Wait…what?

Harbouring negative energy.

Intentionally or not,

Feeds your pride.

Feeds your anger.

Re-ignites your natural competitive self and it’s urge to win a war between emotions.

Do I give in like a sucka and be happy?

Or, do I magnify my pride see how long I can deal with this negative energy while potentially harming others?

Wait…what?

How is that NOT an obvious decision…

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My husband and I….got this.

So, its been a few days since I’ve written anything. Nothing has really stood out to me to write about. I have opened my laptop, sat there for a few minutes, but nothing.

But, today.

Oh, Sunday, how the hell are ya?

Today, I have something to talk about.

PARENTING

I have 3 daughters. Ages 10, 6, and 2. They are my line 🙂

I am a pretty easy-going person. I don’t get offended. It’s really hard to push my buttons. I genuinely like to meet new people and help others when I can, blah, blah, blah.

Man, listen. The only thing that can really piss me off is when my line is crossed. My children are and forever will be THAT line. I can not stand these parents that allow their children to become fucking bullies. I absolutely hate people who use their kids as leverage in any situation. But, the one thing that can send me over the edge without a second thought, is somebody trying to tell me HOW to raise my kids or trying to go against what I am teaching my children!

Everyone was raised different.

Everyone has a back story.

I welcome advice with open arms.

But, do NOT contradict the shit I am instilling in my girls. My oldest daughter is the most respectable, well-mannered, responsible 10 year old I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. My kindergartner is at the top of her class. My baby….well, she’s grown as fuck but that’s neither here nor there, you get it. Basically, I am not perfect. I am learning more and more about parenting as I go. Half of the time, I don’t know what to do. But what I do know is that NOBODY can raise MY kids better than me and my Mr.

Rant over.

Be easy.IMG_20180415_160912_1.jpg

 

 

Like Dis Shit

The need to feel accepted or validated is now measured by the click of a button.
It’s amazing the standards that we have and how low they are.
We are letting people who we more than likely don’t even know, control how we feel about ourselves.
We let the “like” button decide whether our significant other is loyal or if he is a dog.
The “like” button is symbolic for sarcasm if you “like” an enemies post.
Bitch, I see you.
We have turned into a bunch of attention seeking, thirst trapping, “like” needing muhfuckas that don’t know which way is up if no one responds to our posts.
One of three things I saw a lot on social media:
“Y’all some haters! Delete yourself or see if you make the cut.”
“I see nobody liked that last pic, it’s cool though”
*completely removes post*
Women, I mean girls, are now getting naked for the attention of a double tap, but then have the nerve to call somebody “thirsty” if they try to holla.
You’re the thirsty one, setting up “traps” for niggas you wouldn’t give the time of day in the first place, but then turn around and want him to “like” your picture so that YOU can feel good about yourself.
Wait…what?
NEWSFLASH!!! You’re not liked, your titties are. Have some respect.
The “like” button is now a means of communicating.
Its how we flirt, it’s how we give a seal of approval, it’s how we feel validated.
If the “like” button isn’t clicked enough, or your picture isn’t “double-tapped” enough, you feel less than.
Your confidence takes a downward spiral towards this virtual bucket of rejection.
This bucket is full of people’s self-esteem, self-respect, and self-love.
Self.
It’s your own fault.
You are the dictator of your emotions and your validation.
No one, not even your parents can tell you how to feel about YOU.
If you feel “less than” due to someone else’s opinion of you, you’re already behind in the game playa.
It’s a fuckin button.
Don’t let the internet dictate your worth.
Set your own standards.

Under Construction

The road down memory lane is always under construction.

Sometimes I can catch it when I smell a certain smell, feel a certain warmth from the wind, or taste a certain taste.

But other than that, its always changing route.

Memories flood in at the most random of times with the most random of content.

Some good, some not so good.

Sometimes I wish I could take a proverbial U-turn and go back to only the best days of my life. The days when I wore a smile everyday.

I watched Rugrats with my sister when daycare was over.

