The Freestyle Essays


Queens build each other up instead of tearing each other down, while we burying each other, fuck niggas stealing our crown. Fuck us over six ways from Sunday, selling souls on tv, Mona Scott Young is the mask behind the devil goat Lucy. Take a bow you’re on Monday, nights rich in blood lust, you have ten years to pay the piper before you go back to dust. Screaming “Stay Woke” when the motherfucker sleep with the rest of them, eat with the rest of them, drink blood with the best of them.

There ain’t shit that a self hating bitch can tell me, about getting a man or how to secure the bag legitimately, without selling my body or manipulating a narcissist to put a ring on me. When the bitch look like every other chick grown in a laboratory. I can’t report live hardly, without you fucks looking sorry, give excuses for a pity party, because you look at facts so blindly.

They hate women like me… They despise women like me. Because I expose the truth and they try to make me look bad like they did Angie.


Fuck Misogyny: Hebrew Israelite Religion Unveiled.

Hannah D. Spivey announced on Facebook that her memoir and self-help guide of her life living as a Hebrew Israelite, would be free on Amazon for a limited time. Of course, being an avid reader took advantage of the gift and downloaded it into my kindle. One rainy Friday night after a long day of battling mental health, I sat down on the couch with a mug of delicious white wine, opened my kindle and saw Hannah’s  beautiful but no nonsense face staring back at me with a manicured middle finger up to the world. “Fuck Misogyny” in graffiti art on a brick wall behind her that looked to be an apartment complex in the hood. The cover was brilliant and it said aloud what basically every sane black women who didn’t drink the koolaid thought of the Hebrew Israelite religion.

I remember first seeing Hebrew Israelite men at the age of 19 standing on street corners, bitching and screaming about how black women didn’t know their place, how the white man didn’t want the black man to succeed and waving a bible in the air. That particular day, I was standing at the bus depot, waiting on the bus that went straight to the mall, when I noticed the group of idiots, wearing all black, covered from the neck down in one hundred degree heat. They had on black jeans, black turtle necks or long sleeved crew necked shirts, and black boots. The had on what looked like metal knee and elbow pads and a fake ass metal breast plate, with hot ass hats on their heads that had metal ear flaps attached. One dumb ass was waving a thick bible in the air screaming about slaves, women submitting to men,  while the other was passing out flyers.

Me being curious, I took a flyer from one of the fools and  in broad letters it stated Hebrew Israelite across the top and  “Come Worship with Us” in smaller letters below it. The young man who handed me the flyer didn’t look no more than a year older than me or possibly the same age. He looked me up and down slowly, taking in my skimpy tank top, short stone washed jean shorts, and strappy sandals. “Women are to be covered” he said and mouthed off some bible scriptures while pointing to the flyer. I laughed in his face, told him to kiss my ass and went to go catch my bus.  Nowadays in the world of technology, where anyone can create a website for any particular belief or create a Facebook group, make it private and spew all sorts of bullshit, the Hebrew Israelite community has been making a lot of noise. So when Hannah introduced her memoir that she wrote describing her life living as a Hebrew Israelite in her father’s house, and also being in a relationship with one, living in their church, it piqued my interest.

The book hit home for me. Constant religious abuse of children and the level  of hypocrisy in the Hebrew Israelite community revealed was shocking. Hannah paints a vivid picture of emotional abuse, physical abuse and the miserable road she had to travel in order to see her value as a human being and a woman. Hannah confronts her former Hebrew Israelite lover who took her through hell and back, shames the Hebrew Israelite women who turned a blind eye, and says to her father everything she did not have to strength to say in her younger years. Hannah exposes the church who hid her lover’s drug addiction, did not even attempt to hold the brother accountable when he stole from her and abused her. The book hit home. The very thing Hannah went through with her father as a child and her younger years, I went through with my mother as an adult. The only difference is my mother is Christian, goes to a church who forbids the women of marrying outside the church and the marriages are arranged.

Still to this day my mother texts me bible scriptures and claim that bad things happen to me because I don’t go to HER CHURCH. I may not live in her home but religious abuse is religious abuse no matter how you dress it up.

Hannah provides a self help guide to women who are caught up in the Hebrew Israelite lifestyle and think they have no way out. She also gives clues and signs of misogynistic red flags, and how to tell if he is Hebrew Israelite. Plain and simple, don’t fuck with them. The game is to be sold and never told, however Hannah gave the game away for free because it just might save a life.


