• Journal of a black lady

    Dear 24 year old me

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    • Dear 24 year old me

      Dear 24 year old me
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    WHO AM I? 

    My Father said I could be anything I want to be. And it’s up to me to turn my daydreams into realities And typically, I just go with the flow as I paddle streams

    But now my passion burns like calories for my purpose in this thing called life
    What position do I play?
    I’m on a mission every day to decipher what kind of life
    I should lead.
    Should I lead? Should I follow?

    Am I filled or am I hallow?

    I need water cuz this life has been a tough pill to swallow.

    Although that begs the question, who am I?

    No seriously who am I?

    I haven’t come to a conclusion

    I need answers

    But all I have is options.

    And my heart is always shopping for new identities that need adopting.

    Cuz I’ve been the outcast. I’ve been the jock.

    I’ve been the straight shooter. I’ve run from cops.

    I feel like an actor but in this scene they took away the props

    I have nothing to hide behind

    and here I stand, exposed.

    Like tan lines
    Left with the question, who am I?
    3 simple words to plan my time
    And they’re vital
    My minds on stand by

    My soul’s still idle
    Titles describe content
    And I’ve been a book without a cover
    asked my father and my mother
    For assistance or some other kind of help. I’m feeling smothered. By the media. It hovers what I want in front.
    Another and another and another. I’ve discovered. Nothing.
    Who am I?
    Everything I planned to be hasn’t work out. Insanity Webster can’t define me

    You are looking at a jack of all trades
    Wearing a mask of all shapes

    Ready to act with no shame

    It seems my possibilities are endless
    I could be someone to follow
    Or someone hardly worth a mention
    Like twitter
    I’m bitter because my friends are trend setters and dress better that me.
    I’m not trendy am I?
    But I could change
    and spend my change and dollar bills on fancy thangs

    and swallow pills
    like my friends do.
    I don’t do drugs but I love to pretend to
    I mean it’s hard to turn down what they lend you
    what they send you. Weekends tend to
    be a curious set of days.
    Friday and Saturday I do it all

    But by Sunday I’m ashamed of what I did
    I’m on the fence. And here I sit.

    I go to church sometimes and each time I ask God to answer the question.
    Who am I?
    Does He know?
    Does he care?
    Are you listening? Are you there?
    It only makes sense to ask the Maker

    why he made what he made.

    Since we all look different our purposes can’t all be the same.

    I am someone.
    An individual. Who’s mostly confused and partially spiritual?

    Looking to answer this question.
    Praying the Maker will respond
    Hoping society will quiet down
    so I can listen.

    Spoken Word by – Nate Williams


    Full Look : Thrifted

    Love , 




    1. July 17, 2015 / 12:24 pm

      Hey , thank you ! I mostly buy at gikomba I think you may know it.

    2. July 19, 2015 / 3:47 pm

      Swee…I love your blog…awesome style you have…cool outfits thrifted..I shld visit gikomba soon

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