The Ocean In My Blood


You can’t.

I can.

I don’t know if I can do this.

I know, I can do it I just don’t want to fail.

I must learn to master the raging currents if I want to sail, I was made to.

It’s in my Sangre. By the way, that means blood.

My great grandfather was a fisherman, hypnotized and swallowed in Oshun of the Honduran coast.

As he swam deeper into her, they swam, producing a fish school of four, finding their way in the Ocean of life,

Oshun carried them, them like the weight of love, crushing on her shoulders, teaching them to master the crashing waves alone.

The teacher she taught them how to swim when my abuelito drowned. My abuelita taught her four children, three boys, and one girl, who taught their children, who taught me, to love, live, and explore the rivers, the streams, and creeks of the afro-latin life.

The scratching grains of sand stick to my skin, while the sun rays beat against my melanin like rhythms of our ancestor’s drums. The boom, tap, tap, boom, tap, tap guides my feet down the path of destiny. I am met with a dance of waves. The ocean greets me. The bubbles splash and kiss my feet. I hear my abuelito’s voice in the wind.

I feel my ancestors spirit in the tide.

I close my eyes and dive into Oshun.

Yemaya guarding my spirit, I am grateful that not only can I swim,

But I can sail.


Oppression. (Poem)


I got into a heated discussion about oppression,

right after I just rolled up for a smoke session,  

A hurricane of rage filled within my rib cage, from the words spoken from a chained brain, my king-shackled, I stood there pained by hurt and shocked, by what he hadn’t learned, it burned like propane. He was insane in a membrane that needed to be unlocked.

I’ll tell you why shit got heated

Why I got heated and he told me to beat it

Why I stormed out and slammed the door

He said Gay black men were oppressed more

Like Oppression for women was cute like that bag at that store

How it’s wrong for me to say fag, but he can still call me a bitch,

But Mitch didn’t give a fuck if he was fucking Micheal instead of Gwyneth,

Like they didn’t give a fuck if Tyrone was fucking Tone, ya’ll still are respected,

Because last time I checked your great grandmothers had to wait 50 years for the 19th amendment

Just to vote,

For white men to vote on whether she should have the right to refuse to give  life.

When it is not them who is sitting under the knife.

What the fuck is that?

Ladies what kind of lie are we living?!

Niggas want a chick with hair laid, so he can get laid, so he complain, and brag about how he gets paid, while we get less than that, like we not paid sixty cents less to a dollar, but we worked four times harder, four quarters and over time, just to get over six less dimes, to your dolla, yet you holla that you getting paid, to repeat the cycle of getting laid, when he’s really being used, as a tool, the money is yo massa, got him fooled, black women have it harder than you, gay or straight.

Not only are we black

We are women

We are the most policed,

Not only physically, but







PEMDAS and this ain’t even math class

We are the real second class, the double edged sword,

We can’t be too confident or like sex because we’re labeled whores

There is no her story in your history, y’all love white women, Asians, Latinas

But black men lovin black women is a mystery

There is no privilege given to being a black woman

Everyday there is an attack on Black womanhood

It’s every where around you, you just wear the hood

Of male privilege.

I need black men to use their privilege to protect their women

Pro-woman pro-taking care of yo business

But stop doing yo business on us, black women are not your porcelain thrones

For you to defecate on microphones while you degrade us in your songs.

Your girl is not your mama, we are not your sexual objects, we are not for your drama, we are not for preference after your first one rejects, we are not your doormats, we are not practice for your bats, your fists, or feet,

You must not have been introduced to God, cus it’ll be a black woman you’ll meet

Stop protecting these foreign women who aren’t protecting you, stop blaming your problems on your women and be accountable. Stand up for us for once! Ya’ll quick to hit us up for a dick suck, but when it’s time to fight back, line busy or no one pick up,

Wassup, with y’all being cowards for justice but wanna claim to be real niggas,

When you won’t even protect women who look like you, y’all hidden figures.

I get stressed when I talk about this shit,

I start having fits, and wanna end my shit,

I hope y’all learned some lessons,

Never have discussions about oppression

before smoke sessions,

And Don’t compare the two, it’s not cute

Grow some courage and overthrow the system

we can really be the change, but y’all don’t really listen.


