Kiarra is from here, there, everywhere. Technically speaking, home is Philly for now. She's currently suffering from an incurable case of wanderlust and carrying on an affair with 90s R&B. Future sex therapist, documenting her journey of growth here @xoNecole and photographically via Insta @KeeLiimePi (pronounced Key Lime Pie). You'll definitely want to hit follow because it's a journey worth ... following.
In passing, I read a tweet that read, "A lot of mothers are actually the reason why their sons are toxic narcissistic assholes...but y'all aren't ready for that discussion." Triggered into deep thought of the many examples of this man who I have stumbled across in my life, I mentally shook my hand like a polaroid picture in the air per Andre 3000's instructions, fervently murmuring "owww" as if I could get her attention to let her know I was ready from over on this end.
Word to that feminist who smears hers all over her face as a statement piece.
No, but all jokes aside, I've had plenty of names for menstruation, each one more fitting than the last—my favorite being a Game of Thrones reference—the red wedding. And sometimes Aunt Flo is an utter b*tch, especially when I don't have birth control to keep my hot headed cramps at bay.
About a year or two ago when there seemed to be an influx in the very public murdering of black men and women on social media, I became very intentional about distinguishing what needs to be seen and known to advance justice for those innocent people versus what is necessary for me to maintain a certain level of self-care.
Tall, like at least six feet. Attractive. Doesn't have to be college educated but he's got to be ambitious...and intelligent. Not too clingy, but present. Meh, I don't do locs. No locs. In fact, no hair. Just a clean fade.
