a rugged glare before he snatched her legs to surround his waist—his arousal poking away at her entrance. “Why is there a hickey on my neck?” She wanted to be frightened; to be distracted by the anger apparent on his face. Yet, she wasn’t because she knew he wasn’t. It wasn’t the first mark she’s left, and it surely won’t be the last. “I went too far.” His hand traveled up her stomach, bypassed her breast, and latched onto to her neck. Their new found closeness knocking his arousal against her treasure. This is why she wasn’t frightened. “You went too far?” He chuckled, “seems you’ve been doing that a lot lately.” “No more than usual.” She tried to stop it, but it came out like a reflex. He loved her little quips. Though, that never stopped him from trying to make her regret her choice of words. And this time was no different. As his hand closed around her neck while her legs tightly secured their position around his waist, connecting them as one. “We talked about marks, right?” She nodded but refused to say anything because she knew an apology will spill from her lips. She wasn’t ready to say that yet. He, however, didn’t appreciate her silence. Releasing his neck, he mimicked his other hand and positioned it on her hip. Smirking, he eyes bore into her eyelids, “you know I like to hear your voice, baby.” A ringing throughout the room distracted them both as their heads simultaneously turned toward the en suite. Even though it was hard to do so, she strained her head to look at the clock sat on top of the nightstand.  After confirming what she already knew, she sighed, turning back to the man she’s grown to deeply love with a small smirk displayed upon her lips. “Your wife is calling, dear.” “Fiancée,” he corrected, pulling out of her to go retrieve his phone “Tell her I’m sorry about the mark!” She yelled after him, laughing when she heard his deep chuckle echo throughout the bathroom
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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Today I Had to Tell Apple Music I’m “No Longer a Student”
If you’re a college student, you know exactly what that means.
College is what made me realize just how easy it is to satisfy one’s ego—to scam a mf.
Welcome back to #KeeseneySaysSundays
In college, you’re literally given everything—besides money—just for being in college.
That’s how much faith—literally—they have in their own education system.
Hear me out. You’re told of all these places where you receive a discount at—for being a student. They don’t tell you that it’s like 5 pennies off of your 4 fo 4. You get free subscriptions to platforms like HBO GO, Showtime and shit like that. They don’t tell you that it’s only accessible to use when you’re on campus, logged into their wifi. Money Making Mitches like Apple Music even allow to have a lower subscription fee—just because you’re a student. THEY DO TELL YOU THAT YOU’LL HAVE TO VERIFY BEFORE THE BEGINNING OF EVERY SCHOOL YEAR BECAUSE THE OFFER IS FOR STUDENTS ONLY.
Meanwhile, if your parents have a microwave AND dishwater at home, FAFSA got budging—or budgeting. If you’re parents have TWO cars, that’s two too many to deserve some assistance.
(For myself it was different. Freshman year was the only time I had those conversations with financial aid. After that year, it was on me and what I did that impacted what I received. The fact that I had two—soon three—jobs is why some of my aid got cut. Like those lil ass work study jobs and/or minimum wage checks was gonna suddenly give me access to overthrow this weak ass government or something.)
ANYway, college was/is a soft ass cushion. THEY JUST DON’T TELL YOU THAT THE CUSHION IS A CLOUD.
And sometimes the sun comes out.
Don’t get me wrong, the sun can still shine with clouds in the sky, but it’s at its brightest when it shines all on its own.
I always had a drive to work for my own.
I HATE ASKING FOR SHIT.
(One reason why not being able to drive or have a car was the reason for majority of my anxiety.)
It literally terrifies me to ask anybody for anything. Let’s keep it a stack, that’s probably the most vulnerable thing someone can share with you. That means that this individual is in their time of need for something, and they came to you trusting that you’ll be able to help them—assist them.
Yall probably like, “no, you’re too deep into it.”
And that’s why I don’t ask for shit.
Not having something is seen as weak in the society we live in. Either you get it, or you don’t have it. It’s not ‘you get it or don’t’ because you can get something and still not have it.