Papers (Poem)

burning paper 02

Let em burn,  let them enjoy their oppression,
Mind be racing, that’s why I dodge smoke sessions.
People think I’m insane
With all this shit in my brain,
Reading lines in my books,
like they lines of cocaine
And I don’t mean to sound rude
But, why college feel like another high school?
Same structure, different professors
Don’t get it twisted,  not saying their job any lesser.
But professor,  profess to me, how this degree, gon help me in life
So I can tell you the circumference of this knife,
In my side while Bill telling me run my pockets, even the inside.
Tell me how this paper supposed to make mills,
When I see people with the same paper who can barely make the bills
Or that student addicted to them pills to get that grade.
Didn’t mean to put you on blast,  but everybody needa hero.
That’s what I was told. College graduates make one more zero.
Please massa!
I mean Fasfa …
I just wanna go to school,
So you can miseducate and sedate me
And make me your tool.
I’ll be disposed of one of two ways:
Use me till my last days or they’ll smoke me like my honey glazed js
Either way they getting paid
Which brings me to life insurance
Paying coins on my life,  when it’s ensured death is inevitable
Yet they making a killing on my people,
We die,  they collect a check, their scam is incredible.
How we praise a green that’s not even edible?
Where does money come from?
Are the numbers really credible?
Or is it made up?
Like paying fifty cent for an extra cup
It’s ridiculous
We teach our children bout“St. Nicholas”
Now they stealing shit, eating other people’s cookies
While the rich leaves crumbs for the bums and say we uncivilized,
When the truth needs to be realized
Who makes a system founded in suicide?
They poison our water,
And the food that we eat
Can’t give money for schools
But they can afford a new fleet
Taking selfies, thinking you cool
Chasing paper like a fool,
Remember the person paying for all this shit
Is You.



I’ve learned that in the year of self-investment,

You have to try new things,

You have to create new ideas,

You have to dream BIG,

No matter what people tell you what you “should” do

Because it really is about you at the end of the day.

Your destiny and fate is all up to you.

A safe boat never leaves the dock,

And shiiiiiiiit, I sure love adventure,

So I’m gonna sail regardless.

In order for your boat not to sink, you can’t let the water get inside your boat.

Yet, you have to respect and praise the water for carrying you on your journey.

And appreciate the beauty in the sky, the clouds, and the colors of nature.

Understand the depths of your mind—don’t be afraid to embrace the darkness and the unknown,

For there is Beauty in Darkness.

Creation Is Made In Darkness

Like A Baby In A Woman.

It Is Only When It Touches The light That It Begins To Learn The World.

Sometimes, it involves getting rid of the weight you don’t need.

Let it go—you owe it to yourself.

You can say no without feeling guilty,

Even if it hurts deep down inside.

But the truth indeed, hurts.

And being honest is part of investing in yourself.

If I want justice in the world, I have to make justice in my own life.


Short documentary Co Produced by Sage Love and Kelly Snider and Directed By Sage Love is a project in which the discussion of police brutality in America is discussed from the perspective of the black women. The project also pays homage to Alton Sterling Philando Castile and Korryn Gaines.

Sincerely, The Friendly Ass Bitch.

I’m a people person. Always have been, probably always will be. I understand and value human life. I probably value human life more than you do. I enjoy talking to people, listening to their stories, thoughts, and perspectives. I love learning about heritages and culture. And after all, my major did find me. Anthropology that is. No, I don’t study rocks as my father thinks, but I do enjoy studying humans. After all, everybody only cares about money, but money cannot grow in a womb for 9 months, it does not have a heartbeat, it cannot conduct or carry a conversation. Yet, money has more value than human life.

For someone who claims to know me so well, you should know this about me and not have a problem with the fact that I am in fact friendly. That’s what my mother raised me to be. Not some bitter misanthrope, because your mother raised you that way. That’s what they (the powers that be) want you to be. A miserable, unfriendly, close-minded, inexperienced, slither of a human. By Limiting socialization and human contact with technology and money. If that’s who you are, you can keep that. I don’t want any parts of it.

They say, it’s not what you do, but who you know. I would think that someone who knows about networking and human contact, you would understand. But for some reason, it just won’t register in your thick skull. For some reason you equate my friendliness for infidelity or whatever insecurity you may have. Well guess what? Yes, I’m friendly and why would you want to change that about me? And why should I have to? It all boils down to trust, and clearly, you don’t trust me. You think I’m you. Socializing and flirting with others, or lying about my relationship status when that is clearly not the case. I’m a bitch and a hoe for speaking my mind and being friendly.

I can’t help but chuckle at your misogynistic bullshit. You were raised in this system, it isn’t your fault.. or at least it wasn’t but since you met me a year and change ago, I pointed out your misogynist ways and attitudes, in hopes that they would change. But they haven’t. You cannot handle that I am headstrong, dominant, and that I speak my mind; whether you want to hear it or not. You cannot take constructive criticism, even if it is for your benefit, especially if it comes from me, because you feel that a woman’s words don’t hold the same weight. You haven’t directly said it, but your actions and lack of heeding to my advice shows me that. I can tell you some information first or make a suggestion, and you won’t bat an eye, but the minute someone else says it (a man) you hop and skip to it.

