Welcome to A Black Man’s Writes.
I’ve always had a thing for words. Watching them flow from my purple Flair pen onto a legal pad or into a journal just feels right. Yes, I still write by hand. Old school. Ink on paper. I’ve got good penmanship too—humble brag—even though I never held a pen the “proper” way. Teachers tried to correct me for years. Sophomore year in college, a professor looked at my grip and said, “I want to change the way you hold your pen, but your handwriting’s better than mine.”
I’m not a professional writer. I’m not trying to be the next great Black novelist or drop jewels that change the world. I write to process. To reflect. To say what’s on my mind without filter, permission, or apology. This is my space to be fully me—Black, opinionated, unmuted, and unbothered.
It took me a while to become unapologetically Black. Capital B. Always. Even though race is a social construct, Black is a title, not a condition. A declaration. A reflection of the light and brilliance we carry, not the shadow others projected onto us. By contrast, white stays lowercase here. That’s intentional.
I don’t write for approval or applause. If something I write offends you, sit with that. It says more about you than me. And while I may let the comments fly sometimes—I’m not here for debates that deny my lived experience.
I won’t give you my full bio here (you’ll find that somewhere else on this blog), but I will leave you with this:
Read. Feel. React. Laugh. Get mad. Learn something—even if you didn’t mean to.
Stay thirsty.