Category Archives: women

My Semi-Celibate Life [By Dana Sukontarak]

July 19, 2017

For the Twenties Unscripted fifth anniversary, I’ve invited five writers who have been anchors throughout my journey to contribute guest posts during the month. I asked each writer to pen whatever they’d like relative to the theme of transformation and turning tides.

Next up is Dana Sukontarak.

Dana is the rebel. From tweets to the essays in her book “Men”, Dana pulls no punches. She isn’t someone I always talk about when I mention my blogging folks, but she is someone to whom I’m forever indebted. Years ago, she helped me unearth my voice and vulnerability when I contributed an essay about my sexual assault to her then-website The Apposite. Her writing has always wowed me, challenged me and raised the hair on my arms just a little bit. I think that’s what excellent writing does; it blows us away all while making us think or rethink about the lens through which we view the world.

I hope you enjoy Dana’s contribution to this series, “My Semi-Celibate Life.”


In my early twenties, I have often confused a sexual prowess with what could more accurately be described as sexual irrationality. I once treated sex like a conquest. I lost my virginity 10 years ago. In that time, I’d never stopped to consider the negative implications of my self-proclaimed sexual liberation. Now, I’m 28, in the midst of my languid late twenties. I no longer have the energy for certain things. I have become selective about the assignment of my time, money, and emotions. I recently came to the realization that sex has consistently clouded my judgment since the time I began having it. I’d never considered a self-imposed hiatus until this year. My celibacy was all but absolute, but even short stretches of consciously sex-free days allowed me to see many things in a clearer light.

This year, I came face to face with someone who’d broken my heart two years ago. The summer of our breakup, I had sex with a lot of different people. I guess I thought it would help my healing, or maybe I was content in denying there was healing to do. After much turmoil and many unanswered emails, I saw him on my work plaza at 8:30 one morning, walking a new way to the train and passing me in the opposite direction. We had an awkward but friendly conversation that led to friendly messages that led to a month of us talking and having sex twice within one week. He knew I was trying to be celibate. We did it anyway. We talked about a lot, he cried and apologized. He told me he’d been at home for most of the past two years, cautious not to run into me because our feelings were still too alive. He seemed genuinely remorseful for how he left, which was suddenly and for his emotionally manipulative ex. Still, he didn’t want to pursue a relationship with me. He wanted to be single, but he still started arguments with me for hanging out with another guy I’d dated after him.

I told him that I was glad we reconnected, but didn’t want to continue anything sexual. The almost month I’d spent without sex leading up to our tryst had instilled me with logic in the face of potential orgasms. I did the math and it wasn’t worth it. We had gambled once before, and quickly run short on beginner’s luck. I knew that history would repeat itself. He told me he was unable to even be around me, as a friend, if he knew sex wasn’t on the table.

It was a jarring experience, hearing my worthiness equated to my willingness to fuck, by someone I thought I loved and respected. Since then I have been considering the importance of sex, but mostly, I have been considering the ways I’d been using sex.

I realized I’d been having sex for a number of differently problematic reasons: control, affection, and validation, to name a few. I was doing it casually, but less for pleasure than for intimacy. Sometimes, I was doing it with people I didn’t care for, but forced myself to pretend to want to care. I often made sex into a challenge, focusing on conquering another person’s attention and emotions. It was all ownership and entitlement, under the guise of a deep and meaningful connection. I’d been absentmindedly ruled by oxytocin and directed by a dark, subconscious urge to manipulate and manage another person. Sex was imbued with expectation. It paved the way for disappointment when reality did not align. Sex had become a complication, more of an empty investment than a satisfying experience. Of course, sometimes I’d feel like doing it. But that desire was already being snuffed by my interest in growing and connecting in other ways.

Love is not about sex. Sex is not impossible without, but better with love. Sex is a very fragile thread to tie heartstrings with. Sex should supplement, not supplant an emotional connection. It took me ten years and a lot of sex to come to these conclusions. Sex is special and confusing. It is a powerful thing to share with another person, but used too often in the wrong ways.

A previous version of me may have begged for him to stay, to concede to his notion that our sex was an all-important form of communication between us and should flow freely as such. This version of me knows that sex is as important as we make it. And right now, it’s really not that important at all.

