I love Islam and cream soda

I’ve always believed you don’t owe explanations to anyone. The people who walk with you don’t need them. And the people who don’t were never going to believe you anyway. That belief has guided me for most of my life—especially in moments when silence would’ve been more convenient, but truth was more necessary. Survival Is Not a Secret In 2020, I was shot multiple times with .40 caliber bullets by my ex-wife’s boyfriend, at her direction. I’ve never hidden that fact. Not because I enjoy reliving it, and not because I’m trying to shock anyone—but because survival is part of my story, and witnesses don’t erase chapters to make other people comfortable. I didn’t treat that moment as the end of my life. I treated it as another chapter in a long story of resilience, refusal, and survival. That honesty made some people uncomfortable. I didn’t—and don’t—care. Silence has never been my role. Witnessing is. When Chaos Escalates After the shooting, the harassment continued the way it ...

One year ago today, my life was measured in eight gunshots. Five of those bullets found their mark: one tearing through my eye socket and exiting my neck, the others shattering my arms, shoulder, and elbow. The impact detached my retina; the damage to my carotid artery triggered a stroke that stripped the feeling from my entire left side. A year later, the physical toll remains. I live with searing nerve pain and partial vision. I struggle to tie my shoes or type with the speed I once had. On the nights I do sleep, I often wake to the echo of those shots and the metallic taste of gunpowder on my tongue. I remember that night with haunting clarity. I felt a dark energy approaching and I moved first, throwing an elbow that made him scream—his teeth marks are still etched into my skin. The next sound I heard was the bullet entering my face. The case remains open as attempted murder. The police have their theories—ranging from a gang initiation to a disgruntled ex-b...

In the pit of my belly, John Wick's dog just got killed - but presently, the dominate feeling up in my heart is freedom - and gratitude. There is an ayat of Quran that quotes Zakariya praying, stating to God that "I have never been unsuccessful in my prayer to You" - It is a verse that rings throughout my mind in context to my ordeal. I have questioned a lot during the last 10 months but my faith in Him seeing my thru did not waver. I am first grateful to Him, good times and bad.

Back on September 10th, I posted an admittedly provocative picture on my Twitter, of me cutting a gag off of my mouth - one that had "Dom" written on it - with the caption "#48Days". To most, it was an obvious reference to my then-countdown to the day that I would be off of parole and able to talk freely about my ordeal with my ex-wife, Dominique. But to my man, Theo Wilson, it was an opportunity to cape for Dominique and attempt to call me out on Facebook and both get back in her good graces and look like Black-Women's-Best-Friend. All the while, he claimed to be "brotherly" to me. He must've meant "brotherly" in the sense that Cain was "brotherly" to Abel. Some background: In August, the Kasbah nightclub hosted its poetry night on a Thursday and a sister recited a poem about being molested and then pointed out an audience member (and fellow open mic performer) as apparently being the one her poem was about. This s...

On November 26, minding my own business, I got an interesting Facebook friend request.  At first glance, it looked like the typical spam request that would eventually direct me to a porn site.  Except for the locale of the person.  Generally, the spam requests come from a locale either from my profile like where I grew up, but this one was from Colorado.  It took about 4 seconds of a closer look to realize that it was my ex-wifey Dominique, after old shenanigans. And I do mean “old”.  She had only just recently catfished to me taking on the guise of a weather person working at 9News.  The same 9News that had just exposed her as a fraud and a house thief.  Dominique intended for me to click on a link that she sent that would record and send her my IP address.  Not that she could do anything with that info, especially given the fact that I don’t have a static IP address; the perks of having more than one or two hacker friends. First, I sn...

I am going to talk I've been back to prison for parole revocations twice now, because I was upfront, vocal, and honest about why I first went to prison in 2013. Simply put, I went because my ex-wife Dominique made false claims of domestic violence against me. Claims that began falling apart as my case progressed. However, in the middle of my marital turmoil, I made attempts at reconciling with Dominique, despite the fact of being barred from interacting with her by automatic protection order. That love-blind decision came back to bite my behind when, as her hoax began to unravel, the DA salvaged her prosecution by filling 19 cases of misdemeanor violation of protection order. I was literally facing an unprecedented 19 years in the county jail. It seemed improbable, if not absurd, until another local defendant made news being sentenced to an unprecedented county jail sentence of over 10 years. Long story short, I took a deal for an "open" sentence, expecting proba...