To Stacey Yvonne Abrams: We Thank You.

Democracy as we know it owes a debt of gratitude to Black women. At this point, that debt can’t even be repaid in a lifetime. As I sit this morning, basking in the hard work that Black women have done; Native/Indigenous women have done; allies and accomplices have done; 45 percent of White women did, and all those Republicans that pushed back a tide of absolute evil–one name sticks out to me: Stacey Yvonne Abrams.

It is through her hard work, her grit, her faith and organizing that flipped the state of Georgia BLUE–TWICE! Without her help, endurance and tactical brilliance there would be no Senator Warnock or Senator Ossoff.

Black women are WONDER WOMEN. This election proved the Nikkii Giovanni quote about the necessity and power of Black women:

Nikki Giovanni Quote: “I am a huge fan of the Black woman. I never hesitate  to recommend her when times are bad or things go wrong.” (7 wallpapers) -  Quotefancy

Sometimes as a visionary, you get discouraged when you cannot fulfill the plan you set out to complete. Stacey Abrams had an election stolen from her, and used that pain to push forward! In that pushing forward, look what she did! Look at the press, and what came from it!

The world owes Stacey Abrams. The world needs to realize what it means to have society aligned against you; fighting for the most minuscule advancement! Fighting to participate in a democracy we are promised access to! With her using all her talents and abilities, affected this level of change. Within all this joy, I am reminded of the Zora Neale Hurston quote about Black women being the mules of the world. As I celebrate, ask I bask–I cry.

With all this harnessed power, it feels unfair!

It is always left to Black women to fix, clean up, mend, tend and rescue! We see what happens when we don’t: LIFE DERAILS! That derailing isn’t just for us, it’s for everyone! We have been graced with unique blend of passion and vision. For that reason, we fight. We equip. We organize. We teach. We reach. We push.

We fight—because we cannot afford to die.

The world needs the heat and fire of Black women, and will never admit it. It will be whispered about, celebrated with nods and lunches with girlfriends and hugs that are too tight or too long–to push strength back into her. I want to push strength back into her. I want to cover her in a sheet and let her just pass out! I want to cry with her and tell her she can breathe. I want to tell her this:


I see you. We see you. We are proud of you! If you do nothing else, you have done enough. You have done enough. Rest, sis. Rest.”

Thank you, Stacey. I hope you sleep so good tonight.

Dying In Power

For the accompanying poem, The Death Of The Black Body, click here.

Flowers in the Graveyard – All the Wonders
Nothing is so sad as seeing flowers among graves…

There is a certain indignance to the death of Dr. Susan Moore.

Black. Woman. Mother. Doctor.

The same attributes that make excellent doctors, were seen as ‘intimidating’ to the medical staff which were responsible for her death! What makes this all the more heartbreaking is the viral video Dr. Moore, and the subsequent New York Times article. The thing which turned my heartbreak to rage is the video. She knew what was happening to her.

She knew. They knew.

Dr. Moore knew the doctor (in name only) that was ‘in charge of her care’ was denying her what she needed to recover.

She knew. He knew.

Dr. Moore advocated for her health up until the hour of her death. Yet, she did what most Black women do–even as they lay dying–she imparted truth.

She knew she was dying, and would die. She also knew her medical neglect was a result of the staff feeling ‘intimidated by her’. Let me explain to you what it means to be intimidating as a Black person, especially a Black woman. It means you cannot be easily manipulated. It means you don’t take the word of people (namely White people in power) as the final say on any matter. It means you speak up when people don’t think you should. You hold space and take it up–you don’t shrink. The fact still is, Dr. Moore knew what she needed–and no one listened to her.

Aside: This is why Black doctors are needed! Black patients need to be listened to and believed!

Peep this statement (taken from ABC News):

In a press release, Indiana University Hospital president and CEO Dennis M. Murphy described Dr. Susan Moore as a “complex patient” and said that during her stay at the IU Health North facility in Carmel, Indiana, the nursing staff treating her for coronavirus “may have been intimidated by a knowledgeable patient who was using social media to voice her concerns and critique the care they were delivering.”

