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I’m made of sugar spice kanekalon and cinnamon ✨🏃🏾‍♀️

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Every Black Girl Is A Lily (2025)

Every Black Girl Is A Lily (2025)

Wrote a new poem!

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Horror Prompt: You decide to get away from it for a few hours and go picnic for lunch out in a field. it’s broad daylight and you consume. but the field is consuming you too.

You slice your finger on a broken jar of jam. Packing a whole charcuterie board of cheese, cured meat, and sweets felt excessive to say the least. You thought it necessary to do so. Try something different for once.

Nothing seemed to be working quite right. From overworked parents to high-strung friends, your problems seemed minimal. You made the decision to work alone. Secluded at a year-long residency doing, well, nothing. Inspiration hasn’t hit you since you touched the older grounds here. The residency felt all too desolate. Empty of personality. Void of personhood. It was a perpetually blank canvas you never wished to capture through a lens.

‘It all looked so much better in the photos,’ you thought.

But the intent was to build a reliable network for freelance work as a photographer. Your job was just taking pictures— at least— that’s what other’s assumed. There was no reason to let the new surroundings get to you.

So, you searched up a tutorial for making charcuterie boards, grabbed your thickest blanket, and turned off your phone. The thought of bringing a camera along made you sick. You bandaged your wound and went on your walk.

The trek to the park wasn’t treacherous. In fact, it was all too easy given the desire path leading towards busy picnic tables. Populated with locals and other artists. Normally, you wouldn’t mind socializing with everyone else but the pressure of living here plus being a creative genius like the others was too great.

Your chest squeezes. Feet planted into the ground, gripping your basket with nerves buzzing wildly. You shake your head and your eyes land on a not so popular pathway. You make a steady dash over to the bushes.

A glimpse of yellow wildflowers sprinkled through an empty field came into view just over the brush. The sun shimmered over the sage green grass. It was charming to say the least and completely quiet. Plus, it wasn’t so far off from the others you couldn’t call for help. Just in case of… who are you kidding? You were more likely of being kicked out of residency than being killed in plain sight. You preferred the latter over the former.

You spread your blanket on the ground and your basket right after. It felt good to be in the moment. The fresh air and silence would be enough to refresh the creativity you’ve been missing.

You take in the sight and thank your lucky stars for not having to go far. Just a few steps beyond the house. You lay on your back for a minute to watch the clouds, but your eyes land on the petrified tick dangling from a wildflower petal. Immediately, you feel your skin crawl and sit up to get started on your board.

The arrangement you learned wasn’t complex but it was visually pleasing. Nice to look at. Pleasant to eat. You pop a cracker into your mouth then pour glass of wine. You lean back against your hand and watch the clouds. The cut on your finger begins to throb. You change your grip on the glass and it worsens.

You sit up again to check your finger. It’s bleeding again. Again? You just stopped the blood. Did you though? You’re no doctor. You don’t really know what the fuck you did, but the determination to leave made more sense than a wasted hospital visit.

The blood soaks through. You remove your bandage to stop the blood one more time. You, thankfully, kept spares in your pocket and made sure to stop the bleeding before bandaging before. You knew better than to litter but what you witnessed was odd. The trash you knew would fly into the gentle breeze didn’t move. But your bandage did. The gauze you used to stop the blood did. It belonged to the field now.

You feel a thick crawling up your throat. You decide to shake off whatever conspiracy level paranoia wanted to make of your relaxing day. You feel ungrateful. Here you were. Outside under the autumn sun where it was warm and the breeze was cool. Perched on a thick woven blanket you grabbed on a road trip years ago. Sipping on cheap, but refreshing red wine. Smearing soft cheese on a cracker. This was picturesque. A moment you’re meant to soak in. But like a scared dog, your hackles are raised with your hair standing on end.

A tremor in the belly snaps you out of your senses. You shift in position. Now determined to decorate your charcuterie board. After few minutes, you start to get into the pattern you made on the board and set your half-drunk wine glass aside it. You take in the sight again. A soft smile graces your face.

A soft and loud ‘hey’ reaches you. Your head swivels in the direction of the sound then around you. It was very obvious you were alone. The shout came from the other side of the brush where the picnic tables were. Your mind wanders into a bitter state.

Everyone else seemed make deeper connections with the residents here, managing to get offers in higher places. You felt foreign. Something to be enjoyed, but purged after. Your mind goes back to the wine-tasting orientation when you first arrived.

How the group you came with chatted you up and you foolishly believed this time would be different. Everyone seemed to like you or wanted to be acquainted with you. You made jokes that made them laugh, asked about themselves. Put in effort to listen to details. They were interesting people interested in you and still talk to you now, but always run off with someone else. Invite someone else to lunch or drinks or just converse. Everyone blended in but you. Spitting out into buckets to cleanse their palette and move on to the next best thing.

You made sure to put on the dress you’ve been dying to wear. You even splurged on a Moncler coat. What were you doing wrong? The truth is you did nothing wrong. People had their own interests and goals to seek out. Not you alone. So what the fuck was your problem?

You realize you’ve been staring in the direction of the tables for too long. Your board was starting to sweat. Interestingly enough, no bugs were harassing you for your food. But the attention you placed on the tables was important. The whole time you walked here, you could hear the chatter and laughter and acceptance of them. In the field, you couldn’t. It was completely silent. An island. A paradise with no sound. The breeze touched you, but the rustling leaves were muted.

The truth is you didn’t want to be here. Not in this field. Not away from people. You came to connect. You were connecting but it wasn’t enough. Inspiration became lost to you the moment you set foot here impressing people in khaki shorts. Taking pictures. You could take pictures anywhere. You were good at it. That’s why you made it in with a bunch of college grads while all you could afford was Moncler on layaway. You came here because you thought it would legitimize you. Help you break into a place where black women like you weren’t allowed.

But really, deep down, you wanted acceptance. To be loved. For your talent. For your beauty. For you. All the jealousy and rage you bottled up over the years, couldn’t be directed into your love life. Your social life in general. There were lighter girls, prettier girls with straight hair and thin noses. You pushed it all onto career success. You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole after a thought like this.

All the success you chased and achieved. Your family was proud you dared to be different. You didn’t limit yourself— you were physically incapable of ever doing so. But all the striving and fighting to be in higher places came from not feeling desired in the ones you were already in.

You were foreign to your own environment. You were un-consumable. Whether you were medicine or poison depended on the person. It made you sick knowing you were treated like solely poison.

Surroundings whirled and spun around you. Pale greens grew richer in tone and color. Those yellow wildflowers you spotted turned a rich indigo. Muted sounds now vibrant. Tick still petrified, but the crawling on your hand forced you to look down. A black widow crawled across the hand that propped you up. You stayed still to let her pass.

The breath you gave was the breath the field took. The blood you spilled, the field drank. The stress you relieved, it took.

You stood leaving the picnic you set up behind. Wine and all. You had no intention of ever coming back. You would return to your room, pack your bags, and pocket your stipend to leave. Not to return home, but to find a new one.

A home will give to you just as the field did. Like you did.

Author’s Note: Hey girl heyyyy!💖 I came up with this prompt a few days back for my friend @jaythajujubae but I liked the concept so much I wanted to play with it myself. Took me a min to come up with something good. So here she is! If you wanna use this prompt, remember to credit/tag me! XOXO

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Let me OUUTT

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hey.

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don’t let nobody tell u im average

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a compilation of Etsy finds

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issa bipolar boi summer