I’m a communicator. I enjoy conversation. You know that already. But for some reason, when it comes to communication, you act as if you don’t know what I expect and what I don’t tolerate. I’ve told you plenty of times before, but quite frankly baby, I’m tired of repeating myself. I’m tired of explaining myself to you. I’ve grown weary with exhaustion from your excuses. What is so hard about speaking to me? What’s so hard about calling me and letting me know you were checking on me, or texting me, letting me know you’re thinking about me? Why must you make the most simplest shit, the most difficult. I’m not asking you to send a fucking rocket ship to the moon nigga, I’m asking you to be proactive and communicate. I shouldn’t have to be the one ALWAYS calling and texting you. Why can’t you call or text me? Why do you let so many hours go by without speaking to me? If I don’t hit you up at all, would I even hear from you? I’m tired of the excuses. You have all the time in the world, yet for some reason, you can’t make time for me. I guess I’m not worth your time. Out of sight, out of mind. Put yourself in my shoes for once. Don’t make me give you a dose of your own medicine. We know my middle name is Petty Labelle, and I try my hardest not to be petty, because it would only make things worse.

But, honestly… you’re not making this easy for me. You make me feel as though you’re not working with me, you’re working against me. There’s no excuse as to why I don’t hear from you. I’m not for it. I’m not tolerating the disrespect. Either get it together and be the people person you pretend to be in the street with your peoples, or just do us both a favor and stop wasting my time. If you can’t hold it down and communicate, when you know what I expect, after all this time, then I SERIOUSLY can’t fuck with you. I see it as you being spiteful, and I’m not here for it. Get your shit together or get lost.


A Friendly Ass Bitch.

A Needle In A Hay Stack

Believing a man can be faithful when you’ve been exposed to cheating men your entire life is like finding a needle in a hay stack.

Can a man REALLY be faithful?
Yeah your words sound nice and all, and as much as I would really like to think that you are actually being monogamous to me,

It’s hard to believe that,
when all you’ve seen were cheating men.

You were not there.
Your eyes did not witness
Your ears didn’t hear.

Plus in society,
there’s such a thing as male privilege.

You can sleep around with your whores and return home to your wife and society says its ok. A woman can’t without being verbally degraded until she is a crumb.

My abuelo (May he rest in peace) was married to my abuela.
They had five children. He had 5×2
They were married young.
She 14, him 18.

My surplus of aunts and uncles was normal to me.
I didn’t mind.

Or the men who had different women in rotation,

or listening to my cousin’s saying sweet shit to a chicks ear.

Yes, I hear you when you tell me you love me and that you’re faithful to me.

But my grandfather said that too,
So did the men in my family,
& I remember my cousins saying that to their girls
and i’m just thinking damn this girl a fool.

I understand that I’m your woman.
BUT please don’t have me looking stupid.

They say these niggas out here for everybody,
well my man isn’t. I’m trusting you every single day.

But I still believe that finding a faithful man is like finding a needle in a haystack.

Dear Hip-Hop

Nas didn’t lie when he said hip-hop was dead..

And now Hip-Hop is killing us.

Hip-Hop died when we started letting other people control our labels, our distribution, and now they control the content.

We let the dollar signs,
Sign away our soul,
On the same lines,
Of losing our creation.

We were uplifting our people,
Through our struggle tales of the streets and rapping about self destruction and unity.

We were fighting the power
And screaming fuck the police,
We were coming together
And we had a message for our youth.

Black women were told they were beautiful.
Black Men stood together..

But now look at this shit y’all call music. This aint hip-hop,
Its self hate music.

Black men rapping about hating Black women

Black men rapping about killing black men

Black men rapping about drugs

Black men rapping about material shit

How did we go from
Mentioning Marcus Garvey
To just mentioning Ferraris?

Hip-Hop is in its death bed with a oxygen tube still puffing on cigarettes.

How can a creation made from a people of love, uplift, unity, honesty and the Black aesthetic become something so negative, hateful, materialistic, and bitter?

Are you going to continue to let our music be exploited, watered down, and shitty or are you going to take action and take our shit back?

2016: The Year of Self-Investment



I have a huge heart.

But with having a big heart–
I tend to utilize it for others,
Instead of myself.

So my main focus for this year is to invest in MYSELF.

I have 1 major goal (To become more independent) I want to accomplish this year. In order to do that I must accomplish these three goals I’ve set for myself.

1. Have a minimum of 3 sources of income.

2. Get my license

3. Have an adequate savings account.

I chose these three specific goals because they’re realistic & I can give myself time to complete them.

Goal Number One

I currently have two jobs and I’m a full time college undergrad. One job I have back home & the other at school. However, this form of income is not enough to survive and save on, in addition to it being inconsistent.

Finding new sources of income that would supplement the one I have now would make my goals easier to accomplish & I may be able to accomplish them faster.

             Goal Number Two

I’ve had my learners permit since I was 17, so I know, you don’t have to say it– its LONG OVERDUE.

