I am my greatest foe and my only friend.

I like life with just me. I moved to Brooklyn in May for a couple of reasons. The most prominent though, is that I needed to move somewhere –anywhere– before the weather got warm enough for my seasonal stalker to resume his post at my front door. Literally.

Niggas don’t understand and I don’t have the patience to train them. 
It’s funny how one finds love when you’re not looking. It’s like the earring you dropped behind the dresser. You look everywhere but there –and you might even looked there –but nothing comes of your search. If you’re lucky, you come across other lost items –perhaps even an earring, but the wrong one. Perhaps an earring that doesn’t belong to you. You move the bed and even look under the rug, but it’s not until you go to sweep up that you move the dresser and find what you’re looking for. 
This is how love gets lost and found. 
I’ve been having a tough time. I’m proud to say, I’ve continued to listening to my heart, but the more I mind my own desires, the more I seem to disrupt the expectations of others. Sometimes, it feels like I’m letting people down because I can’t always be where they want me to be. But then, when the 1st of the month comes around, rent seems to come out of my bank account only. Some goes for groceries. And the $104 monthly for my metro card. And the Sprint bill that’s never as cheap as the sales guy fibbed it would be.   And I don’t know how many more rounds of shots Duchess needs, but each veterinarian visit gets more expensive. I haven’t been to a doctor in forever because, for some reason, my insurance fucked up and Harlem Hospital wants $300 plus interest because a woman put a fancy spoon and two fingers in my vagina then sent me on my way. $300 for that?! So fuck that prescription. Sex is expensive & I currently can’t afford it. Then, after all the bills are paid,  I gotta satisfy my need for G’s. I  Gucci as much as possible. 
I got bills out this muthafucka. 
Everybody’s doing the same shit as the next guy, hoping to blow up like the next guy. People re-create the same-ass creations, host the same-ass events, write the same-ass books, wear the same-ass shit, sing the same-ass hooks and expect to get rich. Frankly, I’m only going to buy but so many white-tees…. but some niggas are still on that same-old nigga shit. I can’t lie, whatever these fake ballers are paying on car notes, I spend on shoes. I prefer to buy the whole car, as you should and I’m not ready for the extra expense. Not to mention, I really don’t have anywhere to go that I can’t reach by train. The car idea has only begun to come into the front of my mind because I can’t travel with Duchess. And other people seem to like to ask. What is it your business how I move around if you’re not moving me?
I don’t want to be anywhere without the people I love.
 It’s tough being a female. I can’t hang around females whose life stories I’m unfamiliar with. It’s also tough being too familiar with females because their stories get transferred to you. The only option is to separate yourself and hope the loneliness doesn’t take a toll. It’s tough when the eldest of elders is no longer around, because that leaves the youth to guide leaders, but Jeremiah was young when God sent him to spread the word without fear. Spiritually, it’s tough being a human. It’s tough being a being. Randomly relevant shit, it’s tough having a Pit Bull. People only want to have conversation about whether or not my puppy will turn on me. If not about that, then about training her to fight.  I simply tell them she’ll never learn to fight, but we’re working on “sit”, “stay” and “kill”. I might be joking, but when they take a look at her teeth, they won’t want to find out first hand. They don’t care about us, really. If Duchess were going to attack me, who’d save me? But if you try me, Duchess will tear your fuckin head off.  Now, that I know.

I’ve begun to understand love. 

What people don’t understand is that when I love, I love. I’ve stopped saying it though because people don’t react right. When people think/know you love them, they  try to chain you to them –love is precious and perishable: They have no idea that, untended, love rots. Love must be, like any other thing that grows, cared for. It needs to be sowed, protected and nourished. It needs patience. It needs complete adoration. My mother and I planted tomato plants earlier this summer. While her garden at home is overflowing with ripe fruit, my plant gave off a flower or two and then retreated. I’ve realized that sometimes, in order for something to flourish and give you what you desire, you need to give everything you can without expecting anything back. So while my plants won’t blossom as planned, I continue to water them. Now, I’ve just got to get the weeds from around them. The more I shower my plants with what they need to grow, the more other plants will sprout around them –sucking the life from mine. Love is giving and protection –with no reciprocation expected. Still, I know that one day, my garden and everything in it will give the most beautiful flowers known to man… especially me.  

I want to be a woman. 

I want to stay home and take care of home.  I want wake up early and make breakfast for a gang of spoiled brats who look just like their father and have attitudes like me. I want to pack lunches and walk them school. I want clean every crevice of my home because I have the time and it is mine and when my husband comes home after a long day of whatever it is he loves to do, he’ll feel completely comfortable in what’s ours. I want to make him dinner and serve him first. I want to… do the things a woman used to be supposed to do, but now we just complain and say, “You have legs, don’t you?”. I want to be the best versions of everything “woman” translates into: daughter, sister, wife, mother. I am not all of these yet, but I try with the best effort in my heart to be those things regardless if someone else wants to call me them. There are days, like today, when I gladly neglect the entire world so that I can kiss Duchess on the forehead every time I walk by her because she deserves it (as do I). I needed to stay in the house today and cook myself a meal –because no one else will. I can’t fail to care for myself.  I feed myself. & just like I want a man who’ll change my tires and take out the trash, that man will want a woman who cooks, cleans and irons. It makes no sense to have so many expectations of another person without having cultivated the skills and characteristics you’re bringing to the table. I don’t need to be out running the streets. That’s not going to teach me to cook for my children.