A complex patient.

Any patient that is knowledgeable about their care is intimidating. Speaking from personal experience, retired nurses are the worst patients (and the most entertaining!). But there is a whiff of coded language here. Dr. Moore says that her care was compromised because the staff all knew she was a doctor–and yet they were intimidated by her using social media. Let me help you out: if you were doing your job, and charting, she wouldn’t be intimidating. If she was getting the care she needed, would she even be using social media? Would she even be dead?

The question that I keep coming back to is why was Dr. Moore using social media as a tool. Why did she feel the need to do this? As I answer my own question, the only solution is–she must have been scared. Something must have unnerved her to the point she had to record it. Dr. Moore had to have thought, “These people might do anything to me. Let me keep them accountable.” The fact is, Black folk whom are knowledgeable are always a threat. We are always seen as complex because there is no way to knock a down a peg–the archaic phrase is ‘uppity negro’.

So let’s look at this again. There is a Black woman, knowledgeable about her care, and advocating her own health and safety in the middle of a global pandemic which has killed over 300,000 people. Who wouldn’t be scared? Who wouldn’t document everything? Who BLACK wouldn’t let everyone in their circle know what was happening to them? Good or ill? Granted is it aggravating to take care of people whom are medical professionals in patient roles? Yes. They will look over everything; they will ask questions; they will try and direct their own care. It’s frustrating. It’s aggravating. But, this is not a reason to not take care of your patients regardless of race!

Dr. Susan Moore should not have had to resort to the vehicle of social media to detail what what happening to her. The medical staff need to be held into account! The suspicion that most Black people have for doctors, hospitals, and the medical community as a whole is an open secret.

From Lucy, and countless other slaves whose bodies where used to ‘further’ what we now know as gynecology. To the Freedmen Hospitals. Henrietta Lacks. To the Tuskegee Experiment. The sterilizing of Latin women. And now COVID-19. The medical community likes to gloss over, and rebury the bodies which have allowed ‘science to move forward.’ The lynchpin? The families of the unwilling forced into graves too soon by avarice or malice hiding in a white coat and stethoscope fueled by curiosity didn’t forget!

We remember.

These cases are not alive or immortal through medical journals. These are people, were people, and are always going to be people! Members of a society cloaked in science, superstition and embolden by racism have always used Black, Brown and Native bodies as guinea pigs; expenditures of its own curiosity.

Social media is a tool of marginalized people, and Dr. Susan Moore used it to advocate. Black women are always advocating, and warning, and trying to save the world. I cannot help but think of Mama Pope and the soliloquy felt by Black women everywhere:

“Trying and saving and trying to save. Like we do. So here I am. Admirable or ridiculous? Baby, you tell me.”

Dr. Susan Moore should not be dead. Dr. Susan Moore should not have had to advocate for her own health, fight racism and recover at the same time! It’s the system that killed her that is ridiculous. When will that change? I’ll wait.

It’s A Celestial Happening, And I Need To Know Who I’m Riding With…

Jupiter and Saturn's great conjunction is today! | Astronomy Essentials |  EarthSky

From “On the night of December 21, the winter solstice, Jupiter and Saturn will appear so closely aligned in our sky that they will look like a double planet. This close approach is called a conjunction. The fact that this event is happening during the winter solstice is pure coincidence, according to NASA…”

The most interesting thing that I have seen during my three months on TikTok is just how creative Black folk are! On December 21 and the days preceding, the full magic of US was on display all over social media! The question posed to all of universal Blackness was: “What superpower did you want?”

I am a part of a couple BLERD groups, and to see this conversation transferring from these selected pages, to a bigger cultural conversation? I was thrilled!

For record, I want the Psonic force: This is the power source for the cosmic, celestial being known as The PHOENIX. I mean, my alter ego is The Ideal Firestarter after all!

Yet, there was a magic to this conversation. A happy nostalgia even! This is the specialness that comes with being Black! We can have conversations and create events simply on the power of imagination. I have laughed at Facebook posts, videos on Instagram (shouts to @thejokesoneddie!), and retweeting my own thoughts on Twitter! There was a buzz–and extra one even!–around being Black!

