It started around 1989- I think that was the year. I was born from the Nile in Africa and into the reality of America of being just a black girl. Although the roots of my origin have been long forgotten, the soil which reflects through my skin tones have portrayed the imprints of where my ancestors once stepped.
I have always been the loud mouthed girl traveling through different aspects of life. You could have found me as one of those children who bared the knee-scrapes and the grass stains with a daily face filled with streaks of mud, yelling through the projects. Or even the well liked college girl who excelled in school during the day while morphing into the excessively drunk party girl at night.
Through it all, I have championed my way to find peace within myself. In finding peace I’ve dealt with numerous accounts of addiction whether through my father’s drug infused antics or with my own battle in a world filled with liquid stupidity. As a young girl, I have faced love and heartbreak more than once. I have weathered the storm through a mental breakdown, being close to homelessness, fighting my insecurities, and dealing with life’s constant lessons. Gratefully, I reached the shore after many years and I am a survivor.
I am a Black woman who believes in the art of words. I am a woman whose voice is of many but whose volume is raised slightly louder. I am a fighter, I am a survivor, and I am a queen. I am the voice of a black girl.