I am a straight woman. I don’t have any other perspective. 

Some women have never had a chair pulled out for them and most men are collecting unemployment. Everyone is a superstar or a teenage parent or both. There is little or no value for family, today. Immediate family, to be exact. All kids hate their parents & their boyfriends/girlfriends seem to, too. I just feel like the natural balance of man-woman-child has been disrupted to the point where they can neither exist together nor separately. I run into people who, for whatever their personal reasons are, like to argue that I’ll never find a man to my liking. Meanwhile, all they want me to do is party all night and watch reality TV. If I like to cook, sew, knit or garden I’m automatically part of a mystical few who embrace their womanhood. 

I am a person of my own defining.

Sometimes, we involve ourselves with people who find it in their court to decide who we are and what we’re about –not matter how much we tell them not to. If you don’t fit into someone’s prescribed boxes, they’ll create one for you. I spend my nights plotting out the destruction of boxes and my days completing the steps outlined. Thus far, I’ve had nothing but success. Working with the magazine has been challenging as I maintain myself no matter how much people want to use me. No one knows me anymore, nor do they want to. When people meet me, the first thing that say is “I need a feature,” or “Can you write about me?” No one care what my magazine is about really. They want me to tell them how many readers I can fool into buying their shit. How many people I can lure to their events. But I won’t do that. ELLATHOUGHT.com is about my thoughts. About becoming a woman by having been that the entire time. It is about the growth of an individual. It is about understanding who you are as a person  by reading the story of my journey. It’s about being real. It’s about how it was much more important for me to spend the day with those who needed me rather than those who needed my promotion –because I am, after all a magazine, not a promotion company. I’ve had to come to terms with myself and let go of everyone and everything trying to define me for me and what they think I should be doing because it could help them. ELLATHOUGHT.com is about ELLA incase you didn’t read what you typed/clicked.

People want you to give. Just you. 
Seems like everyone is the owner/ceo/founder of something or other. Everyone is talented. Everyone can do everything and knows everything –everything except fill roles. No one wants to be who they are or what they are. People change their wardrobes, tastes in music and diets simply to be “different”. What’s worse (and most detrimental, in my opinion) is our failure to fit into the roles of woman and man. Most frightening, though, are those who fail to understand the meaning of friendship. Friends are not jealous nor territorial. Friends need nothing but to know that you are safe and happy. A friend will do whatever is in his/her power to make you feel comfortable and welcome.  I friend will pray for you. I’m not going to follow the corporate model that’s lead to the corruption and destruction of this country. If I can’t trust someone as a friend, I can’t do business with them either. If you don’t trust someone, you don’t trust them.
I believe we need to reevaluate our relations with people.

You need to decide, for once and for all, what you expect from others and what others can expect from you. You should never agree to giving more than you can or something you simply do not offer. For example JWWWDMagazine is not a promotional company unless hired to do so.It is a magazine for pure enjoyment and entertainment. It is where real people live their lives and follow their dreams and, if the only way you’ll read it is if it benefits you, then you lack understanding of how any small bit of good in the world is good for all of us.  Time is money and I’m not sure who people think they are to deserve so much pro-bono work without just cause. Everyone seems to think it’s okay to work for free but 300 years of someone else’s labor was enough for me to know that slavery ain’t for me. I’m not sure why others think it should be okay for me. If I am not hired to work, I have not been hired to work. That is how it will continue to be. I actually like my day job so I’m not quite pressed. I have patience and dependable paychecks. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather stay home and take care of my puppy, read philosophy books and try to share what I’ve learned with the world. That is what I’d always rather do. 



No one cares about being a good person anymore. 
I’ve been reading the bible lately, but I haven’t really found out why. I think it’s because I’m afraid of losing myself. I’m afraid of becoming what other people want me to be. I’m also afraid of believing them when they say I am wrong. I have faith that everything my heart feels is the truth. I believe in faith. I have faith in myself. The Bible has simply been helping me reassure myself that the thoughts I hear in my head are good –and it helps to keep them that way. I want so badly to rid myself of any drop of hater that might find its way in or out of me. I wonder, sometimes, if my opinion is “hating” but decide that if I really feel that way, then I should really feel that way. 
There aren’t enough good people. 
I’m not even one of them, but I’m trying to be. I fear for the future because the only images I see for young girls are ones of self-degredation where what their bodies look like is far more important than what’s in their minds. We are in the age where talent is affected by what shoes you have on your feet, especially if you’re not dancing. I don’t think young women (who look like me) are encouraged to use their minds and conduct themselves with honor. We’re all perfect in our own way, but we (women, primarily of  color) allow ourselves to be degraded and demeaned at every turn. I took a picture with my ass in the camera last night. Two, actually. I still feel weird about it, but they were funny pictures, so I’m sorta okay. But… I can’t lie and say it’s not on my mind. Women are, indeed, beautiful. But there is a difference between putting out a slice to entice and putting it on display like meat in a butcher’s window.



I’m terrified for my daughters. 

I need my sons to have faith that good women exist. 

I need to exist. 

I still love money. 


You still cannot buy me. 


My mind is exquisite.  


My ass is perfect.


What you think they all mad at me for?