Activity) Inner Weather Check (Exercise) Name your current internal climate using weather language. One phrase or term only. No explanation. Here’s My Offering (Example): Cold front of truth replacing warm assumptions, pressure dropping on expectations, reality setting its own temperature. #SouthernSeoulSpeaks #tresduravia

Folks say, check on your strong friends... If they and we are so strong... Why is it required to check on us??? Strength, the Lie... A fable created, through perception and projection... Who desires, makes the decision to be a mule in this life... Truth be told, this is why so many Black Sisters are angry... Strong Black Woman was a label created for us... WTF...why would anyone think it's the life we wanted... Let's use our critical thinking skills.... Enslavement, patriarchy, socialization of unwritten rules and biases... Created and brought forth this mystical being... Bred into existence...the Black Superwoman... In a life, we are expected to be everything, like it and get paid less in return... Yet, unconscious people, think this is our station... Men both Black and white, especially racist white women... Where's the lie???...I'll wait... While you think...burn out hair follicles... Here comes the receipts...release the blindspots...blinders... Open your eyes and mind to the truth... The hierarchy, this structure built on who get served... The value of bodies....according to... A capitalist system that puts white alpha males first... Next, white women, with a caveat... Must be the European standard of beauty first... From a family with money or have her own purse...are there exceptions of course... Poor white people...which is why social programs were created... Not out of care or charity... This was self preservation, to keep the rich alive and thriving....why whiteness was created... Oh...all of you that weren't considered white before... Thought you were special...bubble burst... Time for you to deep dive into your history... On your own time...read the facts for yourself... In this moment expecting someone (a Black Women) to be the mule... Lazy, entitled...let me get back to my records of historical facts.. Black Women...being made the mules of society... Black Mammies, to care and attend to every one's needs... Black Brothers and Men, don't zone out or leave the conversation...

My sexual appetite is fierce, a hunger that lingers close, never far, never quiet. A fire I’ve carried for years, and somehow, with time, it doesn’t fade it deepens, sharpens, learns my name. The older I get the more it consumes me, not recklessly, but knowingly. Like two selves sharing one body: one composed, contained… the other aching to be undone. My partner’s flame barely flickers, leaving me to tend to my own heat fingertips becoming language, learning every curve like memory. From showers to kitchen counters, from walls that echo silence to spaces that hold my breath, I explore what I’m denied giving myself pieces of a moment, never the full story. My bullet hums like a secret, pulling tremors from deep within, stacking release on release, yet still, it’s not enough. Because sometimes I crave more than vibration— more than controlled pleasure. I want presence. Weight. Energy that meets mine without hesitation. I want to feel wanted not just touched. My appetite is intense, not just physical intentional. I don’t want rushed hands or empty rhythm, I want attention that lingers, that studies, that listens to every reaction like it matters. Tease me. Take your time. Let anticipation stretch until it begs. Mentally, that’s where it begins. Before touch, before skin, before anything physical, there’s the mind. Play there first. Build me there. Let desire grow so loud it echoes through my body before anything even happens. Because sometimes, just the thought— just the tension— is enough to unravel me. My appetite craves a connection I don’t always receive. So I redirect it into motion, into discipline. The gym becomes release, each rep a quiet scream, each drop of sweat a substitute for what I’m missing. And when my body quiets, my pen speaks. Because what I don’t express aloud, what I don’t receive in touch, I translate into ink, where my desires are free, unjudged, unanswered… but never denied. — Dear Sexual Me, I hear you. I feel you. And one day— you won’t have to settle for echoes.

Hey yall whats!

I find it challenging to write about myself.. Really don't think folks are interested...in how I lived... A precocious kid, that grew up in Mississippi... Picking watermelon and playing in the blazing heat.. Tall for my age...got to drive the truck at eleven years old.. My Daddy's baby...said, I was going places... If any of you remember the Beverly Hillbillies... Daddy called my Ellie Mae..., Because I was always beating up my Brothers... Caught me having lifted my older brother over my head... Shook his head and through his hands up... Didn't know Kenny had picked me up first...this was a reaction... Yet, encounters with boys and men would be a constant... What comes to mind is a dude in College that started harassing me.. Calling out my sexuality on campus...being a personal terror... He would say unwelcome comments like... Dyke and Bulldagger...You got big hands... That's why you're getting all the pussy... Everytime I saw him...he had some negative comments... So much so...some of my other male friends wanted to kick his azz... This fool harassed me for two whole semesters... I told them to stand down... I would get my chance to handle him... Really, couldn't afford to endanger my or their scholarships... My chance came very unexpectedly... In the dorm lounge, waiting my turn to play billiards... I feel my feet leave the ground... This silly fucker had picked me up... I knew it was Ted...immediately... 'Ted put me down right now..". He placed me down and attempted to run... Just was not fast enough for my long arms... I grabbed him by the belt... Swooped him up between his legs... Catching a handful of testicles... Lifting him over my head, in a fit of rage... He yelled at the top of his lungs..... Let go of my nutssss.... In distressed agony, as I squeezed... Looking to throw him off the third story balcony... This move arrested, when the RA screamed...I came back...to my righteous mind... Put him down on the pool table... Looked Ted in the eyes...