Now, Black folk have always been magic. We have always been amazing. We have always had the heavens as our guide, and ancestors as a map! To be Black, especially now, feels like it’s own superpower; for the heavens to literally align with all this power? It is marvelous!

This is amazing, seeing all this Black dreaming and seeing and conversing! I just need to know once we all cross over into this new magical realm, do we need to get a ride there and back because I don’t have gas to do both! So, if I can ride with someone, that’s cool. If someone wants to ride with me, that’s cool too. But, since the Psionic Force would allow me to fly, do I really have to drive? I mean, as we divvy all of this up, do DC and Marvel Characters need to ride together or is that another matter?

I need to know these things! Like, I have children! Do I need to have a power that can be hereditary? If that’s the case, we can just translate at the house and fly there and back!

Yet, what is amazing–the thing that makes me so happy about this joy about this event–has to be the fact that Black people are celebrating US! This type of celebration is like the hug I have needed through the fiery furnace which is 2020! It was good to laugh, and dream, and be silly with people who you don’t have to explain such cultural colloquiums with. We don’t need a day to be magic–we’ve always been magic. The world just forgot.

Knowing Where The Dangerous White People Are

Dave Chappelle addresses Trump, racism and the coronavirus in a powerful ' SNL' monologue: 'Did I trigger you?'
“I don’t know why poor white people aren’t wearing masks,” he said. “What is the problem? You wear a mask at the Klan rally — wear it at the Walmart, too!” -Dave Chappelle, SNL-11/7/2020

I have been a fan of Dave Chappelle before he ever had a show on Comedy Central. I love him like I love Richard Pryor and George Carlin. In literature, the ‘fool’ or the ‘jester’ character are the only people able to speak truth to power in a way no one else could or can. Humor is most cutting when it is dressed in truth. All Dave Chapelle and those known as comedic legends have done before them have told truth to power–through humor.

While embracing the new thing that is TikTok, I ran across this joke that I thought was brillant–because it was true. The Black comedian said that growing up in the South gave him a distinct alert when it came to identifying what places or which people would be safe. That identifier was the Rebel flag! He said that while it was good thing to take the flag down, and to encourage others to realize it is a traitorous symbol–he said, but without this identifier, “But how will I know where the dangerous White people are?”

I cackled laughing…because it was true.

This American experiment and the travesty of the Elections of 2016 and 2020 have shown me exactly where the dangerous White people are! And the fact the world was up in arms over what (truth) Dave Chappelle said, solidifies there is a group of White people who are not ready to have a real conversation about race, white fragility and comfort, and its effect on Black and White people!

I am the grandchild of slaves and sharecroppers. My grandmother came North from Mississippi when my mother was young, and I cannot imagine having to live anywhere else. With that fact, whenever we as members of my maternal family would visit Mississippi, or even when I would road trip there as an adult, I looked to tell-tale signs of safe White people…and not safe White people. That flag is always an indicator that me or me an mine would not be safe.

I make it my mission to own my space as a Black woman, and doing that makes me aware of non-Black people whom fear me as either Black or woman. It comes with the territory! I don’t shy away from race conversations, I believe Fox News/Clapper/Newsmax/Parler help to radicalize domestic terrorists, and I refuse to ever acknowledge any ‘blue life’ that is not a Smurf, Avatar or Sonic the Hedgehog! What I need White America to understand is this: racism is your fault. Since it is your fault, the onus to fix it is up to you! Black people do not have the social power to be racist and our culture is not costume! There is no part of me that is Black or woman that cares that you take issue with me being Black or woman! I have no desire to wake up White, yet I won’t want to become Breonna Taylor or Sandra Bland because the officers the skewed justice system refuses to acknowledge or punished, cannot be held to account!

The flag the cult of 45 carry is draped in the blood of my ancestors. It is your heritage, and that heritage is evil! That heritage was your racist ancestor’s cloak of invisibility! It allowed then to work among people who murdered, terrorized, lied and intimidated non-White people for sport; for the purpose of ‘ensuring’ your power would never be toppled, questioned or dismantled.