Seducing to Survive: Black Women Using Sex and Relationships to Survive

Black women have been using sex as a  survival tool since before  slavery. In Africa,  African women seduced the African man to live in his ready made hut when she was ostracized from her village. An African woman would lose a husband and by next week she had another. During slavery, we slept with our white masters to keep our children from being sold, to keep our husbands from being killed, for extra food and medicine to heal our sick Maw Maw and Aunt Sarah. When slavery was finally abolished in 1865, black women still worked for a “master” for small squares of land, living in  shanties that could fall over if the east wind blew too hard. When we needed more,we did what we had to do. Give him a little bit of sunshine from between our thighs for a little bit more food, a sturdier cabin, a wider piece of land. We seduced to survive when our husbands were killed, transformed into strange fruit and became  single mothers before we even knew what a single mother was. Being used to staying home, keeping house, cooking the meals and taking care of the children, who would bring home the bacon now? So we seduced the caring man, who came by to console the grieving widow, fix the leaning  porch, and paint the shingles that the deceased husband kept putting off. He wasn’t handsome by a long shot, we didn’t have an ounce of love for him, but he brought in income, was nice to the children and completed the honey do list of repairs that our deceased husband left behind.

Then men started the trend of going to the store for a pack of cigarettes and returning twenty years later. Leaving us in a panic of “what the fuck am I going to do I have two+ hungry growing children and no money plus the rent’s due”.   Going to the baptist church for help, that we’d been attending for years and still not receiving any help because “funds are low” and “the church mortgage”, trying to find a job just to get every door slammed in our faces, and going down “to the welfare” for food stamps that would only get us powdered milk that our baby is allergic to and  cheese that rots after two days and a stipend that is barely enough to keep the lights on. So we did what we had to do. We let Ron who ran numbers down the block move in, pay our bills, give us money to keep our hair done and buy something nice, bought our children school clothes, and gave them lunch money so they wouldn’t have to be in the inferior free lunch group. We knew Ron did two bids in prison, put people in the morgue for owing money, and was still fucking Sheila from three blocks over. But Ron made sure we were taken care of.

We as single women without children started seducing men to survive when our parents abandoned us. Starving college student, dated the white Ivy League boy who had a fetish for black women and just wanted to piss his parents off. Dated the drug dealer who had money to burn and just wanted to show it off. Fucked the rich married guy, twenty years our senior so he could buy our books and pay at least half of our tuition so we could go back to school to have a place to sleep in the winter and complete our education.  Those of us who were homeless, jobless finessed the pushover for a place to call home and pretended to love him until death do us part so we didn’t have to struggle anymore. When times get hard and we lose our jobs, rent is due, the electric company sends a cut off notice and the only thing we have in our fridge is the end piece of the bread and a expired carton of almond milk. That inbox from that Lame Lance that constantly send you “Good Morning” messages looks enticing. So we do what we have to do. If you as a black woman, never used what you got to get what you needed you’re a damn liar.

When I was nineteen years old, my great aunt told me that if you I lay on my back for a man, I better make sure I wasn’t lacking a damn thing. Not even toilet paper. It’s innate in our DNA. In the book “Beloved”, Sethe let a cemetary groundskeeper fuck her from behind for ten minutes so that she could get a free inscription on her baby’s headstone. Sally Hemings was Thomas Jefferson’s mistress and bore his children so that she and her children could live comfortably. I laugh at how they romanticize that whole arrangement. Sally just didn’t want to be out there breaking her back in them fields from sunup to sundown, getting beat, raped and maimed by the overseer. Sleeping on a hard floor in a shanty being held together by sifting dirt and sticks. Sally did what she needed to do to keep her children together, prevent them from being sold away from her and each other. So she finessed Thomas Jefferson, without giving one ounce of a fuck that it was her half sister’s husband. I laugh… The people really believe that she walked around with flowing curly hair and a cute big dress with her titties propped up. Prancing around the house, flirting with the master openly. She still knew her “place” in the world, but behind closed doors, he knew hers. Of course the mistress hated her guts and so did the other slaves that had to work outdoors. But she did what she did for her children and their freedom.

When you’re a black woman, your back isn’t just up against a wall, your back is up against a metal door two inches thick.  So we do what we have to do to stay alive.


“Why are You Single”? The Answer to this Question and as Well as Other Dumb ass Theories as to Why I’m Single That Comes in my Inbox as Well as to My Face

as Every other day some misogynistic ingrate or some dude who’s in a relationship takes it upon themselves to either ask me why I am single or try to put in theories as to why I am single. “You are too hard on these guys” “Every man isn’t perfect” “Perfect relationships don’t exist” or my all time favorite “You are too strong for these guys, you need to soften up a bit” or they say shit like “Maybe if you weren’t too outspoken”. First of all if a woman being too outspoken scares men away, they aren’t men to begin with. They only reason why they are scared off because the chances of them getting pussy has gone down to 0%. The only reason why men pop up in women’s inbox on social media is to get pussy 90% of the fucking time. Dudes come in my inbox and the first thing they mention is my fucking lips. That shit irritates me to no fucking end. Like a man who has never commented on a status, liked a status, retweeted shit, will just pop up in my inbox and say “Damn your lips sexy” or “I wonder how those lips feel” and he has the audacity to act like he’s done wrong when I verbally emasculate his ass. I’m too strong and too outspoken because a ashy ass nigga popped up in my inbox, don’t even say “Good evening” and just rambles on about what he thinks my full lips feel like and I went clean off on him? Kiss my ass. Because the shit is just not on social media the shit happens when I am out in society.

