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I always thought being a woman meant being a symbol of strength, perpetual confidence, and having it all together. I am not that. I am random breakdowns, praying in the car with tears, and, “Where the hell are my keys?” A cast iron pot greased in beautiful uglies over open flame, resilient and bold enough to get up and fight again another day. This book of poetry speaks to all the roses growing between cracked pavement, blooming in the sun yet never thirsty.
I am a Creole woman, born in Louisiana, raised in Los Angeles, bayou boogie and back alley in yo face. “What am I” is a question I have been asked at least once every single day. It’s amazing how being blended with everything can make you an outcast everywhere. These poems reflect everything I have been called, answered to and self diagnosed as.
Can’t No Woman, Woman Like Me is Ruby red lip stick kisses, hot sauce on home fried catfish and “Who you think you talking to” 18k gold big hoop earrings. It’s a “My mama told yo grandma” recipe of raw reflections in single motherhood, growing pains, love, heartbreak and self discovery.
I am fire and I am flaws, Can’t no woman, woman like me.
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