Or is that too deep for yall?
ANYway, therefore, I’ve always wanted my own money. I had After School Matters checks every month. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Which is why I was always okay with not having much, but I knew what I had I could afford. If you don’t get that, that means I had security.
That hustle went with me to college too. After freshman year, you never caught me without a job. After sophomore year, you never caught me without more than one job. I wasn’t hustling to keep up with other people, I was hustling to keep up with myself.
(We not talking about the loot and items I would get that didn’t come from employment. That’s a different subject. Mind ya business.)
STILL, I’m the type to find it if I need it. I’m the type to go get it if I want it.
I used to sell hair in college. (My dumbass let relationship problems fuck up my profitable ass business.)  I had lowkey editing and paper services. And I still had jobs doing all this shit. I just wanted extra income. Extra shit. I like shit. A LOT of people have that confused about me.
Because they don’t know me.
I used to feel like I wasn’t deserving of shit. Therefore, there was a period in my life where I stopped going after shit I wanted because I felt as if I was deserving of what was on the other side.
I never once doubted myself. I never will. I know what I’m capable of, and I’m focusing on learning what I don’t know.
EVERYTHING in life is a lesson.
It’s not WHAT you learn from that lesson, it’s WHAT you pull from that L and teach yourself.
(Everything I get that didn’t come from me is either a L or temporary because it’s not mine)
Just like you shouldn’t be relying on college—as an overall resource—you shouldn’t be relying on the other lessons that others teach you either.
Everything that is yours, is truly yours. You’ll never have to second guess what you give or can give yourself—knowledge and wealth included.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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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)
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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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.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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Today I realized, I reached one of my personal goals
And I’m going to share it in hopes of pushing someone else towards theirs. 
Welcome back to #KeeseneySaysSundays
If you’re new here, I’ve always been open and honest about my struggles with depression. Starting from a very young age, and worsening once I lost my mother, I’ve never really allowed myself to be truly alone. My mind was so dark—so very dark—for a long time that I surrounded myself with that familiar feeling.
I never really paid attention to the fact that I was the one supplying myself with that uncomfortableness.
I’ve always been my MAIN source of comfort, so when I could no longer turn to myself, I turned to others.
As I now know, that has got to be the most dangerous space to place yourself—and your mental—in.
It seemed as though everything I was looking for…I was searching through others lives and vibes to find. It seemed that way because that’s exactly what it was. 
When you don’t know have the knowledge, you search for it. What I had to learn about was just because the resources are presented to you doesn’t mean they’ll be helpful.
 Don’t get it?
Okay, so we’re all here trying to do two things; live and survive. A lot of people may think those are the same things, but, then ,a lot of people learn it’s not.
 Surviving is exactly what it sounds like; pushing through and beating the odds.
Whereas, living is enjoying the time you have while tackling the obstacles coming your way.
 So, what’s the difference?
Happiness.
 I was not enjoying the time I was gifted with, but I made it my business to survive. It’s not in me to do anything else. Which is why I didn’t do anything else.
All I had to give to myself, I gave, which is why I was searching for what was missing through others.
My mama always said, “you can’t worry about someone else’s home until you get your own in order.”
Sometime during my last year of undergrad, I realized I had simply survived college. I did the classes. I did the work. I did the studying. I did the partying. I did the extrovert-ness. I mingled. I did the friends. I did the best friends. I did the whatever-the-fuck those could have been called.
Long story short, I did everything I was supposed to to enjoy college, and I only enjoyed it because I was supposed to. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy undergrad, but the person I was—while surviving undergrad—had more demons than a Hennessey bottle could rescue her from. Doesn’t mean I didn’t try.
My decision to go back to grad school felt like the first time I did something for me. My decision to start taking better care of my body and work out was for me. My decision to get back into my love—mini obsession—with hair was for me. My decision to write more and talk less was for me. My decision to take daily social media breaks was for me. My decision to cut off others access to me was for me. My decision to remove myself from where I no longer wanted to be was for me. My decision to get back into make up was for me. My decision to get back into music was for me. My decision to get back into design was for me. My decision to start a Publishing Company was for me. My decision to expand my blog was for me. My decision to be happy and live happily was for me.