Grown ass men don’t even have the social skills to step to a woman and simply say “Hello, my name is..” Grown ass men stepping to me with “Damn, what’s good.” Yet I still say “Hello..” and his dumb ass come with “Where your nigga at”. This is why a lot of women, regardless of race are walking around here single mothers without a man in sight because “They wanted to give him a chance” and “Not everybody perfect”. I am not asking for a perfect man, but damn can I have a decent fucking conversation at first glance?  It is really baffling when dudes have fucking daughters and yet they treat women like trash. Like has the thought ever occurred to them that the shit could turn around on their fucking daughters?

Oh and I don’t believe in struggle love. This whole “money isn’t everything, hold a nigga down when he don’t have a job, home, unemployable, have your first date at Bojangles, sleep on a park bench with him until he come up” bullshit memes are just a ploy for women to lower their fucking standards so these lazy ass bum ass niggas can get cheap to free pussy. I don’t believe in that bullshit because in the next fucking breath, dudes are talking shit about females who are either single mothers, struggling to find a job, sleeping on a friend’s couch because she’s going through hard times, on food stamps or wearing leggings because that is all she can afford at the time being until things get better. Why the fuck should I hold a nigga down when he’s going through all of this shit and date him and carry him when I did the shit by my fucking self without help. If you are struggling like that, he need to be focused on himself and not anyone else. Hell, that’s what I did. When I was finishing up my first degree, I lived in a homeless shelter for six months, made money under the table by tutoring other students, as well as looked diligently for a job and once I found that job, I moved into my own place. BY MYSELF.

Oh and for you “please pick me” bitches out here who always have something to say about women being “stuck up” and “bitter”, please by all means tell me why the fuck should any of us listen to whatever the fuck you have to say? When you’re arguing on every social media invented because your ain’t shit baby daddy pulls no call, no shows when coming to get your kids.

So don’t tell me that I am too hard, my standards are too high, or I am bitter because I want and demand the respect that I deserve. Do not fix your mouth to tell me that I am too strong for a man after all the shit I have been through without one by my side. I can do bad by myself, so why should I do bad with one?


YOU WILL NOT COME FOR MARY J.BLIGE!! : “Strength of a Woman” Review

For those of you who are in the internet world saying that Mary J. Blige’s album is trash or mediocre, have a stadium of seats. First things first, let me address the critics who are calling Mary “weak” because her album is full of hurt, pain and storytelling about her sham of a marriage that she thought was real. Let me address the critics who are calling Mary “weak” because everybody knew that Kendu was fucking her protege’ Starshelle but her. It was so obvious, that an employee of Mary’s record label stated “It was the big elephant in the room that made everyone uncomfortable, when the three of them were at events together”.  Yes, let me address the holier than thou critics, who are calling Mary weak for being used, emotionally abused, cheated on and made to look like a fool in the public eye by the very person who is supposed to love and protect her. Unless you have been in that situation, then you don’t know what the fuck you would do. People KILL me judging others and their situation, mouthing off about what they would do when they have never been in that predicament. I think Mary is pretty damn strong if you ask me, being that she’s not in a jail cell facing two first degree murder charges. Over half the people talking shit about her in the blogs or on social media are in their own fucked up relationship. Probably got a man sitting at home, not contributing to shit while they slave at their minimum wage jobs trying to make ends meet.

On “Strength of a Woman” Mary tells us her story through song. Everything she had gone through during her marriage and everything she is going through now is being revealed to her fans. Mary has always delivered albums that every woman can relate to and this album was no different. On the single “Set Me Free”, the lyrics “There is a special place in hell for you” caused a shiver to go down my spine as I not only reminisce on my heart being broke countless times to so called friends hurting me as well. You guys, Mary is going through hell right now and she still found the strength to deliver great music and gave us a heart felt thank you for allowing her to vent to us. Yes, she actually thanked us for listening to her vent. “Thick of it” which is a hit song, Mary empathizes and relates to married women who are fighting for their marriages and the thick just keeps getting thicker. But the one thing I admire most about this album, on the single “Indestructible”, Mary tells women to not beat themselves up for falling for foolishness when it comes to men and to not stop healing. Mary tells women to open up to love again and not to let one bad apple spoil the bunch. This is what strength of a woman is all about. It’s about finding the strength to get up, move on, face the public, face the embarrassment and still consider falling in love again. Listen to “Strength of a Woman” on Itunes and Amazon Music.



