Featured Writer for January

Wilfreda Edward is one of my favorite writers on Medium. She left for a little over two years and is now back with a vengeance. Upon her return, she reached out to me to become a writer for A Cornered Gurl and of course, I was ecstatic to add her. She is starting off this year right by being the featured writer for the month. The piece below is what landed her this spotlight:



Run-on-rage

Inspired by this meme.

The scale is tipped the shoulder chipped when they storm through only to disrespect their President elect with whitened skins the media screams protests but we march in peace to say our piece and they use this excuse to draw their guns they ignore truth and their constitution yet they throw gas to make our tears run while they rage and they corrupt and they bigot but they call ours a riot!



Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Are We Ready for the Change We Need in America?

Or will we mask our ugliness again and place it back in hiding?

Photo by Vlada Karpovich via Pexels

The United States of America has a new President-Elect and Vice President-Elect. The news was announced by way of several prestigious media outlets on Saturday, November 07, 2020, after a grueling week of counting ballots and watching electoral votes. If you have been as anxious and fear-ridden as I have, then that moment created an emotional sigh of relief for you. But what does this mean for America?

The last four years revealed who we really are as a nation. America’s previous president, who currently feels there has been voter fraud, falsely and boldly claimed he had been re-elected and has filed lawsuits in several states demanding recounts, has no intention of conceding professionally. His brutally inflated ego is losing its air, and we all get to watch an epic meltdown during a time of collective exasperation.

We are tired. We are worn thin. We have had enough of the evil that exists in the White House for the last four years. We all just want to move on with no further trauma caused by a man who holds the highest seat in the land.

There are those devoted to him — many are heartbroken. For them, their brief coming out and reveal of deep-seated hatred while given the floor to flaunt it has ended. Who will give them the green light to be who they are? Will they go back to being subtle in their actions or will the removal of their king give them the ammunition they crave to act on their core beliefs and continue their lawless behavior?

We are tired. We are worn thin. We have had enough of the evil that exists in the White House for the last four years.


Let’s get ready to do the work, America.

There is so much work that needs to be done in this country before anyone who is marginalized, oppressed, and at an incredible disadvantage can feel safe again. A list of important key factors were my concerns when I went to my local Board of Elections to drop off my ballot. They are: eradicating the Coronavirus, COVID-19 pandemic, implementing plans to end police brutality, recognizing that Black lives matter, climate control, and addressing the ever-present and undying elephant-in-the-room, systemic racism.

The shoes of the American president will be too big to fill this term. President-elect Joseph R. Biden will have to step up, stand tall, and prepare himself for a rocky and tumultuous ride in the face of a completely divided nation. Both he and Madame Vice President-elect Kamala Harris must be firm in their presence and forthcoming on their promises.

This will not be easy.

We are drenched in the scent of racism and cultural hierarchies, and the potency of the smell is getting stronger. What we have seen these last four years, and it is unfortunate to say, is the depth of what America looks like in her naked state. She has revealed herself to the world, and centuries of buried lies boiled to the top. The foam of our past will need much more than a spoon to scoop it from the pot. We need a complete overhaul and that will take more than the allotted four-year term.

Both he and Madame Vice President-elect Kamala Harris must be firm in their presence and forthcoming on their promises.

The damage is done.

The world watched us as we shook off our façade and they stood in total disbelief. But we knew — many of us have known for generations based on our ancestry and the history of this nation who America really is. So what will we do now to rectify this damage?


The optimist in me knows we will have to come together as one to make change happen. It should not be an US versus WE thing, it needs to be an ALL-IN approach and sadly, all of us will not agree with this. What will that do? It will keep America painted in its finest makeup for her public appearances while we continue to rot from the inside out.

Are we able to shift the hearts of our fellow inhabitants who have nothing but disdain and hatred for those different from them or will this wound deep within our hearts fester? The work necessary to bond a nation that has been torn in two will have to come from the core of every human being, and many will not be open to losing who they have been for decades to embrace who they should be for the greater good.

Are we ready for this kind of change?

The challenges that lie ahead for our newly appointed White House duo are many. How they operate to flesh out the parasites eating away at their hosts will be the determining factor of what and who we will be four years from now.

The optimist in me knows we will have to come together as one to make change happen.

Can America put aside its blatant arrogance, create long-lasting & authentic allyship, and move forward as one? Or will the vast majority of its children wear their masks until it’s safe for them to come out again?

We’ll just have to see. Won’t we?


Originally published via Medium.

This Skin: The Depth of Our Essence

Image for post
Art Photo by Jon Tyson via Unsplash

An Audio Poem

I stretch out my hands to my lover,
my life — he lifts his wandering eyes 
up at me, happy to catch my silhouette
still as the nightlife.
This now is a scary place
to be — we linger on each other’s 
tongues, hopeful to create passion
in the pique of all pain.

I know he doesn’t really see me — 
he looks past this skin, calls me
his caramel, hot-mama, Georgia-Peach
elite. I am his Upper Echelon under
the covers, undercover — hidden 
from view. 
We keep secrets nestled in the grooves
of our aging skin, collecting them
as we meet another year.