 You see how once I stopped searching for happiness—acceptance—from others, I was able to supply it to myself.
 It’s because I’m comfortable enough to be surrounded with just myself and my thoughts. I no longer need an escape. My happiness is my escape, and I no longer have to search for it.
 I’ve regained my self comfort. I reclaimed my own happiness.
And, I’m very proud of myself for it.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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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.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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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
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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A Message to the Greatest Woman I’ve Ever Known...
I think I figured out how I grew to hate myself
I don’t anymore, but I’m starting to understand why I felt as though I did. I hated who I didn’t see. I was with myself everyday and knew who I was and was capable of being, but I didn’t trust myself to be her. I didn’t trust myself to speak up and take control of my life, of my joy, of my own happiness. So I let everyone else and their judgement and opinions and energy guide me. Those were honestly some of the darkest days of my life. I remember crying, praying and asking God to not allow me to open my eyes the next day. Every day, every single time, I opened my eyes the next day. Here’s the thing, I was raised by a BLACK woman. Okay? Like, I had a mama, a mommy, a Ma, allat! I remember my mother walking me into class at like 1st or 2nd grade—during Chicago’s winters—and helping me taking my snowsuit off. Yes, by the coat closet. And my mama drove the school bus so everybody knew her. (ROLLS FUCKING EYES) Anyway, when you walk into class to drop your things off before heading down to breakfast, I would be your classmate that’s getting unbuckled out of an overall type snow suit. This lady would then lotion my ankles before handing me my school shoes and sitting my boots under my name in the closet. Then I get lotion for my hands, cocoa butter for my face, and a kiss to the cheek. My gloves go safely into my hat, that gets wrapped into my scarf, and that gets safely tucked into my coat sleeve. She lets me hang my coat up—because I’m a big girl—before she directs me to the cafeteria for breakfast—before she dips off to the office. She was friends with the principal. Oh? Did I not mention? MY MOM DROVE THE SCHOOL BUS. (Then ended up driving the CTA) Anyway. The point I’m trying to make is, when I was younger, that was what I knew. That’s just 1st grade. I was in the same school for kindergarten. And my preschool was the same school everyone in my family went to—as was the elementary school. I wish I was kidding. AnyWAY. Yikes. I had a mom. No, I didn’t have a dad. I had a woman that loved and respected her children with every ounce of her being. I remember when I used to complain about her coming to class and it was embarrassing and blah blah.. She looked at me and LAUGHED, “so what’s gon happen when you get sick?” I didn’t have an answer. She did. That was all I needed to know. Sure it was still embarrassing and i still complained, but, hey...what was gon happen if—when—I got sick? So, naturally, when I was younger, if you wanted to find me, I was somewhere up under my mama. Every memory I have of my mom is prideful. They’re so beautiful. Even arguments she would have with her siblings. Let me tell you some. You’ll see a strainer fill up with water before you see an individual talk crazy to Joyce and get away with it. My mama was my super hero. My mama was beautiful, and she knew it. Her personality was beautiful. Her charm, the way she spoke... My mama could potty train a dog, and I’m gon leave it at that. That woman was my idol. She was BLACK, and she knew it. She knew the streets. She knew them books. She knew her history. She knew her rights. She had hers opinions. She stated them. She stood by them. She fiercely walked through this world with the weight of it on her shoulders because if she could—AND SHE COULD—she would give help to whoever needed it. All while thinking and planning for our—myself, my mother, and my sister—future. She KNEW God. I grew UP in the church. I am very familiar with my faith.  Choir rehearsal every Tuesday and Thursday. Bible Study on Wednesday. Sunday school at 7. Morning service at 8. Afternoon service at 11. Dinner at 3. Night at 6. Christmas solos. Christmas service. New Year service. Choir reunion. Church anniversary. First Lady Birthday. Plaster Birthday. (Continue to live through love Pastor C.T. Baker ... granddadddy) My mother raised me to be dedicated to loving myself. The time she was giving me the message, I couldn’t comprehend the importance of it. But. Oh, I was going to care about it. I cared because I saw how much she cared, and I knew it had to be of some importance. Remember I said my mom drove the CTA. She was in a bus accident in the early 2000s..