About GirlrillaVintage the Blog

vintage graced my bones before i ever knew what grace was. humility. mama shopped free. had us convinced that we made the clothes worth something; during a time when rocking rabbit fur and knitted hats in 4th grade could get you stomped out (schoolyard pizza lol). when all the kids had the latest (bk's, guess, reeboks, gold chains), mama glorified the ‪#‎handmedown‬, dark spots on bananas. took bleach and water to mothball and avon stink, her and the scrub-board worked it out. that's why i'm so girlrillavintage-girl real with her vintage. vintage was my first home on earth and it cost me nothing. gave me courage. taught me bout grace before i even knew who she was.

Reflections of a pass love

E1A9AB9A-574E-4A7B-88E8-891B81C292E4Honestly. When your ex lover or if you are the former lover that falls in love with someone else there ain’t shit that can be controlled about it. Life. And life must run it’s course. And we only benefit from trusting our experiences, cherishing our disappointments, feeling them like goose pimples, thanking them for teaching us many things, for being invaluable to us-knowing that life will always work for us.


0563F04B-C59D-4168-AB61-967571CE3AC2.jpegReflecting on my past lover. How blessed we are to know each other. How we learned to stop seeking the experience we had in other people. And to stay open to a different type of transformative love, knowing that our love is eternal. We are amicable now. Giving thanks to mama Oshun for being a channel for healing always.



#afrikanface #ancient #blacklove #channelart #creativity #dontgiveuponlove #expressyourself #girlrillavintage #healing #iloveyou #love #mourningaloss #oshun #selfies #selfiesession #selflove #stayopen #timeheals #tonguesoffurandfeather #theeamazinggrace

“Something to Do Dating” Sucks: There is Intimacy Without Sex



This type of romantic perspective can be a complete waste of time and space. It’s exhausting and unpredictable.

Been officially single since summer of 2018 and frankly dating has been nothing smooth or inviting. In fact, it’s been down right debilitating.

We gamble with our physical, mental and emotional health. We don’t heed the earliest warning signs. Like when a motherfucker shows you who they are believe them, in real time. Ain’t no point in trying to change their minds about same sex relationships, or a woman’s right to choose, or that they shouldn’t beg when you clearly said NO, or the health benefits of veganism, or the devastating effects addiction had on your own family, or how sexy gray beards are verses dyed ones, or the fact that you had a right to know they had a wife before exchanging numbers.

Given each person I allowed into my sphere of awareness over the past 9 months both figuratively and literally has been a disaster. And they all had the nerve to thank me for bringing them peace? When all they brought me was BV and yeast infections. Thanked me for being a breath of fresh air? When all they could offer was cheap, smokey bars, fish sandwiches, well drinks and short, stubby, wrestlers neck penises. Ew! 🙄

Honestly, each one that I chose to entertain was to fill a void. To occupy space that was longing for anyone thing to fill it. For something to do, literally lol! I know it sounds fucked up and dysfunctional, but I can be that sometimes. Gotta recognize the signs of our own needs. How healing ourselves is an inside job. How we are the person we’ve been waiting for. How intimacy plays tricks because the fact is we live in the closeness of our own skin. How these romantic perspectives cling to us for our resources, but can’t expend a kind word or gesture without wanting something in return.


I’ve learned that dating for reasons that don’t align with what I know I deserve is a trap. Like the times I dated when I was emotionally unavailable. It lowered my standards. I stopped filtering my heart. I did nonsensical things in the throes of TRASH ASS. I stopped heeding the warning signs of toxic behavior and inherent character flaws. I became harder and angrier. I stopped being empowered. I settled for shit that I’d never tolerate in any lifetime. I felt annoyed and over crowded. I felt taken for granted, depleted, unloved, unappreciated, depressed, exposed. My perspective was skewed.

And in the end I thank the creative and my ancestors for allowing my health to thrive and my piece of mind to survive. I made terrible choices because I missed sex and close talk. I thought I needed another body to make me feel alive and whole, yet I was born a whole person. Wholeness in all things is mine. I remember neglecting my needs before and the times I vowed not to anymore. Trust. Truth. Trust yourself. Tell yourself the truth. There is intimacy without sex.



Chant That by Theeamazinggrace


my vagina is unavailable. it’s not complicated. my half shell is closed. and no, she’s not suffocating. shes tucked cozy in the warmth of her own skin. breathing. thee amazing grace. self-swooning panties and boxer briefs. sits pretty like silver braided wisdom. she thinks. a mind of her own. better with age. never lonely. my walls occupy each other with birth chatter and black afrikan griot stories and orange blood moons. a new day. continuation of me. healing. eternal. love! love! love! love! love! chant that. 


Got Pink Music 2015, is one of my original works that will be included in the “For the Culture” exhibit, a month + long exhibit that centers on the works and creative depictions of black women at city hall gallery. Theme is Afrofuturism. Opening Fri Feb 1st 5-8.

