Rated R, uncut, no director, no plot… just vibes and a blunt.
Don Julio poured me a sermon, said, “Baby girl, sip me slow and forget who hurt you.”
So I did.
And I danced like the past ain’t got my number. Ass throwin’ back stories I never told my therapist.
Yeah, I party like peace lives in the bassline, like liquor drowns the landmines of my mind. I’m out here lookin’ like a walking good time with trauma in a crop top—and she fine.
Heels click like “fuck it,” short dress talkin’ louder than my trauma ever did. I got glitter in places I didn’t consent to, and I’m okay with it—’cause tonight, I’m finally lit with joy, not pain.
My demons outside, but I left ’em on read like a dry text. Tonight I’m busy twerkin’ through the breakdown, laughin’ ’til the shots hit my chest like memories tryna come back. But they don’t. Don Julio erasin’ ’em like exes from my call log. He smooth. He don’t judge my choices or my tears, just whispers, “One more round and you’re free, dear.”
We throw hands up, not tantrums. This ain’t trauma bonding, this is soul unwinding with strobe lights, sweaty bodies, and bassline baptisms.
Tonight, I ain’t broken. I’m bendin’ it low, feelin’ high, confusing ecstasy with healing—and I don’t give a damn. This smile might be rented, but the peace? That’s real… for the next three to five tequila minutes. Let me live. Let me laugh loud, kiss strangers like I trust again, dance like my heart ain’t been evicted from love.
I don’t wanna feel. I wanna feel good. There’s a difference.
And tonight, I’m leanin’ into that ignorance like it’s wisdom in heels.
So fuck that healing journey for the weekend, I’m on a dance floor pilgrimage, poppin’ it like pain don’t pay rent here. Don Julio got me gigglin’ at grief, flippin’ the bird to my baggage, makin’ eye contact with a fine-ass stranger like, “Come heal me… or at least distract me ‘til brunch.”
This ain’t escape
It’s temporary amnesia with a DJ. A lil’ hood therapy, where I’m the main character, and my trauma gotta wait in line for a selfie. So cheers to the blackout blessings, the wild nights with no lessons, and the way we survive through rhythm, through laughter, through Don Julio ’Cause sometimes, forgetting feels like freedom. And I deserve that too.
-Tiffany Mariie
Old School Reggae
old school reggae makes me feel good sets me in a good mood makes me smile for a good while as I reminisce on the good times that old school feel is enlightening and I do enjoy it and I shake and do a little skank too old school reggae I enjoy you too
I used to outsource my power to those who offered only lip service their words echoing through hollow rooms, empty of substance, clinging to people I thought loved me. But now, I find safety and sanctuary within the vastness of my own energy. I no longer search outside myself for what has always lived deep within me. I once believed that validation was a currency others could grant me but now I know: their counterfeit cannot match the gold pressed in my bones. I reclaimed the scattered fragments from the mouths of false prophets, and with every breath, I call my power home. No longer do I knock on closed doors begging for warmth I have become the flame. I dance in the temple of my own stillness, each inhale a hymn, each heartbeat a drumbeat of divine belonging. I used to fear the silence, mistaking it for loneliness but now I know: it is the voice of Source, speaking in the quietest tones, beneath the noise of who I thought I had to be. I drink from the wellspring of my own essence, no longer parched by the drought of external approval. The mirror I trust is the one reflecting my soul’s glow, not the ones distorted by projections and need. I walk barefoot on the earth of my becoming, feeling each step as a prayer, each moment as a page in the scripture of my unfolding.
I no longer perform for belonging I remember I am the belonging. A temple wrapped in skin, a galaxy cloaked in form, a divine echo of all that ever was and ever will be.
I no longer silence myself to make others comfortable my truth is not too loud, it is liberation. Each word I speak now rings with the authority of stars, forged in the fires I survived.
I’ve shed skins made of expectations, peeled back layers of shoulds and shames, and stood naked in the presence of my soul unashamed, unafraid, untamed.
Now, I speak in the dialect of the divine, language laced with lifetimes, sentences shaped by sovereignty. I do not need to be understood only aligned. Only true. Only free.