It is a reminder to the chattel you once owned that they were never be people. Sunni Patterson said it best:

“Not always have we had amnesia…”

Sunni Patterson, WE KNOW THIS PLACE

It is fitting that you be stained ORANGE–a florescent color, that rhymes with no other English word, and is indicative of traffic cones before spinning out over a guard rail! The conversation is over concerning whether or not 45 was/is a bigoted, xenophobic, racist. The reality for you whom hide behind the Trump 2020 flags, faceless troll accounts, Trump garb atop the mountain of rebel flags believing the lie that is its belonging to Southern Heritage, is you, too, are a racist, xenophobic, bigot. So, him screaming such hateful rhetoric was music to your ears, wasn’t it? With you being lulled to sleep by the demonic Sandman, you had no problem falling in smooth lock-step with all he wanted to do–because nothing else mattered!

Now, that he has lost, and you have lost, with there being nothing for you to hang on to, you wrap yourself in the racist dress up clothes, refusing to concede to reason, but mad you are asked to wear a mask to Wal-Mart? And mad at Dave Chappelle? You clearly have learned nothing from the first time you all lost the Civil War! It doesn’t make sense to go through that level of embarassment again.

We are not our ancestors–we are empowered by them. If you like Leti is something else? Imagine and army of them. This is not the smoke you want. Go home and repent–Jesus is Black, I promise He will get you together.

[image SNL screenshot]

Going Home Again… Home (Vintage International) (9780307740915): Morrison, Toni:  Books
This is one of my favorite books by Morrison, and I cannot recommend it enough.

Whose house is this?

Whose night keeps out the light

In here?

Say, who owns this house?

It’s not mine.

I dreamed another, sweeter, brighter,

With a view of lakes crossed in painted boats

As fields wide as arms open for me.

This house is strange.

Its shadows lie.

Say, tell me why my does its lock fit my lock?

Home, Toni Morrison

I’ll level with you. I am a secret PoliSci fan. I love the discourse and conversation that going around issues, topics and other things that are pertinent to make the world run. So with the the event that was, that is, the Election 2020, I am left with one question: Can you go ‘home’ again? And for that matter where is home? And where is home for one that decided home isn’t where you want to be?

What I believe has not been really spoken about is this idea of what it means to reconcile. There are people whom have voted for the 45th President, knowing his alligator nature, and it doesn’t matter. They voted for a man that is evil, corrupt, bigoted, vapid, ignorant and is an accused rapist and pedophile! This populace of better than 70 million people, voted for him–again. Again!

Now that they have lost, after leading or being a part of an abusive barrage for the last four years, these people whom voted for division, crave unity.

They want to work for peace.

They want understanding.

They want forgiveness and us all to…forget.

There are the same people that voted for a man who said, “Grab ’em by the pussy’ now want to be washed from the stain of this Agent Orange. They desire us whom have been hurt, maimed, the survivors of the maligned and murdered to now reason with them.

The divide in the nation, the disregard for all that has happened 400 years prior to the 4 we have endured, now you want to talk of peace when all we know is war? Right now, and for the foreseeable present, I don’t see coming to the table. I don’t see any ease to be had when one of the parties whom desires peace has instigated, perpetuated war!

There is no home for people who cannot value it. But, in that concept of home–there is always a place for you. Home is both static and dynamic. It is a place to leave, take with you and for you to return to! However, what is ‘home’ to one that desired to put someone else out of one? What I do not think Trump supporters understand is this not about what you voted for. This is not just about policy disguising prejudice.

This is a violence most intimate. It is not just corporal, but spiritual! Those who have agreed with body and mind to vote for a fool should be treated as such. You cannot ask for absolution when you will not admit what you have done which wounded. The concept of home is still there, still applicable, but the people you left there–whom you desire to be there when you decide to return–may not be there.