Dana is a 28-year-old writer and editor from Washington, D.C. You can follow her on Twitter at @UnlimitedDana or visit her blog here. Her first book ‘Men’ is a collection of writing about love and relationships released in 2016. It can be purchased here.

Motherhood as Poetry: Digging In With Erica Nichole

March 28, 2017

Editor’s note: Erica Nichole is the voice behind www.everythingenj.com. You can follow along her motherhood journey on Instagram at @edotnichole.

Erica and me // 2014

To Erica: We were just kids back then. We were two women writing our way through and fighting hard to find our footing in an online world that barely knew our names. At least that’s how I remember that serendipitous day back in November 2013 when we met for the first time at brunch on 140 7th Street.

It’s nearly impossible to believe all that has transpired between us and within our spheres since then. Losses and gains. Accolades and upsets. Ripped ropes and restoration. Beginnings and endings. Ground zeroes and heavenly skies.

Erica, you are my soul sister. Through and through. To the moon and back.

I can’t tell the Internet world exactly what I said on a hot day in late summer when you asked me to be Kairie’s godmother. But what I can say is that I have always believed in living a big life, and when you entrusted me with that responsibility, you made my life that much bigger. You made it grand. You made my world extend beyond myself. I am so honored and excited to share a bit of your motherhood story here. Your motherhood – how it ebbs and flows, how you share it and protect it, how it moves and matures – has always been a unique and sacred form of poetry.

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During the past year, we have witnessed your evolution from a mother of two to a mother of three. This coincides with the ways in which you’ve changed as a writer and storyteller. Tell us a little more about what’s been surging through your head and heart in the past year. 

Wow. Well, I believe giving birth to a daughter after having two sons changed the dynamics of how I view womanhood and motherhood, and those two things definitely are large components of my writing. Looking back at my journey of storytelling over the years, there was a rawness to my words and tying that into life at home with boys, reflected my style of parenting–being very straightforward, no cookie-cutter, unfiltered truth. In having a girl, that same way of guiding her is going to exist, but I’ve been focusing a lot more on my words and my why’s. Part of that is attributed to my own mother who was very straight-to-the-point, but didn’t explain the methods to her madness, so there was an air of mystery to her that complicated how I looked at parenting. I said that if I ever had a daughter, going into depth with things as to help her develop a sense of understanding on what we go through as women would play a major role in how I raise her. That promise I made to myself for her manifested itself in the letter I wrote to her which to me, is the strongest piece of writing I ever put together.

Although you were on sabbatical from blogging throughout your pregnancy, you often times chronicled your experiences through social media, specifically Facebook. What about social media lends itself to self-expression in a way that’s different from blogging?

I think with blogging, you have to be very strategic about content, especially if you’re aiming to make the shift from an online space to a brand. That’s at the forefront of my mind at this stage with Everything ENJ, so I knew that I wanted to come back strong and that would be through the open letter after my daughter was born. With social media, I was able to get my thoughts out in a way that wasn’t so structured, but still allowed me to document my pregnancy without thinking too deeply about format or editing. With blogging, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can be a bit of a perfectionist, whereas on platforms like Facebook where I’m ‘friends’ with people I actually know outside of the screen, I write without much thought about “fancying” the content. The smaller pieces on social media segue into bigger posts on the blog which is a good balance for me as far as writing on different scales.

Since your daughter Kairie was born, you have combined stunning black and white photos with short narrative on Instagram in such a captivating way. How does photography enhance your work as a storyteller? How do the two forms of art play off of one another?

As a storyteller, it’s important to paint a picture to draw the reader into my reality. For me, I found it’s one thing to write on the memory of what something was; its another to have the ability to capture an exact moment in time and be able to relive that experience through visuals that make for more in-depth storytelling. You can look at a photo and form your own conclusions on the why and the how behind it, which is one of the things I love about photography, but it’s fusing a personal narrative with what you see that changes the point of view. I’ve always said “shifting the perspective” is one of my top goals as a writer. So incorporating pictures gives the reader direct access into what it is I’m seeing and drawing inspiration from exactly; adding a blurb or an entire blog post gives the reader insight without room for interpretation, from the angle of a mother.

Erica’s children (L to R)
Kairie – 3 months
Kamryn -7
Kaevon – 8 [photo by Erica Nichole]

You also do a great job anchoring your work with quotes and voices of other writers. What are some of your favorite quotes about motherhood?