I tell him I’d live in his curls if I could — 
a universe of wonder for hair.
He smiles. He loves a good
compliment. His full lips
measure the amount of stress 
I’ve stored in my collarbone. 
By his hands, relief appears. 
I pay him in orgasms.

When we go out, our hands 
are at our sides, we stand close
but far — close but away from the 
scent of each other’s breath. 
We feign tolerance of the 
stares that follow us. 
I nod and smile — nod and smile,
keep my composure.

He tells me the people in this 
neighborhood don’t see color and 
I worry even more. How can they
know me if they don’t see me?
I fiddle with my newly broken fingernail
and ignore what he says just 
for a moment.

We pass time by walking two blocks — 
white picket fences fill my eyes.
Election signs for the Elephant 
are markers for miles.
“They don’t see color, huh?”
He is silent. He pulls me closer,
latches on to my hand, and 
quickens his pace.

I keep step — keep time, my swollen
heart beats faster as we exit
this territory.
The depth of our essence — this skin
will not protect us, not even 
from the colorblind.

I lay in his thoughts — stir myself 
deeper as a mixture of lust, love, and
curiosity. He plucks his brain
for a better view of this world.
There is none.

It saddens him to realize this.
I hug him close to me — I knew
what he didn’t. 
I prepared myself for it
before we left the house.


Originally published in The Junction via Medium.

Please, Let My Brothers Live

A plea to the United States Justice system

Photo by nappy via Pexels

As an older sister, one who is significantly ahead in years, I fear for the lives of my five brothers. That fear never dies. It lingers in the pit of my belly — boiling over into a never-ending pain. I worry about them; their well-being is a constant focus of mine. I pray, without ceasing, worry, and then pray some more.

I know, as a believer, I am not supposed to worry. Once I’ve given my cares over to my Lord and Savior, those worries are not my own. But tell that to my heart. Tell that to my questioning mind. Tell that to the constant survival strategies that pop up throughout every day as I think of ways to keep them safe from afar.

Our lives are meaningless to the ones meant to protect them.

There is a long list of dangerous encounters and acts of police brutality that layers itself in and around the United States of America. We are losing brothers, sisters, and valuable members of our crumbling nation. The louder we scream in protest for change, the more we are muzzled.

I cannot watch many of the videos that have circulated, leaving us with the vivid details of some of these acts, but I can read about them. I feel a sense of incredible loss when I do.

We depend on a system that claims to act upon evidence presented and provide a favorable outcome. One that is justified. One that states those responsible for these heinous crimes will be dealt with accordingly. However, the system is beyond broken.

Justice is a concept of moral rightness based ethics, rationality, law, natural law, religion, equity and fairness, as well as the administration of the law, taking into account the inalienable and inborn rights of all human beings and citizens, the right of all people and individuals to equal protection before the law . . . — ScienceDaily

For generations, there has been no justice for Black people and people of color. 2020 will be over in four months, and the United States of America is dealing with the same issues that quelled the love for our nation back in the 1950s-1960s. We are struggling to have our voices heard. We are fighting a forever-fight and we are growing tired.

This is the same fight and we’re outnumbered.

I think of everyday occurrences, events that my brothers take part in and I start my prayer with, “Dear God: cloak them in your love. Please keep them safe in their coming and going and let them find their way home when their day is done.”

I know they’re aware their sister has been praying for them since their births, but now I pray because it feels like there is nothing more to do. We march. We organize peacefully. We shout. We speak eloquently. We fight harder. And to no avail.

We are struggling to have our voices heard. We are fighting a forever-fight and we are growing tired.

This all feels like some god-awful dream that plays on a loop, and no matter how hard I try to break free from it, I’m shackled with nowhere else to go. I am being forced to watch the demise of my people and made to fear for the Black men and women in my life.

I want to believe their lives matter just as much.

I have to. Deep down, I know there’s a priceless value to human life. I want to feel like my brothers’ lives matter just as much as their white counterparts. I want to believe that when they set out on a journey around their neighborhoods for whatever reason, they too, will get a chance to go back home . . . alive and unharmed.

Given the history of various police forces across this nation since their inception, I fear more for my brothers’ lives than the actual protection of them, and that should not be.

How many more will America maim? How many more will we see hanged from trees by the hands of their evildoers, then labeled as suicide? How many more cases will the courts treat as meaningless, pulling their weight for the killers vs. the victims? Will we ever have justice?

I want to feel like my brothers’ lives matter just as much as their white counterparts.


There have been so many tears. So many cries for help, understanding, and for our voices to be heard and still . . . there are no impactful results of which to speak.

I hope that if ever there is an encounter soon with “the law” for any of them, they will be protected and served. That there will be no immediate or long-lasting harm. That their character is assessed and the situation for which an officer has stopped them, would not end in their deaths.

I have one plea, please let my brothers live.

Please.


Originally published in Our Human Family via Medium.