I am the prayer my ancestors whispered when they couldn’t speak aloud. The embodiment of their hope, walking as the answer, living as the hymn.
I no longer chase what dims my light. I no longer cradle illusions, hoping they’ll transform into truth. The veil has lifted, and I have seen myself not in fragments, but in fullness
I am not who they named me. I am who I’ve always been beneath the stories, beneath the survival a sovereign frequency too vast for cages, too ancient for compromise. I wear my healing like a crown, woven from tears turned holy, wounds turned wisdom, scars turned starlight. Now, I choose me in every timeline, in every breath. Not out of ego but out of reverence for the divine design I’ve been entrusted to carry. I rise as the keeper of my own light, unyielding flame in a world of shadows carrying the weight of stars in my veins, the legacy of lifetimes in my breath. And in this sacred choosing, I find my peace knowing that to be whole is to be free. And so it is! Ase. Amun.
QueenEssence
The Message in the Music
"Confrontation" is inevitable but sometimes it takes a kinda "Rastaman Vibration"
to be able to understand "Survival" but I really don't want to be "Waiting in Vain" because there is "So Much Trouble in the World" and we need to "Wake Up and Live"
In this "Concrete Jungle", "Them Belly Full" but we know we hungry for knowledge and "Positive Vibration" needs to be at the forefront
I keep a smile on my face Trying my best to be carefree
Sometimes life tries to beat me down But the goal is to keep going Sometimes things get in my way But the goal is to keep growing
Being alive is a reason to celebrate Another day to experience new things It's easy to stay in bed all day but I'd much rather chase my dreams
Pushing myself to be greater Than I've ever been Transforming my losses Turning them into wins
Speaking life into myself Because there's power in the tongue I want to live my best life While air still travels to my lungs
Copyright 2025 Eloquent Pearlfection
Wings of Unseen Beauty
The butterfly never sees the beauty of its own wings. Oftentimes it’s unaware of the experience it brings. In its own world flying free, From flower to flower, living how it’s designed to be.
How many of us live our life being the light, All the while staying focused on getting through the night? Affecting others by simply being Unapologetic—
Not recognizing the beauty we exude is magnetic.
Does anyone ever wonder if they tire after a flight? If anything presents itself bringing on fright? Or are humans more concerned with the omen she represents Encouraging them to let go and make sense, Realizing the barriers aren’t really that dense?
To be that small and travel that far From cocoon to sky, breaking barriers on high Why would you ever let an opportunity pass you by? Circumstances causing you to think that you can’t fly,
All the while you have a seed from the Most High, Giving you the right…
To spread your wings and take flight.
Have It My Way
I woke up like, “Alexa, play my theme song”
Something real ratchet with a bass so strong, it shook the regrets off last night’s thong.
Life been lookin’ like a rooftop party with no curfew, I’m dancin’ on my own time, baby no one to answer to.
I got champagne dreams in a red Solo cup, heels in my hand, still struttin’ like “What’s up?”
The world my runway, even when it rains, I’m poppin’ umbrellas with glitter and foreplay.
They said I need to settle down, I said “Tell that shit to gravity,” ‘cause I’m too high on good vibes and “fuck it” is my favorite strategy.
I don’t clock in, I clock out of norms, expectations, and fake friends. I do brunch on Tuesdays, tequila with my ends. Shakin’ ass in the mirror like rent don’t exist, but I always pay it on time with a twist.
Life ain’t been no crystal stair, nah it’s been a stripper pole in stilettos, slippery but I gripped it, threw that trauma in the crowd and tipped it.
Now I wear my scars like glitter eyeliner, bold, unapologetic, drunk off eyeliner. My joy is ghetto-fabulous and educated, hood-certified and soul-validated.
I manifest like I talk slick real slick, like cocoa butter on thick thighs. Don’t ask me where I see myself in 5 years, I’m tryna survive the weekend alive. I got dreams bigger than my ex’s ego, and baby that’s sayin’ a lot. I’m chasing checks, good sex, and peace in a pretty-ass spot.
I’m the lotus in the liquor, a candle in a cracked bottle still flicker. Turned my heartbreaks into hookahs, and now I breathe fire with my sisters. Call me reckless? I call it free.
