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About a Fat Girl

I’m sure you’ve heard about it – the whole debacle surrounding Usher and the allegations against him. Right – but this isn’t about the allegations.

Here’s the thing – a woman claimed to have slept with the R&B superstar (and allegedly contracted herpes), and nobody blinked an eye… until a picture surfaced of Usher’s accuser.

Okay, so she’s fat.

The day the picture of Usher’s accuser (whose name is Quantasia Sharpton – no relation to the Reverend Al, I’m assuming) appeared online, my FB timeline was flooded with dandruff and ash.

That’s his accuser?”

“Now I know it isn’t true.”

“She’s delusional. Ain’t no way he’s messing with all dat.”

And other shea butter-less quips. Until then, I decided to stay silent about the issue, but something about those comments got under my skin. I’m not really concerned with whether Ms. Sharpton is telling the truth, nor am I concerned about Usher’s sexual health – cuz I’m still trying to get somebody to go half on this high ass rent. I am, however, concerned about the heat that is aimed at Sharpton – mostly, for her weight.

She has been accused of being morally corrupt because she dared to even think that someone like her could have sex with someone like him. Little mention of her possibly lying about what happened – but a laser sharp focus on her weight, and the implausibility of her ever attracting someone famous, talented, and reasonably attractive (I mean, Usher just isn’t really my type). The assumption underlying all of this is that fat girls are unattractive and incapable of having a sexual relationship. Even more disturbing were the ashy comments from the faceless hordes, hinting that Sharpton’s weight was somehow to blame for her lack of moral character.

So many problems here that I don’t have enough time to unpack them all. However, I am wondering about the way we look at body type – particularly, how we look at those who are classified as overweight and assign character traits to them that we don’t assign to thin women.

Okay, ladies, here’s an example – imagine you find out your ex is dating another woman. You’re thinking, “well, he’s somebody else’s problem now,” but deep down you feel some type of way. So anyway, you go on about your life, taking selfies and painting a perfect picture of your life on Instagram. Then one of your friends texts you with a screen shot of your ex’s new girl with the caption, “GIRRRRRRRRRRRL” – and she’s fat.

How do you feel? About her? About your ex?

Now go through this same scenario, except the new Boo is of the Runway Model Tribe. How do you feel then? Different?

That’s the thing, y’all. Media, the fashion industry, music, etc. all have us making assumptions about big women that just aren’t true. Contrary to popular opinion, big women are leading healthy, active sex lives, and not using lies or manipulation to do it. Don’t believe me? Ask your ex.


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Alchemy of Creation


Alchemy. Taking blank material and transforming it into something else, is fairly spectacular. Sometimes the intention is not even apparent. This creative process is very interesting and inspiring.

There is such a unique beauty to go from blank canvas to an explosion of color or a creative vibrant script. I hope for the rest of my life to transform my truth into a reflective image.


Original Work: “JSN” 12×14, acrylic on canvas, 2017

Check out more of my work at .

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Plump Orange With Undertones Of Apple

I come in and drop my bags. We arrived. 2 cats and our little lady for a month long excursion in the city. Neither of us is really seeking to complete this, however, it has to be done. I come with low expectations-as lowering my expectations was a strategy I used to sustain what is left of a 20-year long relationship. Lower and lower expectations went to find a level which was feasible to hold a semblance of balance.

I find myself tidying up the place while the baby is out my teen- our teen, actually, but mostly “my” day to day teen over the last 17 years. My day to day baby-as in the youngest vs immature- day to day youngest child.

I pick up clothing spilling out of bags and luggage. I place dirty dishes in the sink in prep for the dishwasher. I toss a load into the washing machine-set boneless chicken in the fridge to defrost for dinner. Log onto my computer to work from home; I cannot help but to bring my multi tasking habits with me. I sure meant to, however, I know an argument will ensue if I do not appear to be above the high expectations still expected of me as a mom, a partner, a house guest. An Apple living in an Oranges home for the next 4 weeks.