Why should they be? The presumption that you want those whom you left to be there when you return, no matter the abuse, is not rational. You cannot tell me to die, wish me so, do all that you can ensure I die–but with my last breath I fight and live? You cannot then come help me up!

What is home, to Trump supporter after ripping hearts, lives and families asunder?

What is home whom has no idea of what it means to really be at home?

Why should we have to relinquish the right to peace because no you choose to war no more?

The thing that I wish that Trump supporters knew is that your call to unity is on deaf ears right now. Home is not here for you right now! No one is answering the knock and your crocodile tears. No one! Stop knocking!

For the moment, this key they have? They need to understand that the door it corresponds to? The lock might be changed. Just like you have the right to leave home, the people who have to live there all the time have a right to keep peace within it at all costs!

I don’t think reconciliation and unity are the words which need to be used by people who know their dear leader separated children from their families–and made no attempt to confront that! No, keep your ‘peace’. And stay off my lawn.

Protect Brandon Bernard

Donald Trump's Final Cruelty: Executing Prisoners | The New Yorker

“Bad company corrupts good morals.” 1 Corinthians 15:33

The Death Penalty in this nation is the watering mouth, fed by suspicion, avarice or indifference. When the story of Brandon Bernard came across my TikTok (@whatjayesaid), I was horrified. Unsurprised, but horrified none the less. Let me me give you a quick run down (taken courtesy of the site

Brandon Bernard was sentenced to death for a crime committed in 1999, when he was only 18 years old. As an accomplice, he did not have a leading role in that crime, and he has demonstrated positive behavior throughout his 20 years of incarceration, even reaching out to others and counseling them not to follow in his path. When critical charging and sentencing decisions were made in his case, both the Government and the jurors had an incomplete picture of Brandon and the offense. Today, five of the nine surviving jurors no longer believe that a death sentence is necessary for Brandon AND one of Brandon’s former prosecutors who worked to uphold his sentence, now wants his life to be spared.

Make no mistake–the scripture I quoted still stands and is valid. However, since Brandon did not kill anyone, he was only a witness, and has spent the last 20 years trying to be a better human being, while warning other people about how final some decisions can be! The attorneys, jurors and reporters have agreed that to execute Brandon–to murder him!–would be a great stain on the justice system! Since this is a federal crime, it demands federal attention!

I know that we are less than 50 days from the administration of the 46th President Joseph R. Biden, but Brandon doesn’t have until January–He has until December 10, 2020! Yet, Torches, it is important that we try! We cannot sit idly by while this man is murdered and the world around us call it justice! We know the current occupant of the White House is a bigot, lacks empathy and is devoid of character. I know this. You all know this. We ALL know this–but we must try! Yet, he knows the power of optics! President 45 knows the power of optics, and I appeal all of you to help put pressure on the federal government to do something! I cannot be a Firestarter, I cannot be an activist, I cannot be a mother and just do nothing!

I encourage you to help this cause. I urge you to become aware of just skewed the criminal justice system is! If you have ever shared, shouted or advocated for Black Lives Matter–then you should have no problem being a part of this! Black Lives Matter from womb to tomb and all points in between!

Help us to save Brandon!

Click the link and sign the petition!

Note: I know that Orange Thanos is ramping up all federal executions, the last to be on January 15, 2021, 5 days before the Inauguration of President Biden…on Martin Luther King, Jr’s birthday. We are not ignorant, but we will not be a lame duck as he is!

So It Happened…And I Blame My Best Friend.

TikTok - Make Your Day

I make no fuss about being a year (technically 6 months, and 20 days) from 40. There are certain things that I just don’t do. I mean, I am on social media and have met an awesome set of people between Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. I mean, I met my best friend through Twitter!

Yet, 6 plus month into this pandemic, my best asked me the question at least nine other people have asked me:

“Are you on TikTok?”

My answer was always a snarky, “I am almost 40! Why would I be on TikTok?! What do yo do on this?!” My business mentor had told our entrepreneur group that we needed to explore this medium, master it and get to using it! I ignored her and thought no more about it. That is, until my best friend told me my daughter was on the app. Not a problem! My bestie is an aunt to her, so she wasn’t just out on the ferocious internet with no one knowing–and she’s 13. The social media talk–like the sex talk–is normal part of raising kids in this millennium! But, game changed when my best friend of almost 5 years said, “Dude, are you on TikTok?”