(*tries not to think back while I think back*) My hero was crippled for the first time. She didn’t show it, but I felt it. During those times, I just didn’t know she wasn’t able to give what I wanted, only what I needed. I wanted my hero. My hero soon became a beautiful memory. Time flew by after that. Then she wasn’t around to care anymore. I was literally snatched from a broken—yet fixable—home and placed into an unfamiliar habitat. But she was still alive. I remember my father asking me why was I—literally—unpacking my things—moving into a corner of a living room—while having a panic attack and crying my eyes out. Once I proceeded to tell him how painful it was for a 7th grader to be taken from her mother over night and permanently moved into a home with a man she barely knew but was connected to by DNA, he responded, “gone with all that, man.” My mom was rushed to the hospital one weekend I was visiting her, and she never came home again. I was in the 7th grade or 8th grade. I remember being on the phone with my granny and mama, crying about how unhappy I was, and them telling me to run away. To come home. I didn’t come go back that night, but I was once again snatched from my home—this time in the middle of night by police officers. Then I was forced to go back. This is in no way to disrespect my father. He loved me as much as he could and as well as he knew—and he’ll have my respect for that—but no one compared to my mom and... that was the first time my mom had ever been unable to help me. My mom cried the next time we talked. She knew it too.
I eventually got to go back home, but, by then, it wasn’t home anymore. My mom died of Multiple Sclerosis my freshman year of college not having seen me ever cross a stage—besides preschool—and, for the some of the final moments, she spent it not knowing who I was. That’s why when people say, “I know how you feel.” You don’t. My mother was incredible, and when I speak on her in past tense, my heart speeds up a little. Like a mini heart attack. Anxiety attack. A rather emotional response to being reminded that my mother won’t be here to see me reach my dreams. To see me become a woman. To see me become an Author. A wife. A mother. So I didn’t want to be those things. And I hated that I knew I was capable of being those things. I hated that I wanted to live without my hero.
Look, yes, this all sad and what not...I know. But, remember how I said I used to not know why I cared so much, but I did because my mama wasn’t afraid to show how much she cared. That means I was listening. Not to mention, I’m not living without her. That woman is in everything I do. I look like her. I think like her. And I realize when I describe who she is, I describe who I wanna be. No matter where God takes me, Joyce will be known, embraced, respected....and felt. Rest In Peace to God’s greatest creature. I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you just how much I was listening.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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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.
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keeseneysays · 4 years
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Your Turn
Welcome back to #BlackWomanWritesWednesdays
I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile now and though what better time to do it than now. Tomorrow isn’t promised.
Tonight I introduce The Chronicles of Hip Hop. I love music, and hip hop is very important to me. I’ve started my study into hip hop and the culture surrounding the genre. The black culture. That’s the culture. I love words, and I love the hip hop artist who have a way with words. 
And when all else fails, write. The Chronicles of Hip Hop is just going to be a series of stories I create from hip hop verses. Just like the original stories posted on Wednesdays, artists and their verses can be submitted for story request. 
When posting stories, I will be sure to label them songs or hip hop artist/verses. Either way, don’t hesitate if you have a request.
This week’s creative writing piece was inspired by the man himself, Ghostface Killah. 
If you don’t know who he is, find the fuck out! Quick!
“No I love yous before we sleep. Goodnights is out the window, it lasts for weeks. It’s been a while since I gave you my street vows. Promised to love and hit it two times a day, never cheat now. Our chemistry is like a bowl of sherries and I’m the chocolate, I smother you, never to worry.”