Thanks! There are so many words I use from women of color, women that are mothers, women that have never bore children in my work, but my favorites are from Black women in the arts. I love a quote from Toni Morrison that says:

“…I never felt more free in my life until I had children. They were just the opposite of a burden. But for Black women, enslaved, to have a child that you were responsible for that was really was, that was really freedom. Cause they took those children; you didn’t have children; you may have produced them, but they weren’t yours. They could be sold [and] were sold. To be a mother was the unbelievable freedom.”

A quote from Jada Pinkett-Smith that reads:

“I think the re-massaging that we, as mothers, need to have and gravitate to is that you have to take care of yourself in order to have the alignment and power to take care of others at the capacity that we do, because it fills the well. What I believe that I do takes so much energy, so much work from the heart, spirit, and creativity, that I have to be responsible enough to take care of me.”

And a quote from Shonda Rhimes:

“All the greeting cards are about sacrifice. ‘Mother, you gave up so much for me. You worked so hard for me. You sacrificed so much. You were so wonderful and giving and selfless.’ Where is the greeting card that says, ‘Mother, you taught me how to be a powerful woman,’ ‘Mother, you taught me how to earn a living,’ ‘Mother, you taught me how to speak up for myself and not back down?’ Those are the greeting cards that should be out there. Those are the qualities that we would want for our daughters to have. I don’t want my daughters to grow up and think, ‘I should shrink and be in the background. I should be selfless. I should be sacrificing. I should be silent.’ That’s not what I think a mother is.”

How would you describe each of your children?

Kae, 8, is definitely the most compassionate and sensitive of the bunch. His challenge is acceptance, and he tries really hard to fit in and make people laugh and feel good. When that falls through, it sort of crushes his spirit because he “feels” so much. So his dad and I are working on helping him understand rejection, while letting him know there’s nothing wrong with the emotions he shows. A lot of parents kill that side of Black boys from early on, and I really want him to embrace that, but channel it properly.

Kam, 7, is the more quirky child who dances to the beat of his own drum. He’s definitely the more rebellious one and fitting in isn’t his forte. He’s incredibly smart (he’s currently in first grade reading on a fourth grade level) and he likes to be left alone most times which he takes up from his father. I’m excited to see who he’ll evolve into over time just because there are already so many layers to him that are fascinating to witness.

Kai, 3 months, already displays sides to her that are interesting because I see so much of who I am now in her as a baby. She has sass, she has attitude, she demands attention that her brothers didn’t at that age. I think she’ll pose more challenges for me as a mother and there will be more self-examination as a woman being in her presence, and that’s what both excites and frightens me for the future.

Kae, 8 [photo by Erica Nichole]

I recently joked with GG that being a mother of three seems like it’s in a different stratosphere from being a mother of one or two. What’s different about you now as a mother of three? How have you changed as a parent since having your first child?

Ha, this reminds me of a quote that’s been circulating on Instagram that said “Having one child makes you a parent; Having two makes you a referee; Three or more? You’re basically a bouncer.” On the letter to Kairie, I went on this whole journey on my road to motherhood and reflecting on the last eight years has been cathartic. Having my sons in my early twenties and then back-to-back, I don’t think I ever had a chance to really sit back and spiritually measure how much I’ve grown through raising my children until piecing that together. I just wanted to get it [parenting] right.

When I had Kae, I was very much uncertain about who I was and again, my mother and her relationship with her mother set the tone for how I viewed motherhood. It took a lot of trial and error to figure out what it is I wanted to adopt from my upbringing and my mother’s methods of raising me. Honestly, I’m still trying to figure it out, but from Kae to Kai, I’m more patient with myself and with my children. I’m more accepting with failing than I was years ago. I’m more understanding of my shortcomings, but cognizant of the fact that the mistakes I make don’t define my motherhood and I have plenty of opportunities to shift those shortcomings into successes.

What is unique and special about mothering two black sons?

Teaching them that they’re valuable in a world that views them as disposable. Guiding Black sons and telling them they matter and more so, showing them they matter, is revolutionary. They’re very much well aware of color and I know that as they grow older, they’ll become increasingly conscious of how others view them. I hope they hold on to the words and the actions that live with them because it’s going to be vital for their survival. Being the root of their existence–not just in terms of being the vessel that carried them, but the one that raised them to believe the opposite of what the world will–makes mothering them special.

