I Am Alive Today Because of My Father, and so Are Countless Others.

When I was a few weeks old, my parents were driving home from a visit with my Grandmother. My Dad usually drives every where but luckily this time he took her up on her offer and rode shot gun. They got on the freeway, and he decided to take one last look at me before taking a nap. He pulled down the visor to see me slumped over the tray of my car seat my skin a shade of purple. He had my Mom exit the freeway, and they pulled into the gas station. My Mom pounded on the door, but this was before the age of 24-hour stations and the man inside calmly waved her off. My Dad leaped into action pulled me out of the car placed me his lap instinctively starting CPR. The thoughts that were going through his mind may have paralyzed another Father: “My first born is dying!”, “Why won’t anyone help us?”, “If this doesn’t work, my newborn may pass away in my arms.” The gas station owner finally got up, and after seeing the situation through the window allowed my Mother to call 911. As the ambulance pulled into the parking lot, I drew a breath and color began to return to my face.
Once at a carnival my Younger sister was riding a steep slide. As kids we weighed nothing; we were scrawny little things. She started her descent, and our Dad recognized something wasn’t right. My Sister looked frightened and was picking up too much air and too much speed. He knew she wouldn’t slow down and the results would be disastrous. He moved to the side of the slide, and I watched in amazement as he calculated when she would lift off and snatched her out of the air. She very narrowly escaped a brutal tumble that could have been fatal for a child her size.
My Father is a Firefighter Paramedic. He saves lives. He’s been the subject of a Movie and was played by Michael Beech and has even received commendations for saving people from a burning building on his day off. ONE HIS DAY OFF! He was driving, saw a fire, realized the first responders on duty may not make it in time. With no gear or any form of protection other faith and knowledge of his craft, he busted down doors and pulled multiple people from the building before it was fully engulfed in flames.
My Father has literally saved my Sister and my’s life, as well as well, the lives of countless other’s and continues to do so in stride and with no regard for accolades or recognition.
Mind you, my Father, like any other Man is not with out flaws, but I believe that’s what makes him all the more a legendary figure in my eyes. Forget Marvel and DC the real hero birthed me.
I Love you, Daddy.


This post was inspired by Treana Allen and her lovely wife Lorelei Estrada who posted this video and got me thinking about my blessings.

Pride & Precedents


Last night Clinton hearkened back to the Seneca Falls Convention where in 1848 people gathered to discuss the social, civil, and religious condition and rights of woman … Fredrick Douglas was even there in favor of the rights of women… but which women? I was sickened to hear her declare victory in the name of all women…in my name.
The Woman’s Suffrage movement led to White Women getting the right to vote in 1919 while Black Men’s rights had been smothered post-reconstruction.

ALL other people of color remained an after thought until 1947 when Natives were finally allowed to vote in the country of their origin and 1952 when people of Asian descent were granted the right to be citizens; but it wasn’t until 1965 that my Grandfather was allowed to vote…1965!

Much like the erasure of people of color from the history spouted in her speech, you’ll probably notice the platform issues Clinton used to lure you in sliding off her plate and onto the rubbish heap.
This election has lacked in genuine inclusion…Ask Bernie. Ask the Beautiful Black women who have been manhandled and jailed by HRC’s security for simply quoting their fearless leader. Ask the voters in the 7 primaries between yesterday and the election who were told their voices don’t matter by every major media outlet a day before the last Super Tuesday…
Last night I watched as my FB feed flooded over with ‪#‎ImwithHer‬ and‪#‎GirlPower‬ hashtags and I felt truly saddened, not angry like some, but saddened that after all the fighting, protesting, tears and lives lost when it comes down to it we are still sheep… still asleep… still unready to take the leap…What will it take?

My mentor Kevin Gershan always says “We change our behavior when the pain of staying the same becomes greater than the pain of changing. Consequences give us the pain that motivates us to change”… I am deathly afraid of what future we face… I am terrified when I ponder the consequences.

What Happens to a Vote Deferred?


You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach when you feel personal failure because people close to you…people you hope you positively influence made a bad decision today that will haunt all of you both disproportionately and indefinitely?  Well ya… I’m feeling that coupled with a deeper understanding of what it looks like when people confuse the definition of feminism with sexism and don’t even know it. I did my part and regardless of the outcome I can tell my daughter genitalia didn’t sway my vote.

