Love. But keep it casual.

Two months before my senior year began, my mom walked in on me, in the basement of my family home, with my pants down around my ankles.
That day she got a view of my vagina she hadn’t seen since early childhood, and honey, I’ve changed some.

It was really what was behind me, rather pressed …and pushing into me, that was what she soon would take issue with. A man, she didn’t know, yet was quickly getting to know more of, the longer she stood there.

In hindsight, better her than my dad…

All the same, it set the tone for one very peculiar senior year…


I can’t…

I said, holding my paint brush nursing both my 8 month old son (ask later, motherhood is complex)and a blank canvas.

I just couldn’t.

Or so my brain kept telling me, as it searched for lines, tracings or anything that would dictate whether or not it was “doing a good or bad job”.

Parameters, guidelines, for godsake someone come punish me already for the stroke that I’m just thinking about making because right now I’m already beating myself up for merely thinking about freely moving my hand, guiding that brush around my canvas.

It felt like hours were…


Alicia and Denise

Outside of my healthy appreciation for her swag, her looks, her sense of style *insert drool emoji*

Me: Dude, have you seen Master of None season 3?

To my horror. To my shock. But not my total surprise…

Him: Nah, Lena is on my prohibited watch list

I googled my good attractive sis and found that there seems to be a thread of people who aren’t fucking with her work. Granted, the artist’s life is one of pure subjectivity, WHICH IF YOU WATCHED, she takes us on a poetically shot cinematic expression of just that struggle.

Look, I get it.


Today I am paying gratitude to my masculine shield.

Thank you for my masculine training.

I thank it for the protection that he provided my soft and tender center.

I am thankful to be who I am. Though I wonder, if I was raised soft and not strong who would I have been. Would I have made it? My strong forging a path so my tender could smooth over.

I lay him down with respect and honor; thank you for shielding my quiet, my still place.

Today my true feminine essence is invited to stand in her grace.

Softly.

I…


PORSHA. PORSHA. PORSHA.

The worst is undoubtedly upon us.

I don’t know if I should be belting out Jolene or whoop that trick.

Before you ask, no. I don’t even like him like that — like that

But let us be clear, HE IS MINE.

*long drawn out sigh*

Fine, fine, fine.

She and I aren’t best friends.

At one time, we were friends enough to know quasi intimate detail about each other at one point, we may have had a few kiki moments in college, and there was that one time I paid her to babysit, and I held space for her to talk during a rough patch.


Yes, they’re adorable, and Zola definitely got the assignment in last week's episode, but geeeeezus.

Zola in the performance that brought me to tears and Mer to life.

Look, I know what you’re going to say. “They’re kids; they need their mom,” yeah yeah yeah… we get it. Don’t worry; I’m a mom. I have kids; I can say this.

WHAT ABOUT WHAT I NEED?!?!

FUCK THEM, DAMN KIDS.

And for but a few sweet, dreamy blue-eyed moments, Mer did just that. There we were staring blissfully in the eyes of McDreamy, beachside in postmarital bliss, which I’ve not yet personally experienced, but I hear it is a thing. …


Ladylike ladies, ladying.

Those are the words I furiously pecked out on my phone to text her father, full of emotion.

Fury, rage, all masking fear.

Who even says that to her 8-year old daughter…ugh.

I’m spiraling. What does a lady sit like even mean? Furthermore, why should she have to?

Don’t mind me I’m just processing my fear and emotions around having a daughter grow up in a hyper-sexual culture and I’m afraid for her innocence. I want to protect her I am also realizing I can’t. It’s not her or her clothes. She should get to be free.

And believe me, she’s as free as they…


Talk to me how you would talk Mrs. Teri, dammit…

Those are the words that fell out of my very frustrated mouth and through the house to only fall loosely on the ears of my 8 (going on 16) year old daughter. It was the third time in less than a half-hour that I had asked her to just put the fitted sheet on the bed so that she could take her ass to sleep. A task that now takes us anywhere upwards of an hour and a half, bordering two hours. My patience was low. I could have been…


Today was one of the best days of my life.

It was. And frankly, nothing extraordinary happens, and everything was perfect.

My brother and I completed our first pilot together, my kids and I enjoyed time in the park with friends, we saw the best sunset, and then I got to lay in bed with them both and just listen to their laughs and breath in the essence of childhood.

No engagement, no lottery, not even an AMG, none of the things that I thought would have happened to experience feelings.

Yet there I was, having the time of my…

Miriam Gray

29 yrs. a black + woman. 9 yrs. a mom Lifetimes a god.

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