I’m God’s wildflower—unpruned, untamed, and sexy as can be. I’m havin’ my way like it’s drive-thru love, extra sauce, no judgment, just vibes and above. So cheers to the late nights, the wrong texts, the spontaneous flights, the laughter that makes you pee just a lil’, and the life I built raw, wild, and real. No blueprint, no map, just glitter, gut, and a bold ass clapback. Because I’m not just living
I’m throwin’ a whole-ass block party in my spirit. And you’re invited… Just bring vibes. And maybe some Hennessy.
South Side Sunlight
I come from where the south side streets of St. Louis hum lullabies in gunpowder and sirens where boarded windows watch you grow like tired elders, where the corner store clerk know your dreams by your nickname, where we learned to turn food stamps into feasts, and pennies into prayers strong enough to keep mama’s lights on.
I’m black black like my granddaddy’s work boots scuffin’ them same sidewalks, black like my grandma’s hot comb on the stove, black like that rich river mud that birthed the blues and still stains our bloodlines.
They see our zip code and swear they see our tombstone like 63118 supposed to tattoo failure on my forehead. But I break molds like glass bottles tossed in alleyways, my ambition cuttin’ through blocks like ice cream trucks in July.
I’m south side certified where we learned to hustle hope on porches and cracked curbs, where boys turn to men before they turn fifteen, and girls wear crowns made of resilience wrapped tight like braids.
See, they love our drip our Air Force 1’s, our slang that flip verbs into gold, our hoodies that hide brilliance they too blind to see.
They crave our walk, our talk but they don’t want the heavy stories stitched in our denim, the hunger that taught us how to cook up more than meals taught us how to season our hustle ‘til it fed generations.
I’m proud this skin soak sun like stolen gold, proud my melanin worth more than they can pawn.
I’m dark like backyard barbecues and block parties, rich like the brown sugar in mama’s baked beans sweet but strong enough to stick to your ribs when the world forget you.
I’m south side soil sproutin’ skyscraper dreams, my roots deep in bricks that spit bullets and babies in the same breath, but I refuse to let cracked concrete define my shine
I’m the rose that flip boarded doors into open gates, turn alley dust to diamond pathways.
So salute my city when you see me
I’m black and proud, St. Louis born, product of poverty but not its prisoner
I’m the echo of ancestors’ prayers on Cherokee Street, I’m the voice that say we more than statistics, I’m the pose they can’t steal when they steal our style
I’m black, I’m south side, and I’m never bowin’ down to what they thought I’d be.
The Gospel According to Charcoal
Written by Nelly Vee
The grill ain’t just cooking it’s testifying. Each snap of flame is a verse. Each sizzle? A confession. The meat don’t just lie on that fire it sacrifices, turning from raw to ready like a soul in transition.
And we gathered like congregants don’t come just for the food, but for the sermon rising in smoke. That holy scent?
That’s memory being seasoned and served. Grandma’s wisdom woven between ribs. Uncle’s laugh stuck between chicken bones.
Then come the riddims deep, low, rooted. Reggae don’t knock. It don’t need permission. It walks in slow, sits beside the fire, and reminds you who you were before life started rushing you. It’s the voice that speaks when your own’s been hushed. It’s not entertainment it’s inheritance.
This ain’t just party and fun. It’s revival.
The grill is our altar, and every bassline is a prayer we forgot we knew.
Carnival of Smoke & Soul
Written by Nelly Vee
Joy showed up with a crooked grin and a bottle in hand— uninvited, unbothered, untamed. She came barefoot, tracking in rhythm and rebellious laughter.
The smoke curled like seduction, wrapping around shoulders, lifting burdens we didn’t know we carried. Grills popped and hissed like they were tired of being polite. They weren’t feeding hunger they were rewriting it.
Burgers flipped like old pages. Wings rose like second chances. And in the middle of it all, music slipped in sideways that roots reggae, the kind that don’t just play... it remembers. It’s the drumbeat of our forgotten freedoms, a reminder that movement is medicine.
We don’t dance for show. We dance to feel our bones forgive us for all the times we stood too still.