Sitting underneath the lamp at a side table located adjacent to the 50” screen flat screen is a book I have used a resource to building healthy relationships, “5 Love Languages”. Quizzically, I review the book -is it real? I am considering this because my partner clearly is missing the point of the book to know one’s own love language in an effort to leverage that strength-that language- to actively engage in a meaningful manner with your partner.

Receiving gifts

Acts of service

Physical touch

Quality time

Words of affirmation

My #1 is Quality Time and #5 is Receiving Gifts. The exact opposite of my partner; per the book this combination is the hardest because the 2 people need to travel the farthest to get to a place of balance.

My possession of this knowledge has permitted me to give a pragmatic method to build strategies to have a semi-viable relationship.

Naïve at the time.

The book is not meant to be read alone; the challenges do not go away if only one person is the sole owner of the premise behind the 5 love languages.

My partnership has taken me to the point of desiccation where I have limited trust or reliability in this person. Where I now see this person and expect so little of him that a sur name and this last baby is what we share.

I have often thought that Gary Chapman needs to write a book titled, ‘Now that you are mature enough to be in a relationship- and have broken it-what can you do to get to center.’ Or a book called, ‘Were you ever at a center?’,  because I suspect that is where I am at now; a desiccated Apple partnered with a plump Orange w/ hints of Apple undertones.



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Be Present, Stay Wild

Time and its illusion of clockwork.
Perhaps, created to cope with existentialism
Ultimately feeding into consumerism
We appear to connect through a coded probability
Undoubtedly, disconnecting in reality
A species, broken by regression, through technological progression
Resulting in being less organic and more mechanic
Compartmentalizing our thoughts like computerized bots
It’s schematic
When I catch myself clock watching, in worry of time gone too soon,
I get on all fours, arch my back and howl at the dark side of the moon


Photo Credit: Nour

IG: @sparksflyidraw

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Genre: Urban Arts Awarded and Ranked Amongst the Top 100 Urban Blog


I received a message from the owner of that received ranking amongst the Top 100 Urban Blogs on Feedspot!
I have been working at this for a little over a year, and only since November 2016 have I had a consistent team of contributors & editors.
I am so excited and thankful that my work and my team’s work is being recognized. You can read more about the list here.
A huge thank you to my team of editors and contributors. Genre: Urban Arts only is viable because of them.
Thank you!
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Dear You

It’s not the end of the world, although that’s how it seems. Some of the scars you’ll gain. you will try to hide. Some you’ll show on your skin. On your darkest moments, you’ll cry alone in a corner hidden from the world, but you’ll be alright. Even though it seems like no one really cares, that is not the whole truth. People show affection differently. And yes, she loves you. All the negative judgment and beliefs you’ll build will surely be torn down. It’s ok to recede inside that shell if it means you’ll stay alive. It’s ok to numb yourself if it will get you through it all. You will grow through this. I am letting you know, so remember: life will beat you down, but you will get up.
© Máh Lima

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Ode to your first lover

·ode to your first lover·

we were

just two fifteen year olds

each of us


from our own wreckage.

we filled

the voids of our heart,

with broken pieces of each other’s.

we hid smiles,

behind façades,


of people’s scrutiny

because what do fifteen year old’s know

other than infatuations.

we knew nothing lasts

specially for us

because individuals made

from hurricanes and wrecks

can’t tend oneself,

let alone other’s.

but you,

you were that smile that tugged on tired lips

you were the first one

i wove dreams with

the same dreams which i saw with consequent others,

you were the sea

and i, the shore

you took a little bit of me

with every meeting,

then we grew,

we learnt to fix ourselves

we questioned why

we finally saw

the differences

we fell apart.

and now,

i drive past your house at times,

the house that seemed too far years ago,

the house,

in front of which i used to always

mumble or whistle,

only this time

i rolled up my windows and sped off



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Empty or Filling You Up?

Looking inward to define boundaries.

Knowing your boundaries is a challenge for many of us. It takes time to identify what those boundaries are based on what we have experienced or seen or what is valuable to us and what can be let go.

