I love Islam and cream soda

Dear Jannah, There there a few reasons that I write this, the foremost being the obligation to tell my own story, an obligation incited by your unsound attempt to narrate your own excerpt. The author Nathan McCall is one of my heroes. Our lives parallel at points (he grew up in my parents' neighborhood, went to prison, embraced Islam, became a writer) and I began conversing with him in 2012, which sealed the deal for me. Of course there are detractors, who tell me to be quiet, to "let itgo," but I remain resolute. There's another favorite author of mine who suffered for not being quiet. Instead she spoke up...and got shot in the face for 3 words. Those 3 words that brought her a world of pain, set her, and many others free. She said, "I am Malala," and changed the world. I am not Malala, but she is like me - I gotta a big mouth, and of course you know I'm going to reply to anyone who claps at me in the craven way you did. It's easy, isn'...

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...

When an inmate gets out of prison, it is a rebirth - and there are questions they confront in order to start a new life.  One of the most important ones is, "Where am I going to live?"  As a society, we have no idea of the reality that the majority of inmates get out of prison and that they will become our neighbors. I know this - because I was that inmate, and I am now "that neighbor".

It was July, 2010. That summer, my daughter was preparing to move to Baltimore with her mother, who had recently married a brother living there. Being the dutiful father and Muslim, I helped my ex pack and straighten the apartment for their departure. As I was gathering up Umarah’s things, I came across as small, girly-pink notebook labeled, “JOURNAL”. I’ve said it before – as a father, when it comes to kids, I am nosy. Unapologetically. I don’t subscribe to Leave-It-To-Beaver notions of parenting. Being a step/father to girls made me super vigilant, super protective. And super nosy. Sue me – and good luck. All that, of course, is to say, I opened and thumbed thru Umarah’s journal. What I read ripped my soul out and tied it in a knot.

Racism is an exercise of xenophobia and low self-esteem - negative core values that people reflexively cover up with Confederate flags and misplaced adulation of President Trump/hate for Obama/probable cause traffic stops. What follows is a list of activities that any Alt-Right Racist Cornball can engage in that will rid them of their discriminating schizophrenic prejudices and fears and have them trading in their robes and tiki torches for basic humanity.

Click HERE for Part 1 I got out of prison in August of 1996 on a Friday, released early from my sentence to community based supervision in a halfway house. I was initially housed at the County Jail, awaiting bed space, and was given the opportunity the following Monday to hit the streets after 7 years. I made a bee-line to my wife’s apartment on the Eastside. I had just missed her leaving to work but the kid's were home. A bunch of hugs and high-fives later, everyone was off doing homework and chores and I stood in the living room soaking my freedom in and basking in the glow of my new castle. The responsibility didn’t escape me, though. I was a full-fledged stepdad, and my wife was also my baby mama, being a couple months pregnant at the time. “You need to protect those girls.” That edict from my Sister rung over and over again in my ears. I not only had to provide for my step-kids as head of household, I had to keep them safe from a predator (allegedly) w...