This ain’t a cookout. This is sacred rebellion in flip-flops. A backyard uprising with smoke and bass.
Ashes, Echoes & Everything In Between
Written by Nelly Vee
There’s a stillness inside fire. Most folks miss it. They see the burn, the heat, but not the story unfolding in the ash. See, the grill don’t just feed it translates. It tells you how pain turns into flavor when you give it time.
People gather like old verses in a song. Not to impress— but to remember.
The laughter comes slow, like it had to travel through grief just to make it. The food? It’s not about the taste. It’s about who you become while waiting for it.
Then comes that familiar rhythm. Reggae.
Not a beat, but a truth disguised in melody. It don’t beg you to move—it dares you to listen. To breathe slower. To stand taller. To remember that somewhere between the smoke and the sway, you’re still healing from something.
And maybe, just maybe this party, this gathering, this moment— ain’t just fun. It’s what joy looks like when it finally learns to rest its weight.
Black & Built From Brick
I was raised where the concrete don’t crack for flowers but somehow my roots found rain in the drought My skin, black like a back alley midnight rich like the oil they spill blood for, thick like my mama’s Sunday stew when the fridge whisper famine.
I’m proud my melanin don’t dilute for nobody’s comfort I’m a whole solar eclipse walking, got ‘em squintin’ when I pass, trying to mimic my slang, snatch my style, but can’t copy this posture spine straight like rent due.
See, they love our drip our baggy jeans, bamboo earrings, cornrows tight like secrets in the hood. But they ain’t bout to stitch their name in the struggle that dressed us. They don’t want these corner store stories, this dollar menu dinner table grace.
I came up with pockets on E but dreams on F full tank, full throttle, no brakes on these black ambitions My childhood was food stamps and “maybe next month,” but now my hustle flip stamps to passports, section 8 to estate gates, all ‘cause I refused to let broken streetlights tell me where my brightness ends.
I’m from cracked sidewalks and chalk outlines, but I drew new lines a blueprint nobody believed in but me.
I’m poverty’s prodigy turned prosperity’s problem, an urban legend scribbled on spiral notebooks in underfunded classrooms.
I’m black , black like a record that never stops spinning, black like my grandma’s cast iron skillet, seasoned with survival
I’m black like protest fists and Sunday service hymns, like gold teeth grinning in a system that swear we ain’t supposed to smile.
So don’t tell me my past supposed to chain my feet my feet made for moonwalks on closed caskets of doubt I’m black and I’m proud — no James Brown sample needed. Poverty raised me
Captivated
I could watch you for hours, the way sunlight softens when it touches you Your spirit moves through me like calm waves kissing the shore of my restless heart. When you speak, there’s conviction in every word a quiet battle you’re fighting just to become the best version of you.
I see you Not the version the world paints, but the truth beneath the noise the softness, the strength, the doubt you think no one notices And when I catch my own reflection, somehow, I see you too, because I’m quietly, completely captivated. Your voice it melts through bone and settles somewhere between my chest and my dreams, teaching my soul how to dance again to the rhythm of what could be if only you looked at me the way I look at you. I’ve memorized the gentle map of your face in the silence between our words. Every curve, every line feels intentional, aligned by something greater than chance. You are art to me
Okay okay
I know.
I’m captivated. But what if what you’ve been searching for was already standing here, ready to love you quietly, tenderly, from crown to feet? What if we were written in the same sky but you mistook the stars for coincidence? Damn, you’re beautiful. Sometimes I forget how to breathe when I look at you.
I’m captivated. I close my eyes, and my lips ache to know yours I imagine the taste of your skin like the first sip of something forbidden, something worth waiting for. Be careful with me. I laugh, I play, but beneath it all it’s you I want. Even in your distance, my spirit feels yours pulling closer in ways you’d probably deny if I told you. But I know.
And I understand You’re healing.
So am I.
But none of it changes this quiet truth: I am still in awe of you. I am captivated in the softest, deepest way. And though my mouth may never speak it aloud, my heart screams it when you’re near. I will love you from afar with patience, with tenderness, with the kind of love that notices every shadow and flaw, and still calls you beautiful. You don’t even know… I’ve already surrendered. I may be just a little captivated.