What is unique and special about mothering a black daughter?

Being a daughter who absorbed everything that was said and being a mother who writes, words will always take precedence in my style of parenting, so although it’s only been a few months, I’d say knowing the words I speak into my daughter will be the reason why she’ll hold herself at such high regard. Like her brothers, she’s going to hear she’s everything but worthy, and powerful, and magical from the world, but I pray none of that becomes her because she was raised listening to affirmations of her value. If that’s radical, so be it.

From Chrissy Teigen recently sharing her struggle with post partum to Beyoncé’s twins reveal, there is a lot of rhetoric in popular culture about pregnancy and motherhood. What is affirming about these narratives? What is challenging about them?

What’s affirming is knowing that although motherhood looks different for every woman, we all share similar stories about how our lives are changed through our children. We all experience some form of loss and gain. In Chrissy’s story, it’s feeling like she lost herself after giving birth to her child; in Beyoncé’s, it’s having the ability to bare twins after having a miscarriage. No two mothers, as no two children, are the same, but it’s that underlying theme that connects us. That’s the human experience.

The challenge, however, is determining how much of your motherhood should be exposed. I remember posing a question on my Facebook when I was pregnant with Kairie on a parent’s decision to share photos of newborn babies and the feedback was mixed. There were mothers who felt women shouldn’t “tease” the public; then there was the other side that thought mothers shouldn’t have to prove something so private. Social media is to thank or blame for this.

I think with Bey and the controversy that surrounded her pregnancy with Blue sort of came this demand to share pictures of your belly. That’s unfortunate because the world we live in calls for constant access to your every move and your body. We’re sharing maternity photos and milestones, we’re sharing stretch marks and breastfeeding journeys, and while a lot of those things should be celebrated in hopes of normalizing them, it just sucks that some mothers feel the need to give, give, give just to satisfy a cultural desire and prove a point instead of aiming to shift the narrative.

Kairie, 3 months [photo by Erica Nichole]

What’s next for you as a mother? As a writer?

Well, I’m done in the baby department, so I’m just excited to raise my children and watch them grow because I know with that comes more growth within me. They’ve been my greatest teachers.

As a writer, Everything ENJ is about to undergo a major makeover for my thirtieth birthday, so that means more content soon! Nothing will change as far as what I write about, but I’ll be documenting more on motherhood because the vision is to have my children read the blog in the future. I have a few surprises I hope to roll out by the end of the year, and early next year that involves working alongside other writers, so fingers crossed that comes into fruition. And I hope to write for one or two major online spaces, so I’ll be jumping back into the pitching pool, too, in hopes of strengthening my writing.

Finish this sentence: Motherhood is: a testament to the depths of love, a reflection of ourselves through our creations, and a signifier that God does exists.

Erica Nichole is a twenty-something native New Yorker, mother of two boys and one daughter, a woman in a complicated situation and the writer behind Everything EnJ. She has penned for notable outlets including VIBE Vixen and xoNecole. Connect with Erica Nichole via Twitter and Instagram and @edotnichole.

To The Man On A Friday Night Who Insisted That I Smile

March 13, 2017

You are not thinking about this anymore. You have taken scores of footsteps since that moment. You’ve probably downed a few more beers. You’ve slept and worked and laughed and done all of the things simple people with simple lives do. But, I am almost certain that you are not thinking about this anymore.

But I am still thinking about this. I am thinking about this enough that I jotted down notes about our interaction one night while lying in a hotel bed somewhere in the Financial District. I am thinking about that five minute exchange between us that left me with too many words I should have shared that night.

I did not smile as I leaned over and asked the bartender for another glass of Sauvignon Blanc. More specifically, I did not smile at you. I did not smile at you because I did not want to, and that should have been enough. It should have been adequate. It shouldn’t have called anything about me or my character or the tone of the night I was having into question.

But it wasn’t sufficient for you. A woman electing to keep her countenance solemn was not OK because somewhere written in your book of life, “Pretty women should smile.”

And when I still did not smile because I was acute enough not to merely bat my eyelashes at a backhanded compliment, you asked why I had an attitude. I told you that you were misusing the word, that an attitude is simply a feeling, and every human being has an attitude at any given moment of any given day. I shared that I am a writer by nature and a communicator by trade, so words matter. If you wanted to chat about attitudes and such, I required you to come more correct than that.