We took Saturdays out to eat and Sundays in church.

Never feeling un-loved.

Those are the memories that aren’t on heavy repeat to show up at random.

Instead, they’re replaced by constant reminders of the most tumultuous times.

Ain’t that a bitch.

 

I have a potty-mouth. Deal with it.

Yes, I curse. Maybe more than I should, but who cares. That’s me.

Its been more than a handful of times when I say “Damn, I should stop cussing so much”. But that is quickly followed by me dropping the “f-bomb” or something else explicit.

Why do I need to stop cussing?

Because it can potentially make some people uncomfortable. So fuckin what.

But, it’s not lady-like.

I’ve never claimed to be a lady. But I am human-like, so what’s up?

You have kids.

And.

So.

People try so hard to hide certain aspects of life from their children as if they’re never going to grow up and experience it. My kids hear my husband and I cuss, but they’re disciplined enough to know damn good and well that THEY don’t do the shit.

Do as I say, not as I do, children.

Not that I need to justify, but this is I, (yes me intentionally put I) and I use cuss words as a way to express certain emotions, situations, whatever the case may be. I’m not unintelligent or lack a vocabulary. Cussing just happens to be a part of it as well.

I am not a robot and I do not conform to the standards that society has set out for me. I’ve grown enough to realize that regardless of what you do, it will never be enough. I could stop cussin and never say another shit, damn, fuck, bitch EVER again in life. But, what’s next? What will society nit-pick at next?

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

So just say fuck it and DO muhfucka.

Fuck It

I’m just going to start right here.

Since yesterday, I’ve been having the toughest time writing anything. Well, I would start something and then stop because I wasn’t diggin’ it too much. Then, I’m back at square one. Its just crazy how I can have so many ideas in my head and not know where to start. So i just said fuck it. I’m going to start typing, and whatever comes out, just is what it is.

At the moment, I am in my bedroom, sitting on the sofa listening to music. “Dreams” by Twista bringing back memories. I had to be about 15 when this song came out. Lol OMG I was talking to this guy I met on Myspace named Aaron. Never met his ass in person TO THIS DAY but he was cool.

He told me about this song.

Speaking of, this song is dope but its kind of fucked up. Nah, it IS fucked up. He is basically selling dreams to this woman he wants to smash throughout the entire song. Telling her all the things he can do for her and all the shit he can buy because he has so much dough.

For some ass…

First of all…he’s a ridiculous amount of lame for having to lie to get sex. That’s some basic nigga shit. Like, apparently you were threatened by whomever this woman was and your abilities to measure up for you to have to fabricate. But, on the other hand, you saw her as an easy lay if all you had to do was tell her some basic shit because she falls for basic niggas, regardless of your stature.

Shit, I don’t know.

I like Twistas’ music for the most part, but up until RIGHT NOW I never really analyzed that song. The hook is dope and it plays nice through my headphones and speakers.

Oh boredom, how I love thee.

 

 

 

 

 

Uncategorized Thought…

So, I don’t know which direction I’m headed in yet. As far as this writing thing goes. I LOVE to write and express myself via vocabulary, but what do I do with it? Do I keep it in my journals like I’ve done since I was 9? Or, do I keep it in my head until it overflows out of my ears into the atmosphere with no destination?

Shit, I don’t know, I don’t even know when I decided to grow mentally, but I’m glad I did. I have never known how to tap into my emotions or even allow myself to acknowledge their existence.

I was numb.

For about 15 years, I was numb.

Strolling through life until it ended. No goals. No desires. No love. I was a shell of a human. Looking at the world through distorted glasses. But that was my reality. I knew of nothing else but the black and grey life.

Love wasn’t there.

I felt alone most days and nights. Waterfalls of tears cascading down my face until my eyes dried. Or until my pillow was drenched. But why?

I knew why I was crying but I didn’t know why I chose crying as a coping mechanism. It never worked, only made me sleepy and my eyes red. My problems were still there.

So I stopped.