rob – The Skinny Black Girl

Where I Wanna Be

I didn’t want to do the “Welcome back to WordPress” post. Why? Well, I wanted to be too cool for it. I wanted to show up, irreverent and removed, using all lower-cased letters because I saw the cool kids on BearBlog⁽¹⁾ do it. But as I re-familiarized myself with the WordPress community, I was taken aback. I forgot how warm, how earnest, how real it can be over here. In the face of genuine authenticity, my schtick felt… well… like a schtick. Silly and try-hard and not even in a fun way.

So, I’m cutting the shit.

📸 Goodnight, Moon

full moon in leo, 2026

Even in Chaos, I Know Joy

“No, I do not weep at the world — I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.” (c) Zora Neale Hurston

in 2024, i promised myself no matter what happened in november, i would pursue joy. i’m a black woman in america, raised by women who survived segregation in church pews and backyard get-togethers with a little something to drink, a cigarette they shouldn’t have smoked, and music to groove to. our pain birthed american art forms — the defiant joy in our tambourines and church stomps became gospel. the deep-seated weariness in our fingers birthed the guitar licks that became the blues and i don’t need to tell you how that became rock and roll. our swing became jazz. hip hop was born on street corners that became recital halls when urban schools closed their music programs…

The Return

once a month, i swear to god i’m done with writing. i tell myself the old internet is dead and there’s no reviving it. i delete whatever medium i’m desperately clinging to for attention or relevance or the tingle of aspiration i once felt in the presence of a cool, self-possessed internet personality and promise to dedicate my precious time and attention to literally anything else. i’ve been on the internet for two decades — surely, i’ve run out of things to say.

and i was so serious this time. morning pages? out of here. journaling? motherfucker, for what?

i’m not in the business of keeping lovers who don’t want to be kept. so genuflecting at the feet of a fickle muse?