Is This the Career for Me?

Did I pick the correct major? Should I just put my degree on the shelf and work in another field? Why did I even go to the college? I’m still asking myself this damn question after I accepted my first position in my degree field. When I first got the job offer I was ecstatic, crying tears of joy and thought that I was the most luckiest, blessed woman in the world. I was finally able to leave a job that did not appreciate me, did not value my work ethic, and paid me peanuts.  I was going from making eleven thousand dollars per year to making over thirty-two thousand dollars per year. I was so excited because I was finally able to afford a vehicle and rent by myself, without a roommate (A small one, but hell it would be mine). I finally got my foot in the door to the career I have always wanted, finally! But I’ll be damned if I didn’t start having bad days a month into my “dream job”. Starting off into the mental health field with just a bachelor’s degree and without experience, you don’t get a cushy office, with a cute oak desk and a large window showing a view of the Elizabeth River. You don’t get a receptionist to take your calls, you don’t get business cards with your name on it, and you definitely don’t diagnose anybody. Nope. With a bachelor’s degree, you get in your vehicle, go to several clients’ homes, pick them up, take them to look for jobs, job interviews, help them look for housing, and strongly suggest that they take their medication and take your advice on implementing strategies for saving money which they don’t. So twice per week I find myself filling up my damn gas tank,every day  driving clients around to accomplish goals that they don’t give a fuck about. I care and try to help people who don’t give a fuck about themselves, I try to help them get out of the sunken place, crawl out of poverty and yet they don’t even give a fuck. I find myself giving a fuck more about them than they do themselves.

I am all about wellness, getting better, being mentally healthy. I don’t believe in enabling, making excuses or just wallowing in despair. I believe in accountability, responsibility and actually fucking trying. So why am I made out to the be the bad guy when I tell my clients that I know they have the potential to get better? Why am I made out to be the bad guy because my clients are getting better mentally, emotionally and financially? Oh I already know, however for the sake of not being blacklisted in the mental health field I won’t even put it in this blog. Let’s just say that state funded insurance is a billion dollar industry, and if you try to stop the security of the bag, then that’s a problem


Rape Accusations: The New Hustle?

The new slap in rape survivors’ faces is that “victims” are cashing in on their trauma. Instead of bringing their attackers to justice, they are bringing them into private conference rooms to negotiate settlements in exchange for keeping quiet. But what if they were threatened into taking the money and keeping quiet? Oh please. If that was the case, then how in the hell does the public always find out about it? “He raped me back in 2o12 and paid me to keep quiet but I am saying something now, a few years later because he told me he is no longer financing me” type spill. This isn’t a black thing, it isn’t a white thing, it’s a low class, poor excuse for a human being thing. The women who swallowed their fear and refused to be a victim but a survivor and brought their attacker to justice, pointed at them, made them accountable and even if they got off on some bullshit technicality, the fact that they stood up and defended themselves and protected every future victim is what really counts. These women that are suing these celebrities and hedge fund boys for cash are not traumatized. They are simply looking for a come up, willing to do whatever it takes to sell their soul to live above their means.

To put a price tag on your body is one thing but to invest in sexual trauma is a whole new low. Two women sued rapper, The Game for sexually assaulting them on his reality TV show “Dating The Game”, one of them winning a whopping 40 million dollars. Of course the award winning rapper, appealed the lawsuit, which is still pending and is still sticking by his innocence to this day. Another woman who would rather stay anonymous, stated that Derrick Rose raped her and she sued him for millions, he appealed, fought back and presented evidence that it was consensual sex. The NBA player went as far as to ask the judge for an order to drop her anonymity to expose her. Which I fully agree with. Why? Why be anonymous? Because she knows she falsely accused an actor, athlete, or rapper of rape. Using a traumatic, violent, disgusting, incomprehensible sexual act as a come up for fame. Book deals under false pretenses, attention whoring interviews and over dramatic appearances on talk shows. They are the reason why real rape survivors are not taken seriously. The reason why real rape survivors are shunned into silence.

When are we going to hold these women accountable? Women who stick together and have each other backs also hold each other accountable for their actions. None of the women who are falsely accusing these men up of sex crimes  are being held accountable. It is always the same excuse. “We weren’t there”, “Only God knows what happened”. But the answer and the proof are in plain sight right in front of everyone, we are just so engrossed in our own experiences of rape that we automatically take the “victims” side. But the ones who are being falsely accused are victims as well.