Your Turn 
“Okay Dwayne, your turn,” Shawn shouted pouring another shot. He slid his hand down her thigh, off her knee, and onto the table to retrieve a question. He quickly switches the hands, placing his left hand one back on her thigh. The right hand brings the card up to his line of vision—also hers. They silently read the question before she giggles and her lashes fall to meet her rising cheeks. He glances down at her and laughs once their eyes meet, sure they came to the same answer. They’re friends—who caught every exchange between the couple—pushed on for an answer. “Ohhhh. And what’s the question?” He looked down at her as she tightened her grip around the arm in her lap. She looked up at him smiling, answering his silent question. Dwayne then looks up into the eyes of their friends, sat opposite of them. Shawn’s limbs are spread out over the coach with Samatha’s body tucked into his left side. While waiting on the game to proceed the couple had taken another shot and seemed to have grown a need to be closer. His hand is sat on top of her hip, and every now and then his fingers travel dangerously close to the skin that separates her shirt from her jeans. Shawn looked down at his her and scoffs, “and they complain about us!” “And we should!” Desiree shouts back, “we’re not the ones that snuck out of game night to go fuck.” “Yeah, that time,” Shawn laughs taking a sip from his cup “Boy what’s the question?” April urged on “When it comes to your mate, has the green eyed monster ever pushed you over the edge?” “Oop!” Samantha brought her hand to her mouth, as her shoulders began to tremble “So what’s your answer?” “Baby, I think we all know his answer,” Tevin chuckled before bring his cups to his lips. April looked over at him and swatted his chest. He feigned hurt before playfully shoving her further away from him. She simply grabbed her glass before placing her feet in his lap and turning back to their friends. He pushed her feet off, regaining her attention. Her eyebrow raises while she places her feet back into his lap, challenging him to repeat his last actions. He laughs before puckering his lips towards her while resting his hands on her ankle. Dwayne laughs, “so I guess we’re all thinking about Katie’s Malibu birthday party?” “Nigga, you out a hole in the wall! Yeah, we thinking about her birthday party,” Shawn furrowed his brow “Ugh. Do not remind me,” Desiree sighed “I remember trying to get yo strong ass off him. Whole time, Desiree standing right there, just looking, like she ain’t know they fighting because of her,” Tevin tossed a bottle cap her way, which she easily avoided. “Uh, excuse you. They were fighting because yo boy stupid. That ain’t have nothing to do with me!” “They were fighting over you!” “There was no need to fight over me. I was no longer with Dwayne, and I’ll never be with Scott. Dwayne was trippin and let his ego and his dick get him into a silly ass confrontation.” “Exactly,” Samantha agreed “Shut up,” Shawn laughed, pulling the end of her ponytail. Samantha jammed her finger into his side before reaching for her glass “Yall paid for that right?” April asked “HE paid for that. I didn’t try to put a nigga through a wall. He did!” Desiree exclaimed April shook her head disapprovingly, “all because you couldn’t find her.” “And he didn’t look!” Desiree laughed, “all he knew was I wasn’t where he had last seen me.” “And how did Scott fit into this again?” Tevin smirked Dwayne shrugged, “I couldn’t find her, and then after I looked around and didn’t see him, I lost it. I was way too drunk and ended up putting two and two together.” Desiree laughed and forced herself further into his side, “yeah because me being alone at a party with a guy I never talk to makes all the sense. Not my best friend, but this random guy.” “I wasn’t looking for them.” “Obviously,” April rolled her eyes causing Tevin to pull at her toes “You weren’t looking for me either. You could’ve just called or texted me, you know?” “Like I told her before, we weren’t talking to each other then, so that didn’t cross my mind.” “And like I told him before, not even 24 hours before he decided to turn into the Hulk, were he and I not kicking yall asses, together, in spades?” Shawn poured up another shot as the room rumbled with laughter as everyone agreed. He leaned forward, handing the drink to Dwayne, who accepted it with a confused look on his face. “Wait, I answered the question.” “Yeah nigga, but yo answer ain’t help you none,” he laughed before pulling Samantha back into his embrace. Dwayne threw the shot back before sitting back into the couch, placing his hand back on Desiree’s thigh. “Tevin, grab a card!”
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