I have been contemplating whether I am establishing boundaries and with whom or why with whom? More like, why was I not letting folks go?

It turns out I have been, or I thought I was; it started with my FB.

I have an average day to day X# of folks I keep in my Fb family. It took years to identify this group of people based on positivism, humanism, and inclusion. It was OK to let family members go from Fb because I did not want the negative energy. I needed to identify what negative energy meant to me, and what did that look like via a social media outlet? What does that feel like or sound like? Bottom line, it came back to learning to trust my instinct – a woman’s intuition- if you will and trust.

Literally, I am learning to trust myself to know what is good for me based on what my conscience and my spirit are telling me.

Fb was a good starting point to build that trust within myself because I had a tangible method of measuring what is engaging me and how I am engaging in dialog with others. I will admit. It felt HORRIBLE to press UNFRIEND with folks who were, well, horrible in their posts and in their comments; unfriending is an intentional decision. A deliberate act to sever a connection with another person who is more than a name on the screen. Sometimes the detachment went easy and quiet and simple..BAM the person is gone and I am no longer accessible to the energy she/he is sharing publicly. Other times it was not so simple and is followed by a personal IM or a text or worse-a call.

Some folks just do not want to go. Ok, I get that.

And this is where the next step came into practice. Talking-communicating and holding a dialog, my daughter calls these ‘difficult conversations’ my son calls this ‘being real’. Either way-for me, it was an exercise in courage to articulate the personal boundaries that I have which ones are being crossed.

Through time, my boundary setting is preceded by conversations regarding boundaries-nothing formal-rather a series of rapport building dialog’s where my boundaries are shared and clarified with folks I have identified as valuable to me for their thoughts and ideas and time and companionship.

Upon reflection, I see it was about liking myself and valuing myself to be treated fairly, justly, kindly and through the lens of humanity via social media. A act of love for myself that I do not believe I understood holistically. Where I held ethos and more; however, I did not have the courage to articulate those thoughts and ideas to others because social norms for me did not permit that level of engagement or authenticity with others. I just sat back. Patiently waiting to:

A. run away.

B. ignore

C. just go w/ the flow and let it all unfold in front of me despite how I am interpreting what is happening.

C. is the worst option. As you, no ‘I’, was sitting by as if ‘I’ were a passenger in my own life vs an active member or participant actively making decisions of what I am letting into my environment.

Shame on me right?

No, not shame on me. I had to experience this to know now I am not sitting by and watching this thing called life go on past me and I have control of what comes in-of what I permit to come in.

Dare I say I live life in a courageous manner now.

A manner where I am identifying value in myself and how my surroundings are influencing me.

Leaving me empty…or permitting to be filled up.

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I have had my heart broken. Heck, I have most likely broken my own heart. And maybe, I’m at the brink of doing that again. And I thought I knew what endurance was, until now. Nothing beats the present circumstances, not even heartbreak. My endurance is being tested at the ultimate level, being away from all things familiar, and the safety of comfort zones. Living in a place I am not sure I can ever truly call home. I am left alone, to feel invisible because I chose to step out of my mind and voice the things that cause me to self-destruct. Yet, it feels like I should’ve stayed quiet and turned my gears to suit the mechanics at the behest of everyone, except myself. My endurance is confronted with the lonely feeling of having no one to fall onto, to tell me “it’ll work out”. It’s just me trying to tell myself, trying to tell my body that “it’ll be okay, you just need to focus on what you’re here for.” But, that’s not always comforting. And the only outstretched arms I see, are the ones limping at my sides, yearning for a reprieve. So my eyes droop low, tired from crying, rendering my blood to sweat acid, burning away at my organs. I guess that’s just what’s called “being hard on myself,” as I try to see past my vision onto everyone’s point of view. Hoping I’ll be strong enough to see through the fog when all these voices surround me, yet none addresses me. I thought I knew what endurance was, but now, I truly know what it means, because there is no escape in sight for me. And my organs bleed, as the blade stabs through endlessly.


© Soshinie Singh

Author of the Phoenix Letters and the Mist Calling