My 10th grade English Lit teacher cannot pronounce my name. Ironic? I know. So, on
TGIF. LOL. BRB. TTYL. OMG. These are just a few of the text abbreviations that
Part I: Just For Me I look forward to the tri-annual ritual. My mother prepares
The day Chiamaka disappeared, her father left the house in precisely three pieces. The first
I. Places that I am terrified of returning to: Shitty $49-a-night motels with dingy sheets
“I love your hair. You did it yourself?” “Aww, thank you. I wish. I can’t
“Then [Noah] sent out a raven, which kept going to and fro until the waters
Sydnee glanced at her phone and saw a text from her mother, Marilyn. Sometimes she
When I was surrounded by white people, knee-length plaid skirts, and crucifixes, I told my
Quickly and carefully, I crossed the street with my best friend at the time. Her
Virginia Woolf once said: Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then
“African-American girls always score higher than their white peers when it comes to self-esteem,” one
I changed jobs earlier in the year. It was the type of job that had
Black bodies are the world’s playground. Full of color, music, song, dance, cheer, and laughter
I sat on the couch of a woman who decorates her office to make it