As a feminist by definition I viewed both candidates equally as politicians with agendas and when I compared their records, ethics, and platforms…I can tell her I voted for the right guy and fought for him all the way to the convention…I hope I can tell this story to her one day and laugh about how silly it is that I was afraid for her very life…

I hope I can look back and I don’t remember the nightmares I’ve had of her replacing Sandra Bland on that video or her growing up in a world dominated by war and ruled by resource scarcity… I hope that my hope comes peeking through the clouds of media dust storms that bury FBI investigations and passive aggressive racism under girl power puff pieces and celebrity obituaries.

I pray that before it all falls to shit something pulls the pin out of this grenade and we explode into enlightenment propelled by the understanding that although things aren’t perfect it isn’t impossible nor is it unrealistic to demand real progressive change in a country that has always been dragged, kicking, and screaming into the future…

I’m hoping someone reads this and feels regret…deep mournful regret for not taking a chance on the underdog today… but instead of deflecting they take a hard look at WHY they felt OK with self identifying as unworthy of hope… I want them to ask themselves “what happens to a dream deferred”… then I want them to watch a Trump rally and find out.

On Syria And Why Being Poor (Not Privileged) Prompts Me Not To Vote For Hilary


If I could begin to express the level of despair I felt watching this video…I would… but I don’t think my heart could take it.

When you have connections…real connections, to all parts of the globe you die a little when you witness hurt blasted (or ignored) on TV…It’s impossible to watch people crying and distraught in the street after something like this when you know that could just as easily be your family or friends…but our world is cut off from theirs, isn’t it?

We are soft as an effect of our 1st world comforts and equally as hard as a result of the incessant onslaught of images like these… We think: “that’s so sad” and then promptly change to something uplifting to lighten the mood. It never crosses our mind that Rome fell. Things in our country are not perfect. We aren’t far behind.

Syria used to be a beautiful vacation spot,


hama     ibnwalid.jpg

home to a major seed bank, beautiful historical ruins, and a crucial part of the fertile crescent a.k.a the cradle of all known civilization;

now it (like so many others before it) doesn’t hold a candle to a shadow of it’s former self.

My adopted Uncle was born and raised near the Doctors Without Boarders hospital that was bombed this week. He used to go back frequently to visit family. He was well to do. He had a few homes there.

Nowadays, my Uncle is no longer well to do. He’s a lot grayer all of his homes there are destroyed and he can’t go back anymore or it’s likely he won’t return. I remember when he’d complain about Assad occasionally but the economy was stable then so I don’t recall it being a daily thing.

“It started with the drought” he’d say… (global warming seems to be a reoccurring precursor to a lot of these issues but, I digress) once food prices increased so did overall tensions and the kettle began to boil…

Our mixing pot here is boiling, but we’re too busy calling the kettle black to notice we’re on the tipping point too.

This election is about more than defeating Trump or a woman satisfying her insatiable ego by becoming president. This is it. This is a defining moment for us, our fork in the road where our choices are immediate destruction(Ted Cruz/Trump), cruise control at 65 on our current pathway to destruction (Hilary), or Bernie… who just wants us to spend with our true interests in mind, tax with our true interests in mind, and view the world with an emphatic heart.

I can’t compromise, because I see my future in the eyes of refugees dying on the streets of their own city. I can’t in good faith vote for Hilary knowing her track record of violence and disdain for black and brown people. She has and will continue to propagate the type violence I just witnessed and I can’t be party to that. Being poor not privileged is what propels my decision not to support Hillary because my vote is my voice and I can’t allow any outside pressure to silence me.

Hubris doesn’t allow us to see just how badly our tight rope is fraying as we walk it. We continue our jeering and crusading, nose turned up to those already fallen.


as oceans rise, water get scares and dirty, education becomes a privilege as opposed to right, and inflation devalues our already maxed out 50 hour work week; we’ll eventually have to come to grips with the fact that chickens really do come home to roost. Our insensitivity and deeds done aboard won’t be readily forgotten by those who we’ve wronged in the name of “Democracy”.

I’ll leave you with only final thought…

Imagine if you will the frothy head of a beer, toppling over the rim  in excess with mad abandon as if the spout will never run dry, suppressing the bubbling brown body of the beverage which suffocates below the foam… Eventually the bartender cuts flow and either tips the glass or runs across it with a blade cutting the head off and settling the liquid. Who are you in this analogy, the liquid or the foam?

