#ps blogger
Let’s take a moment to bow our heads in the remembrance of how I just slayed every hoe ever. Every troll. Every fat-shamer. Every Muslim in Detroit and abroad that likes to keep up with my life but talk that stuff behind closed doors. The racists and bigots that say I’m oppressed because I’m visibly Muslim. Oppression? Where? Old co-workers that discouraged me from pursuing my creative endeavors. My ex-boss that told me that I was pretentious and intimidating and tried to get me fired. Yeah, but she got fired instead Look at Gawd. My ex, who was embarrassed of me. Tried to make me seem like I was less than a Muslim and downplay my accomplishments. Hiiiiiii A family member who recently told me that she ain’t feel sorry for me when I tried to express my pain and current mental status.
To every person who said I was extra, too much, too loud, too fat, too black, not black enough, or whatever…I may be broke, borrowing clothes from friends for shoots, bi-polar with several complexes but I’m here. I’m still here. Trying a little bit every day to be better than I was yesterday. And, yeah, sometimes I fail miserably. But, I’m still here. Standing tall. And slaying. *Sips tea* @Remy_me
IG: Lvernon2000
www.beautyandthemuse.net
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I’m emotional (tears + snot nose). So, I’m the winner of the 2017 Gilda Award for my work in creative nonfiction by @kresgeartsdet
I started writing when I was 6. Reading Rainbow was my shit. I entered my first contest then lost, but Levar Burton sent a cool rejection letter so I wasn’t going to stop. In my teen years, my father was never there. Mom was juggling 5 kids from different fathers and no help from family. I sought refuge in stories and other worlds. I was homeschooled, weird and thoughtful, more advanced than the kids my age. My friends were librarians. I’d sit in the library nook for hours and just read and dream of a life different from my own broken home.
I started entering contests. Won a few. I loved Sci-Fi but noticed the lack of black heroines and writers. I set out to be the first and wrote my first novel in college at 17. It was rejected. I wrote 2 more novels and they were also rejected. I blamed it on my color and socioeconomic status. All the successful writers were white and female. There was no room for my fat, black ass. So I stopped and never wrote again…
It was the toughest five years. Can you imagine not fulfilling your purpose? Then one day, when I almost admitted myself to a psych ward, I thought about my life. Like really dug into my core. My passions and talents. I asked myself, “who the fuck are you? Without your ex-husband? Your family? Your friends? Who are YOU?” The response: YOU are words. Stories. After that day, I’ve never tried to get rich or popular from writing. I was going to write for me. To uplift and to make change. If I had to write for free for ever and ever then that was what I was prepared to do.
Now, here we are. Making waves This white photo represents purity, an awakening, a new beginning for me in my career to change the narrative. @Remy_me MUA: @Being_madinah
Dress: @chubbycartwheels
IG: Lvernon2000
www.beautyandthemuse.net
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From my father making fun of me for being “chubby” when I was small to hating the way my thighs rubbed together when I walked, I hated entering public spaces. I used to do this thing where I’d tip-toe up the stairs, open the door really, really slowly then creep into the scene so that no one would see me.
My anxiety stemmed from not wanting to be noticed. Why? In my head, there was nothing to see. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t cute or smart. I couldn’t fit into those tiny frayed denim shorts from Abercrombie like all the other girls. I was just a blob in men’s clothing because Mom ain’t have the money or resources to find clothes for her obese daughter.
I was always obsessed with models on the catwalk and watched America’s Next Top Model religiously. I’d put on an old pair of heels and in my pajamas, I’d put my hands on my fat waist and strut. Click. Click. Click. The thick heels sounded on Mom’s wooden floor. I’d be on my own personal runway. Some sort of star. I’d go in the bathroom, shut the door, and look in the mirror. I’d work my angles just like Tyra suggested to the size 4 models. I’d smile and tilt my head and try to elongate my fat neck. Not knowing that one day this fat neck and thighs that still rub together would be sort of a big deal.
I look at fear differently. It was all in my head. I was so afraid of what other people thought of my round body that I made myself sick. Now, there’s no fear when I step into a room. I burst in that bitch. I smile, arch my back, and strut, a party, Wal-Mart. My runway ain’t in Mom’s house anymore in a little girls head. My runway IS the entire world.
Kind of iconic if you ask me
IG: Lvernon2000
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Trendy Tuesday Spotlight: ontheqtrain definitely knows how to dress for her shape! She is never afraid of bold colors.
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