aunt wendy taught me how to be media trained without her knowing.
there is some shit you say/font out loud and other shit you keep at the kitchen table.

kitchen table talk (v): when you are spilling tea with your people with the intentions of it staying between ya’ll and Jesus.

that is when you spill that you fucked someone and it was terrible or mind blowing,
or my personal fav:
“YOU FUCKED HIM?!?!?”

that being fonted i have A LOT of kitchen table font with my Foxholers.
i always ask if i can share because sometimes the tea is PIPIN’.
that being fonted:

many males,
especially straights,
love to talk and font for brownie points outside of kitchen table talk.

(ex)-boxing jackal,
adrien broner,
has allegedly fucked a lot of pretty attentionistas it seems.
he decided to expose everyone he fucked on his IG with “the toxic test“…

our current president may have said:

“oh ya’ll gonna say i’m not a king and protest me?
well then i’m gonna do shit out of spite ya’ll azzez.
welcome to the art of a deal bitches!”

i had a feeling that the following would happen.
it is not shocking because when people show you who they are; believe them.
apparently,
a diddy pardon is on the horizon according to tmz…

when i asked cousin hybrid his thoughts on the recent nicki,
he said:

“she was never quite high above it to me.
she’s been telling ya’ll she’s crazy with roman lol”

it sat on my noggin for about bit.
i mean,
i get the roman alt and loved it but when did we all get so brain dead that we can’t see…

when i was a kid,
my mother bought me a doll.
i think my mother would have been okay with me being gay tbh.
it wasn’t barbie or a baby doll,
but it was def a doll the size of a ninja turtle.
i loved this doll and played with it along with my action figures.

the way i played with toys was usually superhero shit.
the female characters were either fighting or were “damsels to rescue”.
i would create worlds with my imagination,
often times taking boxes and making tanks or battleships.

well,
one day my doll up and disappeared.
anytime my grandmother wasn’t home,
i tore her house down looking for my doll.
at a young age,
i could sense fuck shit so i KNEW she had something to do with it.

when my mother died,
she admitted she tossed it in the trash.

when i tell people this story,
they were always empathetic.
i was also told from many people that incident created trauma too.
the things our parentals did to make sure “we weren’t gay“.
when i see parents like…

i love brandy and monica with a passion buuuuuuuuuuuutttttt….

two weeks.
two weeks until the end.
two weeks until the trap door opens.
two weeks until i might be,
well,
homeless.

what do you do when the countdown to your next chapter feels more like a ticking time bomb than a fresh start?

i refuse to be the fox living out of his shoes…