Lemonade: Rejoice or Simply Recede  


I finally tasted #Lemonade and it wasn’t anything like it was portrayed to me. It was a full bodied thirst quenching tall glass of amniotic bliss… It was a rich visual embodiment of the call and response like conversations that women of the diaspora play out internally on a daily basis. It is sheer and utter blaspheme to paint Beyoncé as an “Angry Black Woman” seeking to publicly air a lovers spat…The images… so carefully crafted are delicate representations of our strength as black women… don’t you see?

It’s a celebration of life and vibrancy in face of dull toned turned backs… It’s a chin held high in face of misplaced applause… It’s the acknowledgment of the side eyes we’ve dished out to those whose very image we were trained to covet over our own… It’s an ode to the colored girl… and an antidote to the colorist. If you watched an hour of sunshine and chose to see rain… I can only deduce that it either wasn’t made for you or you were not ready to receive it. 

I was ready though…I been ready. I needed this more then I knew I did… a burst of brilliant blue-black ultra violet light. So many talented womenfolk pooled together in a single contiguous heart string… lined up in Formation… calling me with their eyes saluting me, emblazoned with the symbols of our pride.

I’m glad to be alive in these strange times…these fearful, exhausting, yet awe inspiring times. I finally tasted #Lemonade and all I could muster to say out loud was thank you … Thank you to the ancestors for laying the foundation for Formation by turning lemons into Lemonade under the watchful eyes of your little girls…because you never know who you are raising until they rise up.


What We REALLY Lost On Tuesday


Tuesday night sucked… hard. The progressive movement suffered a number of losses but none more important that our loss of faith in the Democratic party as a whole.

I’m finished begging the Democratic party or anybody else to pay attention to issues that matter to me and people who look like me. I’m not going to concede in fear of Trump; if he wins it’s our own damn fault for ignoring the cries of the 99% and divesting from education, industry, and infrastructure for far too long… My generation is a casualty of trickle down economics, austerity, shitty foreign trade policy, a 15 year war, regressive racism, and the continued misguided political decisions of our predecessors…We have every right to be angry about the condition of world we are to inherit. I refuse to reward negative behavior and give up the rights my grandparents so viciously fought for me to have.

If my Grandfather were alive I know who he’d vote for…

If King were alive I know who he’d vote for …

I’m not a sell out. I’m not a sore loser whose pride is blocking a vote for Hillary…

I’m honoring my ancestors legacy by standing tall in principle surrounded by those stooped over in huddled pragmatism.

I am not easily knocked down… There is just too much on the line to be disillusioned by the expected voter and information  suppression accompanied by election fraud. Those of us who know that 4 more years of the same could end in unspeakable tragedy for so many understand that we have to ride this thing until the wheels fall off.  I am still on board with Bernie Sanders and if the stars align I’ll be in Philly this July channeling my Ancestors, and the millions of people who just want a fair shot at a decent life. Yes, Tuesday was disappointing but if we pull this off wouldn’t it make for a great read for future generations who will reflect bewildered by our society’s prolonged lack of empathy. I can’t wait till all of this feels like a lifetime ago but until then keep calm and Bern on.


2015:Just When I Thought I Had Shit Figured Out, You Proved I Know Nothing.


“A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,300 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 22 trips to carry that many people.”

Click here to see the complete report.

Reading the above assessment of my 2015 blog traffic report felt like winning “Most Improved” at your high school varsity golf team banquet… pitiful (and I should know I won that very award and they lost my trophy in the mail).

For some reason I thought I would be able to change the world with my words nearly over night with my blog and YouTube vlog…but alas the year came and went unwavering in its opposition to my success.
The beginning of my 30th year was prefaced by:
-Extreme fatigue and the totaling of a parked truck and my already failing automobile.
-An invisible video blog that everyone said was inspiring but never watched (I know because Google Analytics never lies).
-Being sued for joint custody of my then 3 year old daughter by her biological donor because I finally broke down and filed for child support.
-Living with someone who criticizes my every move and insults my character on a deeply personal level consistently, but who happens to be fighting cancer so I can’t say shit.
-Still being broke…as fuck as the whole the world erupts in chaos and i just want run away and live in a cabin in the woods…
You know the normal stuff people deal with while ushering in their 3rd decade of life.