I still did not smile.

And the last thing you said to me is what’s been burning in the back of both of my ears. The last thing you said is what’s left me replaying that conversation and gritting my teeth. Because “Pretty women should smile” didn’t work and “Why do you have an attitude?” also crashed and burned, you tried a new conversational tactic. You told me that these situations–where men engage with me and insist that I smile–would happen often in life. You told me I should just get used to them.

I told you to have a good night.

But, what I wanted to tell you is that your so-called wisdom didn’t translate. It didn’t seep somewhere deep into my psyche and galvanize a change in how I respond to men like you. You can’t teach me the things I’ve already learned and experienced. See, I have known how some men think some women should behave since the moment my hips began curving like Coke bottles.

You are not the first man who insisted that I smile. You absolutely will not be the last.

I have been told to smile on street corners and in the same breath been called unkind names. I have crossed the street at intersections that would not lead to my destination in order to avoid head-on collisions with men I don’t trust. I have worn the war paint of averted eyes coupled with straight lips. And in spite of all of these things, some days I still lose the battle of making my way through the world as a person and not a possession.

i know these things are nothing new. These words are a drop in the ocean of how women who do not smile upon command feel. Women have had the seemingly innocent sins of men stuck to them like gum on the bottom of good sneakers forever.

But, today, I had to get your gum off of my good sneakers. So I penned a few sentences. I did not fancy them up. I did not paint them in my poetry. I did not do them the artistic justice they probably deserved. Because pretty women should not necessarily smile. But they should let their words take shape before something uglier inside of them does.

Xoxo,
Tyece

On Being a Corporate Creative

February 21, 2017

I’ve teamed up with State Farm® as part of their Color Full Lives campaign, an initiative that promotes positivity & empowerment and celebrates all women in the African American community through a multitude of experiential and digital engagements. You know how this works-views, opinions, and musings of the unscripted kind are all my own. 

Somewhere along the line, I threw away either/or and picked up this and that. Somewhere along the line, I quit trying to commit to just one, linear, easily identifiable road and instead started making sense of my identity as a corporate creative. To paraphrase a tweet I recently read, I started to realize my plurality. I began to understand that the path I’m sculpting is complete with twists and turns, but it does not necessarily include some sort of fork in the road that will require me to choose one route.

My heart doesn’t vibrate accordingly to one passion. Instead, I am an assortment of layers. Interests. Skills. Talents. I am equally invested in my career in corporate communications and my creative journey as a writer. So, these days, my mindshare is devoted to everything from considering heading back to school to get my master’s to outlining what’s in store for my second book. And while I’d like to think this path, its consequences, and its sacrifices are unique, they are not. Instead, more women–both those close to me and those I observe from afar–are balancing multiple businesses, deriving income from various sources, and leaving their mark in more than one way.

I listened to strong examples of women like this in the latest “special edition” Color Full Lives podcast episode. As you may recall from this blog post last year, the Color Full Lives podcast, sponsored by State Farm, combines the influential voices of American radio personality Angela Yee, self-proclaimed “Duchess of Tech” Tatiana King Jones, and lifestyle influencer Francheska Medina, known for her brand Hey Fran Hey. The ladies are back with a limited edition run of the show, and they kicked it off by giving us a glimpse into how they’re running businesses, taking risks, and making headway on their goals.

We reunite with the ladies just as Angela has recently opened a juice bar, Fran is planning an 11-city wellness tour, and Tatiana is beginning work on a science fiction novel. Outside of these key projects, they are all also nurturing their personal lives, developing self-care and wellness regimens, and growing other professional endeavors. I identify with each of their demanding balancing acts and gleaned several gems from their conversation.

 

On writing“You have to allow yourself the slot to write, but allow yourself the slot to think. There will be times when you set aside time to write and that whole time, nothing comes out. ” – Tatiana

While I once considered writer’s block to be a complete cop out, Tatiana’s words now ring more true than ever for me as I work on my second book. Curating a body of work from the ground up is equal parts thinking and writing. A book is ultimately just as much what the author thought and felt as what that person ended up pouring on to the page. I’ve learned how to be more graceful with myself so that the thoughts and feelings have time to take shape, trusting that the words will always follow.

