"I don’t feel good. Can I go to the nurse’s office?"
"Yes," said my teacher.

I slowly walked to the nurse’s office, holding the hallway pass, an old piece of wood with the word "Pass" and our homeroom number "102," carved into it. The hallway was hushed and chilly. I knocked on the school nurse’s door.
"Come in," she said. [more]

Diamond and Crystal were twin sisters. Big, built like men. Old as my mother. Intimidating, and they knew it. And they were crack heads.

They bullied people in the projects. They hustled them. They robbed them. And no one did anything about it because they were two BIG bitches. [more]

I was nine years old when my mother brought me a record player and two albums. Aretha Franklin and Klimax.
It was 1985.

I rushed home with the record player, hurried into my bedroom, and closed the door. [more]

There's a scar on my arm…

I sat at the kitchen table. My seven-month-old sister sat on my lap. My mother was in her bedroom with the door closed.

As I poured hot coffee into a foam cup my sister swung her little arms and knocked over the coffee. I quickly lifted her high in the air so she wouldn’t get burnt. But when I brought her back down to my lap, I screamed! The skin on my arm had shriveled up. [more]

Christmas was nearing. I roamed around our apartment trying to find a gift for my fourth grade teacher, Ms. Higgins. I looked through closets, on shelves, in drawers.

On one wall hung a framed poster of a white woman, wearing a black pinstripe suit, toasting with a glass of champagne, and leaning against a Rolls Royce in front of a building labeled, "Welfare Department." Written above the picture were the words, "Poverty Sucks." [more]