The Siren

I bat my eyes,

Make knees go weak,

Poor fickle fools,

Can’t help being drawn to me.

I can make them do whatever I say,

With a warning not to cross me,

Or in blood they pay.

The Siren calls… loud and clear,

There’s no escaping it,

You can’t block your ears,

Souls I gather,

Moans and screams I hear,

Ego fueled in the name of their fear.

Men can be weak.

Men are too easy,

They fall all over themselves,

For a chance to try and please me.

Wishing to posses my heart,

Hold, love & squeeze me,

But Sirens live their lives alone,

Moving freely.

I can’t be caught,

I can’t be trapped,

Cannot be fooled by any act.

And with three eyes I can see,

The victims falling: they’re so weak…

Too weak…

They can only stand small doses of me.

I read lies & deciept,

So fluently so,

They label me crazy…

But even still, against their will,

Like flies to shit, they’re drawn to me.

So… I collect their souls,

Their insecurities I expose,

Digging deep and far,

Able to see these little boys

For what they are…

I decide when I’m done,

And I set em to the side,

Then I smirk a little bit,

From their pain, I am full & satisfied.

It’s a Siren’s job to take men’s’ lives,

And this was the fair warning.

You won’t return to yourself,

Once you’ve looked into my eyes,

… you’d be compelled bow before me.

A random rambling…a journal entry, if you will.

Having a stoner moment… in my thoughts. Profound love for my mom right now. As I’m getting older, just seeing firsthand the struggle it is just to be a woman… a single black woman, its HARD. It’s a battle with ourselves; our minds. Its a battle with our bodies and the changes IT goes through. A battle with other women (women, ironically that are going through the same battles). And, I’m sorry to have to say, its a battle with men, if we’re not careful and prepared.

Now… I’m sitting here actually on the couch talking on the phone with my Gma when the topic of my rowdy adolescent days came up. I was an asshole, for sure. Hardheaded, according to my Gma, here. Anyway… as funny as life goes, my mom ends up calling her other line just as we were talking about this and just as I was beginning to sit back and think just how appreciative I feel for having her. Weird.

Okay so back on track, (as much as I can be on track lol) I was just taking some time to think about how much harder things must have been back in ’89. Without a lot of the resources we have now, without the life experience, she REALLY did manage things. And well. My mom is sane lol. She is strong. Reserved. Smart- suspiciously-might-be-an-alien, smart. My mom is just… I don’t know, but you just KNOW how we feel about our moms. No matter what the circumstances, no matter what we tell ourselves we “would have done better/different”… that love you have, you know it.

I’m feeling it.

Thirty and sixteen boy, A LOT happens between then and a lot changes, especially with your mental. Then? Tuh… I was “in love” and I just knew that I knew better than she did- about EVERYTHING. Gave her a hard time… But we dealt, and I see her. And I respect her. I’m way older than she was when she had me… and LOL, life WITHOUT a kid is hard. So I cant begin to imagine her struggles and what it took to get her through them. I’m glad she did. I’m glad to have her. Glad to take after her.

But that’s all out of me. I was just feeling a NEED to write… its like popping a zit, or finally hitting that itch in your back you took a while to reach. Just a need to humbly get this out.

K, bye.


I dont really have a direction I want to go with this post. I guess this is mostly just to complain lol…Its gonna be a random rambling basically… but…

I didn’t sign up for all this ADULTING business. First of all? I use to countdown the DAYS til I turned 18. Just knew I was grown then! What I didn’t consider was all it takes to actually be a grown up. I mean, bills, credit, housing… you gotta buy your own food and shit. You start realizing that there really is food in the house like yo parents use to tell you when you wanted to stop for fast food. Then there’s transportation, getting and keeping a job. Getting and keeping a job WITHOUT losing it, due to fuckery ON that job… did I say bills lol? Obligations on obligations…


Anyway. At almost thirty, I long for the days when my mother just handled everything. I was hungry? No worries, there’s food, thanks to Ma. Lights on, water running… and back then I really didn’t realize how much that means! I sometimes wonder how the more… eh… adulty adults got there? Like what age do you have your life together?? Sixty? Seems about right. And how do you know when you’ve got it all together? Are there just levels to this adulting stuff? I dunno…

Like I said, I have no point here lol. But I am about to tell my mother thank you again, because this stuff is hard lol

Don’t bash my (your) hair.

I wonder what problem some black women have with their hair? I once was sleep, but now I’m woke, and I swear, the idea of sewing in, or attaching someone else’s dead hair, or putting it over mine… its weird as fuck when you think about it. LOL. Not to shade anyone… but I’m just saying. The idea, “I don’t like my own hair, so I’ll just add some fake in. No matter if its a different texture than mine, no matter if its blond, I’m going to hide mine, and rock someone else’s!”

Nah bro…

So many times, I hear black people use the word “nappy” to describe their hair texture. (“I cant do anything wit my hair… its so NAPPY!”) And every time I do, it really makes my ass itch. That, or they shy away from wearing their real, natural hair out. Ive even had someone tell me that they don’t like that way (my) locs look unless they are groomed and neat. When I asked why, she told me that its nappy looking. I asked, “whats wrong with that?” Annnnnd *crickets* She couldn’t even explain to me why she thinks my (our) hair is so distasteful, she just says it is.

I try not to turn my nose up at the whole weave, perm, unnatural looking hair thing… don’t get me wrong, but I just have a very strong opinion about it. I feel like the fake is all we know. All we’ve been taught that’s acceptable. Some of us, anyway. And the thought of that saddens me.

I don’t understand the thought of paying hundreds of dollars to buy hair… to BUY HAIR. That you can just grow from your own scalp. And that will be more beautiful, if I’m being honest, than any of that shit you can buy in the store. Now, like I said… I once was sleep. I use to wear weaves. I use to perm my hair. Didn’t know anything else. But now that I’m older… more self aware, I suppose I’ve found a certain comfort in my own skin. With my own traits… not borrowed ones. But I’ve seen women in a panic if “their hair” isn’t done.

I’m not trying to preach. Not trying to bash. But do wish that one day more women will start being more comfortable with their hair… The versatility of it, it can do so many things.

In my opinion, there’s nothing better than that.

Artwork by my homie, Terrence @dreammerchant_media on IG