I thought that, circumstances being what they are, I should have no problem coming up with content to write about…problem was too much content, not enough time and evil ass perfection paralysis.

I have over 180 “draft” posts sitting half finished waiting for me to fluff them up and press “publish”… but I hesitate…WTF is wrong with me?

I’m exhausted that’s what.
I’m just fucking tired.
I’m tired of working on average 52 hours a week and only bringing home $523 because I don’t earn a living wage.
I’m fucking fed up with having no time to myself and feeling like a shitty mom for wanting to take a shit in the bathroom alone.

All I want to do is garden, talk shit about politics and pop culture, quilt, cook, raise some animals, and be the type of mom that raises a kid who benefits man kind…Is that too much to ask?

Blog, why can’t you magically attract more readers?

I know I’m not the only radicalized hippie out here.

Where y’all at?

Damn, this turned into a journal entry quicker than it should have ….smh. Sheesh; but I suppose that’s OK as long as I keep writing. As long as I keep writing, I keep expressing myself and in doing so I create small ripples…ripples can become waves and waves have the power to erode mountains.

Don’t count me out just yet folks.

I’m still here.


Lauren Croom

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Revolutionaries are Regular People


When you realize that you are poor but you were born middle class and are busting your hump but are statistically on a downward trajectory, the revolution has begun.

When you understand that companies aren’t hiring for the type of long-term pension-based employment that all other post-depression generations enjoyed; and you realize your overpriced noose of a degree trained you not in entrepreneurship, but in how to work for a now dead system, the revolution has begun.

When you turn on the TV and think: “If this was in black and white I wouldn’t be able to tell what era I was in”, the revolution has begun.

You see the revolution is in you. You just have to open your eyes to your own power.


In every Revolution the work is done by regular people. Women and Men who just get tired of waiting for someone else to act, someone else to say out loud that “this shit ain’t right”.

In every Revolution there were people who shirked the work of change in opposition to those who sacrificed everything, however they still benefited from the struggle in the long run…

Those nay-sayers will always be.

The weak of will and spirit always disavow straight spines and tall walkers in lieu of the comforts of conformity and cowardice.

When you look in the mirror do you see something bigger and better than the labels that have been ascribed to you?

When you hear or witness injustice do you boil over with a feeling of helplessness?

Have you ever felt like you know too much about history, too much about media manipulation, too much about the legislative and subtle oppression that holds this country hostage…so much so you have yearned for the ignorance you once had?

Are you afraid your kids won’t inherit a better, safer world?


You are a Revolutionary. Embrace your reflection.

You don’t have to get arrested in a protest to be the change you seek; you don’t even have to take off of work.

You just need to speak up.  Do your research, vet your sources, educate those around you, know your rights and if you question if you are on the right side of history ask yourself this: If I stay silent will I respect myself?  When my children grown up will they be proud of my actions or distance themselves from my beliefs?

It isn’t hard once you realize it’s your destiny. You know what they say: “The revolution will not be televised”…that’s because it’s internal… The Revolution has only to be recognized in your own eyes to be realized.


Bi Lauren Croom Follow Me @lostbelothefoldtumblr_myyc8ljDz51rj5axvo2_500


An Open Letter: to the passive aggresive broads trying to school me in feminism and guilt me into voting for Hillary…SPOILER ALERT: It ain’t working.



Dear Kate Cronin-Furman, Mira Rapp-Hooper , and all the other woman trying to school me in feminism and guilt me into voting for Hillary,

I believe your assertion that for some “late-breaking sexism often means later-onset identification with the principles of second-wave feminism”, however that experience is EXACTLY why I’m CHOOSING to vote for Bernie Sanders as opposed to Hillary Clinton; and I’d like the think pieces on why I’m naive or somehow less of a feminist than you are to stop.

I am an HBCU Dean’s List grad. I am a Black Single Mother of a 4-year-old daughter. I am a proud member of the LGBT community, and I have been eking out an existence working 10-12 hours days for $12 an hour in one of the most discriminatory industries (Hollywood) in the world. You assume that because I won’t blindly vote for Hillary I must be naive to the discrimination of the business world or the social structure of this country in general; this position is not only disparaging, but sexist, and ageist all bundled up nicely in a tight fist that I’m tired of being assaulted with.

