Raindom Thoughts

“Something is in the room. You have felt it before you had language for it. It is old. It is everywhere. And if you get still enough to really smell it, it is putrid. It is the smell of something that was once alive and human being slowly rotted from the inside out. We call it hierarchy. But that word is almost too clean for what it actually is. What it actually is, is a wound.”

We can do better than this. I really believe that. Not because I’m naive… but because I’ve seen it. I’ve sat with people in their most broken moments and watched them choose something different. Watched them decide that the cycle stops here. It can stop here.

This is not about one woman. This is about what 500 years of spiritual and cultural starvation looks like when it meets a ring light and a wifi connection. This is about the grandmother’s kitchen being replaced by a comment section. The elder’s wisdom being replaced by a highlight reel. The ancestral ceremony being replaced by a live stream. This is about us. All of us. Still on the journey back to ourselves. Still sometimes reaching for the mirage because the real water feel

The love I carried and sometimes did not know what to do with. All of it found its way on paper eventually. What I love most about this project is what it does with genre. Because I have never been one thing…. neither is this music. There are ballads that find their way into something that feels like house music. Hip hop revisited through a newer lens. Songs that started in the R&B and hip hop tradition and ended up somewhere that now feels like country, or alternative

None of us gets out of here alive. I mean that with every tender thing in me. We are all just moving through this together, doing the best we can with what we have. Loving imperfectly and being loved imperfectly in return. Finding grace in the smallest places because sometimes that is the only place it fits. You are not alone in the heaviness. And you are not wrong for feeling it. But also. Look up. Something beautiful is probably closer than you think. Check on somebody toda

I remember the first time I felt it. Not sadness exactly. Something heavier. A dark cloud that didn’t hover above me, it moved inside me. Into my chest. Into my limbs. I woke up one morning and my body felt like it was made of something ancient and dense, like it had been carrying a weight for a thousand years without my permission. I remember lying there thinking, is this what depression feels like? And in that stillness, something unexpected happened. I didn’t panic. I didn

They borrowed our faces, our elders, our wisdom. And sold it back to us. Pay attention.

The world feels heavy right now. You don’t need anyone to tell you that. You can feel it in your body, in the way you wake up tired before the day even starts, in the way the news sits on your chest like something you can’t put down. But can I tell you something? Breathe. Not the kind of breathing that fixes everything. Just the kind that reminds your body that you are still here. Still rooted. Still held. There is an ancestor who knows you in the way the world will never kno

Let me ask you something before we get into all of this. Do you actually like the opposite sex? Not love in the way we perform it for the camera. Not the highlight reel we curate while the relationship is burning in the next room. I mean down in the body. In the quiet. Do you trust them? Do you feel safe with them? Do you believe, somewhere beneath all the strategy and the armor and the carefully managed distance, that they see you and mean you well? Take a second with that.

Your divinity is not something you earn. It is something you remember. Whatever your belief, morning is coming.