Tag: Black women

As I Go

When I was

Called from


I was

Baptized by water

Then, fire.

-JBHarris, July 2022

NEW BOOK-Next Lifetime Things

Grab a copy on Amazon! The Kindle version is coming!

Thank you to Erykah Badu for Baduizm.

One of my favorite songs is, and may always be, Next Lifetime.

There is a honesty to this song, a wondering, and a realizing that while life is changing–so are you.

This collection of poetry was written about a year ago, and started with the work Reflections From A Back Porch Swing. This poetry collection tells of how my own body is aging and betraying me at points. I talk about the new relationship I accidentally fell into, and even the shifting nature of motherhood now.

Everything is happening, and I am in the everything! In this shifting levels of amazing, there is a peace I have found in these pieces. There is more of me in this work, as a realized, happy 41-year-old woman, than I ever had before.

This lifetime, this lifetime and next lifetime, is amazing!

NEW WORK-50 DAYS OF NIGHT (Coming soon!)

I know we are about 4 months from Halloween, but as the benevolent being I am, I wanted to announce this work soon to come starting September 12, 2022!

As a horror fan who desires more representation of the melaninated, this project will be a set of 50 short stories—one story per night for 50 nights. The 50th night ending on Halloween—as my writer girlfriend Tonia says is Goth Christmas.

For this project there will be vampires, Reapers, werewolves, witches and all matter of other mischief of my own making.

I will give you this teaser—you will need to follow every night, otherwise you will be lost! Remember, I wanted you.

I am excited to bring this work to you, I am so proud of it, and I believe you all will love it too!

National Poetry Month-2022

This will be the third year of doing this, and I get hype every year for it!

The work this year may be a little different, some published some not. There will also be the bonus of some work on my writer focused TikTok page: @shesgottapen2.5.

30 pieces here. 30 pieces there. Whew!

This year will be more intimate than the proceeding years. So much more has happened in the world, to me, and happening within me as I age.

All work can be found on Amazon by searching me as: Jennifer Bush-Harris and Jennifer P. Harris.

This will be most amazing, and I am here for it.

Here goes everything and Enjoy!

With Love & Ink,



I am an avid lover of fruit, and trying my best to eat better and take care of myself. But, here I am hating kiwi.

I don’t like kiwi! I don’t like kiwi because it confuses me! It is brown, fuzzy, and green on the inside, only to be full of seeds! What is this, Lord?! And you want me to eat this–WHY? No, I cannot commit to eat a fruit that I cannot be sure should not be used in an ancient summoning rite?


I will stick with my strawberries.


My mother told me that “you have good genes.”

As a Black woman, I expected nothing less. No one looks at me and thinks that I am 40, soon to be 41. I drink my water, I have now committed to skin care, and a good night cream. I wear sunglasses, neither do I drink or smoke. I laugh often, and enjoy sex (it hits different after 40, trust me).

But, with all this new confidence in and at age 40, I understand that time is precious, and also because of my age, I am no longer considered young. Or youthful. And I am old enough to have a daughter 20 years younger. It’s weird though! I don’t feel old. So, I don’t know what it will be to be old.

I think that all the ‘old women’ are some of the most incredible people I have ever known! The fact that I can be discriminated against because I have lived?! That seems beyond unfair! In a culture that values everything instant, readily available and renewable–it would make sense that it doesn’t value time or age.

I am aging. I accept that–with deep sighs though! But there is that love hate relationship there! I am humble enough to know I don’t know everything, but confident in what I know because I’ve lived through some amazing nonsense! Ageism isn’t a wise believe pattern–it really isn’t.

I refuse to fault a woman (or a man for that matter!) for living…that seems dumb. Why would I fault someone for something that I, myself, do every single day–age.


I am a bibliophile.

Dedicated. Bibliophile.

My library is in three places–physical books, Audible books, and my Kindle. So when it comes to books, I am thinking of what it means to say “I didn’t like this book.” But if I had to define that, it would have to be Merrick by Anne Rice. The reason why I didn’t like this book is complex! I love that Anne Rice included BIPOC people in her expansive universe, but I hated that she just abandoned Merrick!

As a Black woman whom is a horror fan, for her to see ME in this universe, only to have Merrick as powerful as she was, to just GO AWAY? That is a deep hurt and injustice. With her passing away in December of 2022, I never got to ask her why.

A book that I love is by Warsan Shire, Teaching My Mother To Give Birth. I love this book because of it’s honesty, and the crafting that Shire gives in her poetry. There is a power to a poet who can do this–I see this in Sunni Patterson’s work as well. Being able to draw you in, keep you there, remind you that you never need to leave.

I love this book because Warsan’s honesty is as melodic as it is beautiful. As a Black woman, that is always needed and necessary.


Ah, my other passion: tattoos.

I am a big believer that writers have ink in their blood, and is demonstrated by tattoos. But, my ink is as follows:

Current piece: Lower right quadrant of my back, 3 Japanese kanji that say “Phoenix” in Japanese. This is a crucial piece for me because (1) my sister speaks Japanese, and it was through her confirmation that I got this tattoo (I didn’t want this to say what it didn’t truly say); it is a reminder that I am resilience, beautiful, and (3) my alter ego is still Jean Grey.

Due to COVID-19 restrictions I haven’t gotten the other three pieces. But, they are planned down to placement and color.

Future piece #1: Left ankle. This piece I have thought about for 6 years, but never had time and money together to do. I have the budget for it and time finally. This piece is going to be 3 magnolias (white, pink, violet), because magnolias are one of my favorite flowers and also the state flower of Mississippi. It is a nod to my grandmothers. It is a nod to the women who helped to make me who I am, as well as a reminder that I am tougher than what the world thinks. Also with the quote from the Shakespeare play, Antony & Cleopatra: “Give me my crown, put on my robe, I have immortal longings in me.” YES.

Future piece #2: Right hand/wrist. This piece would be the word Griot–which is a nod to my storytelling propensity, with Psalms 45:1 under it. In a delicate script. I can over with with a sleeve or a makeup.

Future piece #3: Left forearm. a Monarch butterfly with Doc’s Girl in script under it, and Joshua 1:9 over it. Again, this can be covered by a shirt–I am in Corporate America, after all. It’s a nod to my Dad, and that he’s always with me.

Future piece #4: Right shoulder. The name Merrique–in honor of Merrick Mayfair. Merrique is the French spelling of this character’s name. Read Merrick and then Blackwood Farm.

Future piece #5: Left/Right shoulder. The handprint of my spouse. I nod to our connection, this love and he will be with me…until we can be together again. Don’t worry…I’m taking my time with this. I’m a romantic, not a sadist.


When I think of my earliest memory, I think of my father.

When I was about three, my father would take me to my grandmother’s house while he worked and my mom went to work. He had a habit of picking me up, and carrying me to the door. In these earliest memories, I am in the cute purple coat, and nested into his shoulder.

Comfy and safe.

For this particular memory, I remember how brown the bricks on my grandmother’s house were. How deliberate his steps were. How precious I was to him, even as a three-year-old daughter. It is this since of safety that I have sought since I have started dating. If there is a man that could make me feel safer than him, that was my queue that he was someone I could be serious about.

The thing which is resonates the most to be about this memory is the sound–the sound of my father’s feet. The sound of the gate shutting behind him. His feel on the brick walk way. And how he held me, all precious and as if I was all there could ever be in the world.

And it is a reminder that whenever I miss my father, he is still there.