Dear Stalker-Predator

I could fuck an army of men, consensually, on onlyfans, or just me and my thotish self in my creepy fantasy world.

But you can’t do anything about it, can you, Mr. Stalker-Predator-Master-Bitch-BitchassNigga-OldMan-PrettyBoy-thumbdick-COCKSUCKER-SCUMBAG-SLEAZEBALL-CREEP?

THAT’S RIGHT, COCKSUCKER. I’M TALKING TO YOU, FUCKER.

You just have to watch and be frustrated or not give a fuck.

Whatever. You only control you.

I’m living life like it’s golden, and at best, you are a voyeur lacking a social life outside work obligations. Not my problem.

Go get therapy. Or get a computer game.   Go get a fixed boy cat that looks like you, honey.  What are you up to now? Three BP meds?  Take them. Get that penis nice and soft for your old lady so she can sleep next to you again without you boring her with that dry clit.   You keep coming to my site like you looking for something.

You are a fan, honey. Here’s my cashapp: $drcat

And guess what, bitchass?

You get to live my revived love life vicariously through me here online. In silence, of course, since your Owner put you back in your place, bitch, and both your knee and your head are bent to the floor.

But why are you still here looking at my blog, bitch?

Lose your way, can’t find your razor to shave some of that scraggly hair off your body?

You know she hates all that hair on her property, so eventually you will obey her and grab that razor.  I actually like body hair on a man, but since we are strangers and since about the best you seem to be able to do is show up and be one of my fans, I guess you will have to comply with your owner’s standards.

When I start hanging at the Jazz club this summer and taking photos you can pretend you know me beyond our official titles. You can even pretend we are still friends, though we both know your Owner chooses your friends and social time, and evidently you don’t make healthy social choices according to your assigned role as her bitch–plus you never intended to be a real friend–you just wanted to fuck with my head for your own entertainment because you hate Black women.  

As in, you want to fuck me with your tiny penis, but you really do hate me because I am not just Black but proud to have kinky hair, dark brown skin and eyes, and yes my pussy is Black with pink-red rose petals that you have NEVER seen and won’t get to see, touch, taste or smell, though if I get on onlyfans you might get a glance.  You are nice and satisfied in your world, right, so you’ll not care about this anyway.  Unless you are reading this, which means you might be grinding your teeth right now.

You lied on me for years and didn’t care what damage it did to me.

Do you get public feeding times, bitch? 

Maybe I should fuck my new lover on onlyfans.  And make you watch the first ten rounds of me getting what you can only watch in silence from your computer—-how about that? Not that you can do anything about it.

You are powerless over me.  You are a fan, honey. Here’s my cashapp: $drcat

You wanna show me love, send me some money for hand weights, a yoga mat, and door equipment to do pull-ups and lift-ups. I need to tone up and get in shape. Maybe a stripper pole.

I literally became ill trying to be the strong, silent type everyone seems to think is so glorious to celebrate, as if Black people–and specifically Black women–are supposed to be emotionless, indifferent, like rocks or stones you use to build walls.  My body told me to stop doing that and free myself.  I am not a slave to corporate machines, nor am I a fucking mule to carry someone else’s shit in utter silence.  If you really value what I have to say, why did you try so hard to render me silent?

I’m just trying to be human.  So I did a very human thing before ending up in hospital again.

I went back to 2012 and released my voice.

Check it out, bitches.

So here we are with my blog out the closet after being updated, so don’t be surprised if you see 25-50 ‘new’ posts which are really older posts unhidden/updated/revised/edited……and most of it will be used in a creative anthology I am building. 

As you readers scroll back to the beginning in 2012 (much thanks to Thaddeus Howze for his tech-work and his experience as a professional writer helping me build this blog structure) do notice how some of the more recent posts are expansions and in some ways revisions or re-seeing or releasing more energy, context, language, feeling/emotion….in other words, a couple of books are emerging here….and I have so much more I’m feeling as a writer–and it’s on my terms. 

Nothing like feelings and emotions and heart-hurt/heart-break/pain as inspiration…..you got here just in time….i do not censor lie or hide and that makes me very dangerous (allegedly) because i don’t and i won’t play the game that almost killed me last year….and i refuse to be used drained disposed flushed…..abused…..i write out of love and in love constantly just like i write while being aroused and angry and happy and sad and prayerful and so this is my voice and i approve of this message.

Freeing my voice, yes.

There will be no censorship here–that being said, there will be no gossip or bullshit here, either.

Just me being me, being free, being human.