Full stop.

Through text messages, I told her that I wasn’t. I told her why should I be? Her answer, just as snarky as mine: “Dude, what else are you going to do? It’s a pandemic!” Who am I to argue with that logic? And in mid-October, I filmed my first TikTok video. Now, almost two months later, I have over 6000 followers!

6000! Little ole me!

I have found community, virtual sisters, causes and a portion of Beyonce’s internet that is unapologetically Black! And, I have found a thriving writing community of people who look like me. All because I listened to my best friend…in a global pandemic.

Note: If you want to follow my awesome and be a Jayebird, find me as @whatjayesaid. I am now at the amount of followers where I can start going live! So if you can’t get enough of me, you can follow me here. Thanks!

Tuesday, November 3, 2020 Was The Scariest Night I Have Ever Lived Through.

I have never been so relieved to see the final version of a map in my life!

I exhaled when President-Elect Joe Biden won. I had been holding it since November 8, 2016. I was at work when the election was called for Donald Trump four years ago and had not even realized I had been holding my breath. I had taken a sabbatical from social media in September, determined not to venture back into the quagmire of social media until after this election.

I was scared. I was more scared than I have ever been in my life. And I have been in some scary, crazy situations in my almost four decades. But this? This here?! No, this fear was ancestral, primal and I have never felt more helpless! But I am getting ahead of myself.

I gave in to curiosity and turned on my television on Election Night, after working the night before–I stayed up to go vote. I didn’t want to risk going home, sleeping, and shenanigans break out about my poll place. For reference:  I am in a red state (Missouri), governed by a COVIDidiot (Gov. Mike “I hate science” Parsons), and I am a Black woman. I had my voter registration purged, and had to re-register. So participating in this election I knew would be a fight! But, I had been ready for it. And I put myself in seclusion since before Halloween. I turned by notifications off. I didn’t check Facebook. I didn’t go on TikTok. I hunkered down.

I waited. I prayed.

When I peeked at my social media because of curiosity, I almost started screaming crying. I saw a sea of red–just like in 2016! I saw Joe Biden’s lead shrink, and I panicked. All I saw was red, and as I sat in my apartment by myself, I fought tears. I was on the phone with my love and he told me, “It is going to be okay.” That was a slap in the face! I told him he had no idea what that meant! I told him how scared I was! I was scared for my daughters. Scared for my mother and sister. Scared for my godmother, queer family, activist family and everyone attached to me. I was so scared I wanted my father–and he has been dead for almost 20 years. I wanted my father because that was the only man that I had ever known that would be able to protect me and my daughters. I could not breathe. I called my Godmother Vickie and panicked in her Facebook inbox. She told me not to panic–and that brought me down from a 20 on a scale of 1-10, to a  solid 10.

My chest was tight. My hands cold. I paced through my house, and fought tears. I thought where I could go with  my girls. I am divorced from my first husband (and father of my children), and he lives deep in Trump Country Missouri. Due to paperwork and wording of my divorce decree, I couldn’t move without his ‘permission’. I knew he would never give it, and he would never let me leave! I knew he wouldn’t understand, and would not protect the girls like they would need! I knew that he would deny my fear, say I was overreacting and say I was ‘trying to take his kids.’ It was the most obscene sort of auction block. I could not be assured the father of my children would be able to protect them–or have the desire to!–and he would do all in his power to make my life a nightmare, while I try to protect these children from the world, the flesh and the devil! With that knowledge, I realized just for a moment, what the ancestors felt while enslaved. I was in a land where the people in it wanted my death, my body or my complete erasure. And there was nothing I could do about it! NOTHING!

I got to bed after 2:00 AM that night. And it took all of my faith to pray, and pray to sleep.