I’m proud the woman before me have paved a pathway for us, but didn’t they do so in order for me to have the freedom to vote about the issues and the candidates’ political and social anatomy not their physical anatomy? Making young educated women out to be people pleasing and inexperienced shows a level of callus that is scary and truly disheartening. The woman of the baby boomer age were once idealist…what happened to that belly burning fire that was emboldened by opposition and in search of true progressive change? Why settle for just any woman when there is more at stake here than ovaries in the oval office? We have a Supreme Court justice nom on the line, we have oil pipelines from Canada pending, we have a trade deal that could dismantle what little democratic power we have left over corporations, and we have a privatized prison system that threatens to sue if we don’t continue to fuel them with free labor. I and thousands of other women graduated from college as the economy fell apart; we faced even more abysmal job prospects than we would have had we been met solely with the sexism already expected in the workplace.

I am not some starry-eyed child who doesn’t know what’s good for me. I am the product of my history, culture, and environment. I am the niece of two Uncles jailed by Clinton’s 94’ Crime Bill. I am a bi-sexual woman who is puzzled that the same woman who supported her husband in signing DOMA, the HIV travel ban, as well as overseeing the doubling of LGBT discharges from the military in his tenure, can act as if that never happened or claim to have magically “evolved” dismissing my and countless other peoples pain. Hillary didn’t fully support same sex marriage until 2013…yes…2013! She flew in the face of change and only joined our ranks as the prevailing winds of pew polling blew. She’s never stood true as a weather vane for equal human rights for all…only the humans who benefit her public image.

Bottom line: I don’t trust her. I don’t trust Hillary to do right by me or any of the issues I care about. If I were a man the very women who bash me would respect my right as an American to vote for the person, male or female whom I’m most ideologically aligned with. However, I am not a man…and these women… my sisters claim “there is a special place in Hell” for me and that I only support Bernie because his camp is where all the boys are. The legacy I want to leave my daughter isn’t one of forced affiliation or entitlement; it’s one of progressive ethics so I’ll stand tall in my opposition. If Bernie wins on a platform of revolutionary change I can take comfort in the fact that regardless of which side they played ALL women will benefit both directly and indirectly from that.

I do hope that a woman will inhabit the white house one day soon, but that isn’t my ONLY hope… I pray that by the time my child is of college age she won’t have to tackle the issues I have had to. I hope she won’t have to decide between living a life and paying back student loans. Yes, sexism is very real but so is the need to reduce income inequality, corporate welfare, and the cost of health care. I have aspirations for myself and my daughter that are bigger than the shadow cast by Hillary and when I look into my child’s eyes and my own in the mirror, I know there are better female candidates out there, but we as women need to recognize them… let’s not squander our “1st woman” card on a layup.


Most Certainly a Feminist,

Lauren J. Croom 




It has been reported by a survivor that Boko Haram used three female suicide bombers to burn children alive inevitably killing 86 people in Dalori,  Nigeria. Two nearby camps housing over 25,000 people who have fled Boko Haram were also attacked. This is my response to the puppets who think themselves powerful.


This isn’t ancient Pompeii…

This is Wednesday.

This is the result of a different type of volcano; deadlier than Vesuvius.

This is what happens when oppression is so pervasive,

so unescapable that instead of exploding outward

and feeling empowered to unify and repair the damages of colonialism;

some instead implode,

and in-turn choose to destroy the lives of those more accessible to them.

They turn in on themselves

cannibalizing their Mothers and Daughters

burying themselves deeper under soot and ash.

The deeper they entomb themselves under the burden of familial flesh,

 the farther they fall into futile feudalism…

Ancestors wail

but cloudy minded corruption, bloodied currency and the gushing  wounds of insatiable vengeance

deafen their chorus cries for vision,

 for a return to the regality of a people blinded to their power

sourced from a self-love so brilliant it has eroded the gags and shackles of murdered blood ties

and separation

even without a knowing of their past

the Taken bare the mark of an inborn pulsating rhythm

so distinct and viscous it bubbles up in caldrons of culture spanning every corner of the known world.

Yet at home

on the continent where humanity was forged

those who drew the dividing lines of countries and came touting the language of forced faith,

wait patiently for the silence that follows

the last shot fired,

the last throat cut,

the last ember of native life not stolen in form but in feeling

to lay still

eyes peeled

fixed on a heaven they’ll never see

bodies fertilizing the very thing

they died for without knowing


Bi: Lauren Croom

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