It’s not enough that the images of wishing horses that were never ridden pierces my brain but the waterfall of unshed tears sinks my heart and I am left gasping for air as everyone else releases it in a snore.
She needed this job. Yes she was sleeping with a married man but that’s not on her. She didn’t take any vows. She made no promises. This was all his fault and she’s be damned if she was going to go down for this. She let out a frustrated sigh. Of course she was going to go down for this if it all came out...
“You’re one to talk about mismanagement of property. Those drinks you had last night certainly weren’t paid for by you picking up chicken bones. I don’t like people messing with my shit James” He wasn’t sure if he masked his surprise as well as he was trying to, “Oh? You didn’t think I knew your name did you? That is one of the many reasons as to why I’m not to be fucked with”
This is a little (actually long) something that I had written for a friend who is starting up a magazine. Her magazine is focused on modern Black consciousness, but relax, it’s not an ‘ashy hotep‘ type of publication. If it was, she wouldn’t have accepted my article. I didn’t think much of my work, because I couldn’t access the Internet in order to offer proper citations, and I thought she may think it was average at best.
She loved it. I was pleased to hear. I know when I write, I tend to get carried away, swear and rant, when it comes to something that grinds my gears. I did my best to remain composed, though I know even if it seemed that my sentences spanned across entire paragraphs, and I sounded volatile, my points were still valid.
The topic of this article is a kind of touchy one…
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A little documentary I did for school. Enjoy. https://youtu.be/AfUEsjuVF6c