Most curse words don't come from some evil place. They started plain. They were made 'bad' by whoever got to decide what counted as proper. Most elders in the Black village I grew up in cursed. The grandma, the auntie, the same women who cursed like sailors were often the ones making sure the neighborhood kids' bellies stayed full. In Black culture, cursing has never automatically meant disrespect. It's culture. Yes, culture.

George Jackson and Mumia Abu-Jamal did some of the most disciplined work of Black liberation from inside a cell, while most of us walk around free and do nothing with it. That inversion should trouble us. If those who gave the most to our liberation gave it while incarcerated, political education cannot be optional for those of us still free.

Black artists, writers, and geniuses have been erased, stolen from, and written out of history before. Emilia Bassano may be one of the most overlooked examples. What if one of the greatest literary voices of the English Renaissance belonged not to the man history celebrates, but to a Black woman whose identity was buried beneath someone else's name? This isn't just about Shakespeare. It's about who gets remembered, who gets erased, and how history has too often rewarded th

The practice of not splitting the pole has become a subconscious awareness of those around me, and concern for our collective wellbeing. My decision making is never without consideration for all those it may affect. If I'm presented with an obstacle in a path I know my folks will also be taking, I'm quick to alert them. From minor inconveniences to major dangers, to even opportunities, I'm constantly in communication with my people to the best of my ability

“Because I love you, I get the least of you.” A truth that cuts deep. Love strained by survival leaves those closest to us with fragments instead of fullness. What would change if we gave our best to each other?