My mother, my sister and I supported one another through this madness! My  mother and sister were watching CNN/MSNBC as recounts were happening, and when the mail-in ballots where added and the map began to change. We all watched and prayed. Prayed and watched, needed Nevada, Georgia, Arizona and Pennsylvania to certify their results and call this election.

It was my sister that texted me to let me know Saturday, November 7, 2020 at 10:41 AM CST this:  “Biden wins Pennsylvania, biden in the 46th president elect! “bout to lose ‘yo job!” Then, I exhaled. I know that President-Elect Biden is not White Savior. Yet, neither is he a incarnation of  Nero, starving for the blood of the poor, Black, Brown, Latinx, queer, Muslim, etc. There is still work to do, and now that I can breathe? I can fight again. Too much depends on the next four years to be silent!

Special thanks to my TikTok fam for getting me through the crazy of Election Night and the days that followed!  Namely Conscious Lee (@theconsciouslee); Quentin (@quentinjiles); Tommy (@my_doode); Jason (@bardude97);  Nicole (@nikkinoo813); Sunny (@_sunny_laluz) and Tiffany (@doubledeemuva). If you want to follow me, I am @whatjayesaid.

Ready For ‘Winter’

*Note: The other books in this series are based around the characters found in the book THE COLDEST WINTER EVER, written by Sister Souljah in April 1999. I suggest that you read this before reading this book–or reading it again. This book will be released March 2021.

The Coldest Winter Ever starts off with this sentence:

“I came busting out of my momma’s big coochie on January 28, 1977, during one of New York’s worst snowstorms.” This is how the main protagonist, Winter Santiaga, got her name.

From that point, with that sentence, I finished the book in two days! I was actually mad–I was legit ANGRY!–that I had to go to bed! Sister Souljah became my favorite writer (and she makes her own cameo in this first book!) and I devoured everything she wrote, and everything she said, or had to say.


She was unapologetically Black, smart and knew what it was like to grow up broke, Black and brilliant. With that said, when I found out that we as the audience would here more from Winter, find out what happened to her siblings (Porsche and Mercedes), her father whom was in jail–and all her girls she was locked up with after her 15 year bid! Man, don’t even get me started on the last dude she was messing with that let her take that case, her not snitching, and the abortion she had! And she saw her mother get hooked on crack?! Whew!

Through this pandemic, I find and continue to find solace in books by Black authors, the platforms we provide (and are building), and the joy that reading gives. How fitting it is for one of my favorite authors to come through with this fitting sequel!

I don’t want to hear anything about how long it took her to write this sequel! If you had read the first book, you would be aware just why it needed to take this long. You cannot rush Black excellence.

The Road So Far…And Its End.

After 15 seasons…

I made the mistake of reading the synopsis of the series finale of SUPERNATURAL.

I read it.

I read it at work.

I read about my guy DYING—at work!

Now, I have made no secret that I am Dean Girl. I have been since 2005! I have liked Jensen Ackles since he was Eric Brady, but that’s another story. But, there was something about this show, it’s writing and the characters that drew me in. It was the bravado that he had which made me forget about my broken heart over the man whom shares the same name as the problematic angel in the show!

I still don’t think that’s a coincidence. But, I digress.

But this, this hits different! For fifteen years, I have seen this character grow, grow up, DIE (at least like 6 times!), and to just have Dean just be GONE?! I feels like a Puric victory! But yet, it feels fitting that I learn about his final passing into this Valhalla at work.

At work!

All of me is happy though, and impressed! This series finale was fitting. It was quiet, it was noble, loving and worthy of its dedicated fan base. It didn’t go out with a bang; my heart in my chest for months; I wasn’t in tears until Dean and Sam came back—they are gone now.

Resting. Happy and resting.

How fitting that the guy that made the snarky remarks, and looks incredibly sexy holding a shotgun, get to Heaven and wait on his little brother.

The boys are gone, y’all. Our boys are gone…

Carry On Our Wayward Son indeed.

Hold on! But I got on question: Who is Dean’s (Sam’s son)mom?!😳😳😳😳😳

Insert Dean voice: “SONOFAB——!” They did it to me again!