My summer breaks are my longest school breaks & my permit expires on my 22nd birthday (this year), So I have to utilize my time wisely & make it happen, no excuses!

              Goal Number Three

I’ve already taken the necessary steps of managing my money by teaching myself about financially literacy (I spend a lot of time in Barnes & Noble honey) I’m working on a budget to figure out where my money is going, & I’ve already set aside money out of my check.

If I continue to keep up with my new habits, I should be alright.

I have also come up with another set of goals that I want to incorporate into my daily life.

I call them, MBS Goals.

Mind Goals: goals that effect my mental health & stimuli. Things that can expand my mind.

Body Goals: goals that effect my physical health and well being.

Soul Goals: goals that effect my emotional/creative health. Nurturing the very things that makes me–me.

1. Read at least 1 book a month
2. Learn a language
3. Expand my vocabulary

1. Workout daily
2. Eat healthier
3. Drink more water

1. Learn to meditate
2. Pick up a hobby
3. Stop Stressing!!!

Having your goals documented makes it that much easier to accomplish them because you have reminders. Anything you want to accomplish this year? Write your goals down and make them happen!



“Wine, hip-hop, and a good book.”

That’s the essence of who I am.

Three words.

Yet three words with a plot twist– everytime.

7,665 days later

My answer hasn’t changed.

With time, it only got better, young girl from the South Bronx, the South South Bronx, who had a story so crazy to tell, it could’ve rocked a nation.

After spending time back in The Bronx for my winter vacation; I’ve been given the opportunity to walk through the same neighborhood I grew up in. The first institution of my learning. My sense of place. My home. I’ve been feeling really nostaligic lately.

Between spending time with beloved family members, or indulging in the flavors of The Bronx that set my tastebuds on fire (Shout out to J&J Restaruant & Cuchifritos on Tremont Ave for that Bomb ASS Cuban Sandwhich! OKAY! It had me singing and dancing in my seat. You can ask my mami.) It was humbling, yet it was both refreshing and enlightening.


But I got to sit down and ask myself.

Who was I then? And who am I now?

So allow, me to reintroduce myself..*HOV Voice*

My name is Rebecca. I prefer Becca.

I love water, tea, preferably peppermint tea, and wine.

Red or white. I don’t care. As long as it’s not too stiff or dry, It’s cool.

I like low lighting, burning fragrance oil, and incense,

Shea butter, Coconut oil, and Black soap,

I’m an Afro Latina from The South Bronx,

I love Platanos just as much as I love Collard Greens,

My favorite romance movie is Love Jones,

& if I had to describe my relationship in a movie title, it would be Love Jones.

Subconsciously, my favorite color is purple, but for some reason I’m in denial of it and it shows.. literally lol. I wear purple all the time. ( That stems from the time my mom didn’t let me paint my room hot pink, so I decided to pick Lavender. Thats where it all started.)


I don’t like big crowds,

I don’t like to follow trends,

but I don’t consider myself a trendsetter,

although I’ve noticed I have influenced others.

I’m humble enough to think that I’m stylish and fashionable,

but I don’t think I have the right to tell people what to wear.


Shiiiit, If i like something, and I wanna wear it, Honestly,

I could care less what some other motherfucka might think because 9/10 I look cute and I know i look good. And my man is always saying so lmao.

I’m a Queen.

I was once lost.

But I am found.

I found myself.

No one found her for me, because no one else can.

I’ve made mistakes and silly decisions.

But I’m still human.

and i always say.

“If someone still holding on to the things that you may have done wrong in the past, if thats literally the ONLY thing they’re still trying to throw in your face, It’s really because deep down inside, you got it going on and you shitting on them. So fuck it, let them go. Negativity energy gotta go.”

I’m twenty-one years old.

I’m old enough to go to bars.

I actually drink less liquor at 21

than i did before I turned 21.

(Yes, i drank underage, so what?)

I actually love wine more than liquor.

i drink wine while i watch scandal

i drink it when i eat dinner,

when im listening to jazz,

reading or doing homework.

My taste in music has evolved as well. My interest, everything has changed.


Anyone who has known me since i was a little girl, did you ever imagine I would look the way I do now, did you imagine my life differently from what it is now? 

I still have my love for reading and learning. Mannnnnnn, I can sit in Barnes and Nobles for hours and hours just reading. Shit, I even got a brand new library card. Things I picked up as a kid. I’m doing in my adult life. I’m twenty one years old now. My Illmatic years are over.

It’s the first chapter of my life story of womanhood. And though it seems like a scary world in this cold world as a Black woman, to be on this journey is mind-boggling but I have no choice but to embrace. I’m twenty-one and grateful to still be alive as a Black Woman In America. Some of my brothers and sisters don’t even make it that far..

May our brothers and sisters who we have lost rest in peace.

Peace & Blessings,


  • Medusa.