On understanding your worth and the value of your work:  “You can’t work for free forever; it’s just not sustainable. But how can I do that and still be fair and still be a businesswoman?” – Fran

This was one of those quotes that stuck with me long after I listened to the podcast. Fran, like many other bloggers and online content creators, has offered tons of quality content for free for years. She’s now transitioning to offering services at a price. It can be a tough and uncomfortable passage to move from free content to paid products and services, but I have found most people, myself included, usually reach that tipping point. It’s a natural evolution if whatever you’re offering is filling some sort of void in the universe. So, I’ve learned it’s important to confront your value head-on and stand firm in what you know you’re worth. When you do that, your magic reaches the right people.

On remembering to show gratitude:  “With the people that work with me, I just like to make sure I’m very grateful…when people mess up, we’re so quick to get upset, but it’s really important when people do things well to let them know they did a great job.” -Angela

I’m a sucker for handwritten notes, and thank you notes are no exception. I just recently sent out a slew of them for everyone who participated in the Love Me Well project and also dropped a few on my colleagues’ desks after a big event we hosted last month. It’s easy to move through life at hyper speed and forget to thank people along the way. But, I’ve never seen a boulder pushed uphill without at least three or four pairs of hands behind it.

I’m unsure where my windy corporate creative path will take me. I can’t quite pin down what’s next or even what it will take to get there. But, I do know that there are timeless tenets like allowing myself time to think, acknowledging my value, and remembering to show gratitude that will always keep me lifted and move me through.

This post was sponsored by State Farm, as part of their Color Full Lives campaign. For more information, or to contact an agent, please click here.   

Soft, Beautiful, Bright Black Girl

February 15, 2017

I hope you slap your knee when you laugh. I hope you laugh hard and often, loud and unapologetically, with all of the might that your chest can withstand. I hope you cock your head back and kiss the sky with your cackles.

I hope you smile. I hope you smile not because some semblance of a man on a street corner has insisted that you turn your lips upward, but instead because there is something about this life that feels good and wonderful and brilliant. I hope you smile because you still uncover treasures in dark corners and find pennies in the holes of your pockets. I hope you smile because there is someone, some thing, some energy in your orbit that makes this life worth smiling about.

I hope you wear marigold and neon pink and fire engine red. I hope you fill the world with color and passion and spirit and vibrancy. I hope you radiate every shade of the spectrum and splatter your paint on life’s blank canvases. I hope you buzz and skip and hop and dance and strut. I hope that when other people see you, they instantly feel you, and that when their eyes meet yours, something inside of them wakes up from hibernation. I hope you never leave any place or any person the same way they were when you met them.

I hope you keep poems on your nightstand and bible verses in your heart. I hope you always have words to anchor you and quotes to carry you and sentences that rock you to sleep when the waves start rising. I hope you find solace in bell and Nayyirah and Nikki and Audre. I hope you are armored with all of the wisdom and solidity you need to build bridges over choppy waters and claw your way up crumbling mountains.

I hope you love without pretense. I hope you love in a boundless, unlimited, the-world-is-wide-open kind of way. I hope you love even after your heart has shattered. After your window panes have been broken. After you have bloodied your knees praying to God that some sort of change will come. I hope you still love without pretense. I hope you give of your wild love without reservation.

I hope you choose every day of this beloved life to remain soft and bright in a world that would rather have you be hard and darkened. I hope you let sunlight smooch your cheeks and moonlight brush your lips. I hope you never let the deck of cards stacked unfavorably against you keep you from giving this world all of the goodness you’ve got.

See, I’ve learned that this existence is full of contradictions and injustices and untidy truths. I’ve learned that black women hardly ever become angry in the blink of an eye, but instead stitch together bullet proof vests with the thread of every heartbreak and transgression they’ve ever survived. I have learned that remaining soft and bright as a black woman in this world is a choice. It is an intention. It is a battle and it is a risk. Remaining soft and bright as a black woman in this world is increasingly more difficult than just wearing your armor and moving on through.

But, still, I hope you slap your knee when you laugh. I hope you wear neon pink and keep poems on your nightstand. I hope you love with reckless abandon and let the sunlight smooch your cheeks. I hope you pen words and stir souls and enkindle the people around you with your undeniable rays. I hope you remain soft and bright. I pray you remain soft and bright. There is no greater rebellion for a black woman in today’s world than to forego the armor and elect to remain soft and bright.

Xoxo,
Tyece