happy. birthday.

My sophomore year of college, I was seriously fighting depression. There was no escape. My soul was trapped in the tunnel of turmoil. I heard screams all day and all night.

My heart was dead.

Now, looking back, I realized that I was in a place of not knowing who I am. But within the last year, I have re-discovered who I am.

I am a lady who is passionate of almost everything. I am an emotional being. I feel every type of emotion. It beats through my chest. It is a beautiful flaw.

My life flashed through my eyes the night I turned 24 years old. It is too late to care about the past. It is over and done with. I need to focus on what my present has for me.

I have so many amazing opportunities that are blooming like the tulips on a fresh Sunday morning. And I plan to not let anything stop me.

I promise.

The truth about Me.

My affliction gave me a pleasure unspoken of... a feeling that left me wanting more...

Why do so many women hate themselves? What a tragedy...

Sometimes, those vile nightmares still sneak into my bed, roll under my covers... in each breath, my dreams are paralyzed by the scent of hell. Point blank, I used to hate myself.

It was a wicked disease, crawling beneath my skin.

Musk of hurt, disappointment, shame and guilt transmitted from my brain into my soul. Detrimental.

I hated my dark skin. I hated my nappy hair. I hated my fragile body. I hated how I didn't accomplished anything great like my counterparts, and if I did, it was never ever good enough.

But nobody knew. Which made it worse.

Days of suckling on the Devil's venom of self-destruction were woven into my addiction.
In the past, I was a coward. Not to face the world. But to love myself.

...would you believe that I just started truly loving myself?

It's amazing how God loves us when we don't even love ourselves... Now ain't that the truth?

diary.

Sometimes I wonder where I would be if I didn't pray.

My relationship with God has grown immensely. So deep and rich... I get high off waking up with the thought of Jesus sticking to my mind.

I am a victim of a lot of things. However, I wish not to say of what... because I no longer claim those things.

It is so funny right now. Whenever I face the world, I have so much to think about. So much to want to write those thoughts out. Yet, once I sit in front of my tiny electronic notepad, I have absolutely nothing to write about. I find that odd. My thoughts run away. And I don't know why.

Perhaps, it's fear of writing down the Truth.

confessions.of.a.beauty.queen.

I hate my skin. It is so black.

I hate my hair. It is so thick and not "good hair."

I hate my body. It is so short and skinny, and of course, no boobs.

I hate my voice. It is too soft and weak.

I hate my smile. It is way too big.

So, I thought.


In silence, I wept bitterly because no one thought I was a precious pretty little girl (Again, so, I thought). My soul was slaughtered with self-hatred and persecutions of shame.

THEN IT HAPPENED.

I started to learn about myself. Then I started to like myself. Then I started to love myself and still, I am enriched in the epiphany of self-love.

I love my chocolate skin. It's rich, exotic, and too damn delicious to admire.

I love my hair. I had naturally long hair to short boy cut. Regardless on the style, interwoven with weave or not, my hair is flowing with health.

I love my body. It is petite and fun-sized. As for the boobs, one word. Push-up bra. God is a genius. hahaha.

I love my voice. It is soft, soothing, inviting and feminine.

As for my smile, it is still big and wide, but Bodacious!!


There are HUNDREDS crippled little girls who are defiled, hating themselves, thinking such foolish thoughts I once feast upon daily. I pray that one day, they look in the mirror and cherish their unfading God-given beauty...

...like I finally did.

all.men.are.dogs.

All men are dogs.

Well, at least the ones I've dated. Most of them.

Others were just mistakes.ugh.

But then I STOPPED serving KIBBLE AND BITS and starting cooking up Filet Mignon in red wine and balsamic vinegar.

....and Reginald D. Johnson, Sr. pulled up a seat.

I simply love my man. He is a warrior. Not because he is fighting a rare brain cancerous disease, but because he indulges in my tasty love everyday.

I am his Queen, with his pure love dripping all over every inch of my body. Who needs diamonds when you could have such a love so rich? So precious? So rare?

He fulfills me.

Mentally.

Physically.

Spiritually.

All through high school and college, I fell for the cuties who were delicious but were too tart to taste. To be real, they just treated me like shit.

But one night, an angel came down, wiped my tears and told me to STOP.

Like my girl Wilson says, every woman has a light bulb that will turn on when she is fed up. Until her light flashes on, she will continue to allow men... excuse me, dogs to treat her like a piece of savory bacon.

But I met him. Reggie. The man who truly covered my bruised heart with his blanket of solace. And healed it.

Countless nights of warm thoughts. Because the Prince of my dreams have arrived and stayed by my side, my everyday life is a fantasy. A real love story.

Finally, a man who is a man and who loves me. And not ashamed of being loved back by his beautiful Black Queen.

Why do YOU hate me? And Her?

Envy is poison.

She bathes in sin.

Hate flows out her mouth, gently over her lips and teeth.

Each spit of deceit from her twisted tongue and jealous lips crushes her spirit.

Black little girls' self-esteems bleed death. And that's only the beginning, so we believe.

What constitutes this? SELF-HATRED.

We let each other sink. And because of this, more black women are crying. and dying. and still killing.

Why do we cane each other with whippings of brutality? And not healing?

Because we kill each other's spirit.

We depend on men to nurse us back to health, suckling on their lies as we lay on their chests, giving our children's blood as we engage in unhealthy and even unwanted sexual relations.

Jealously is unyielding as the graveyard.

Love is strong as death. But Jealousy potion is sweeter. And we are all dying to get a sip.

Angels Breath...

My boyfriend is fighting brain cancer.

Devastating, right?

Not really.

His cancer integrated into my body and spread into my heart.

Cancer kills. But it gives New appreciation for life.

Tiny angels have rescued his soul.

We both grieve in our unfailing love. We rejoice because each sunrise is the gateway to a new day to gain an excellent standing and great assurance in our faith.

The discovery of his rare brain disease has taken a toll on him physically. But not his mind.

We can't control every thought. But we can fully be certain to think about what are thinking about.

His brain tissue may not be hearty, but his mind is.

"You're blessed when you get your inside world-your mind and heart-put right. Then you can see God in the outside world." ~Matthews 5:8

Cancer is scary. But life isn't.

Be reverent.

"And keep living."

At least, that is what Reggie says.

So, it must be true.