#afrikanface #blacklove #eternal #girlrillavintage #healingrituals #reflection #theeamazinggrace #thickthighssavelives #throwbackthursday #vulnerability

Love don’t always taste familiar by Theeamazinggrace


Bare. Vulnerable. I think of the many hands these thighs have touched. How my heart wrapped around a lover and then again. How my body and spirit poured into theirs. Reflecting on many of my past loves. How many seemed to carry that ole “familiar” love language. How our vibrations crashed into each other. Enamored. Wowed. That love could taste so sweet. Comforted knowing we’d been here, together before. How they took bits and pieces of my soul instead of my whole self. How depleted I felt at times. Like the euphoric feeling you get when you know someone you just met. Past lives ain’t always been kind. How that familiar feeling held me hostage, long after each relationship ended. The scars I’m still healing from just staying in it.

I’m learning that familiarity don’t always taste good. It doesn’t always mean lasting love. Healthy love. I realize that what is often familiar in a relationship stems from deep past experiences from our first human examples of what love looked like. Asking, what were some of the first examples of love we witnessed back then. In the grand plan, it might very well be the thing that kept us connected, comfortable, stuck, on edge, bitter, scared, terribly insecure, questioning our gut feelings, staying even when the relationship was killing us. How we didn’t choose to save ourselves the first time we became unrecognizable to ourselves, after the damage had been done.

Given some of my past romantic relationships, I correlated when new lovers reminded me of people, places and things from my past to “red flags” that were bright and bleeding, early on, but how I stayed anyway. I thought I could change them, or wait for them to change themselves. And I do recognize that familiarity or the “soul mate connection” isn’t always a negative thing. However, I think its worth exploring why we feel so strongly toward a person in the first place. Also, how important it is to sort out where that all comes from before diving head first into loves ocean floor. Familiarity don’t always equal happiness or longevity and could very well be a warning sign, pathway to a toxic experience or ending, a breading ground for excuse making, settling, domestic violence, or staying longer than we should, just to say we have someone that we believe we know better than themselves.

However, coming across this new interest is dope because they don’t remind me of anyone else. The irony is wild to me that I don’t recognize anything in them from any of my past loves. And while exciting is damn scary. And maybe that’s the jewel? Maybe that’s something I needed to experience this side of things? I tended to gravitate to familiar traits in people that were clearly toxic because parts of me were toxic too. Maybe it’s what I knew best of all. At any rate returning to the place where I hurt in them delayed my healing. I needed to transform my ability to make better choices for the healing I deserved.

I’m not going to lie, this new energy makes me uneasy, questioning, reserved. I can’t for-see where we’ll go. Could that be the difference? Makes me want to run. Got me searching for ways to count them out like their hands not being the shape I like lol! Yet, my heart knows better. I’ve learned to love with a filter over my heart now. I take my time. I don’t put all of my energy into “good feelings” alone. I feel my way through cautiously. I allow them to show me their power and grace. I allow them to pour into me all the love I give away. Loving this way is a new beginning in my life. A new opportunity to create a healthier frame of reference for my future. A new place to call home.

I’m Sunflowers Sista By TheeAmazingGrace


Imagine pullin’ into an empty parking space 

and totalin’ your car

Well das Me… 

Wrecked. Totaled. 

This elephant, remembers everything in its room. 

Feels more like I been beaten. Mercilessly., 

Wit’ wooden bats. By vengeful 

spirits from my ancestors past lives. 

I’m aging. 

So my bones done become more rigid. 

I fracture more easily. 

Bruise more easily. 

Tears well up. 

I cry out more easily. 

Smells. Sounds. Buck toothed smiles. Flamboyant death drops. 

All ignite my senses. 

And my soul becomes clean when I cry. 

‘Cause crying is one of my healing rituals. 

Yet, ain’t no healing this shit. 

I’m exactly where my brother left me. 

On that uncommonly, cold, November 26th, dark street. 

Had just spent all day working,  

only to get home to cook food for a tortured friend. 

Dished out larger slices of homemade sweet potato pie. 

How bitter the taste.

I remember, as we sipped apple cider along side it. 


How bout the scene was loose with change. 


Fresh newspapers strewn about the floor. 

I can still smell the dead trees, 

the moment they told me my baby brother had died. 


Ran ALL out of myself. 

Slid cross the floor on coupon adds. 

Jumpin’ out of my skin wasn’t far enough 

to get away from this. 

The silence was so DAMN loud. 

Louder than my screams and desperate PLEASE. 


And the silence played tricks. 

The silence was so heartless. 

The silence acted like a fuck boy. 

And wailing. 

Wailing that hard only made my nose bleed. 

Snot, mixed with blood m, and tears, froze to my face. 

The mood was below 20 degrees. 

No comfort. No crab legs. No fried wings. 

No whisky. No heating pads. No yams. No deep dick. 

No coochie grinds. No meditation. No cunnilingus. 

No flailing arm dances. No deep talks. No nothing. 

Not even self-soothing. No selfies. No usies.  

No god. No nothing could prepare me for losing my brother. 


My baby brother.

Second born. 

My sunflower. 

Smile as big as a sunflower. 

And he loved to eat the seeds. 

And I love him beyond forever. 

Sunflowers senseless loss of life. 

Bullet to head while he sat in the

comfort of his own bed. 

And I remember the blood on his pillow. 

And how I clinched it. 

And tho’ he’s right here. 

And won’t leave from right here. 

I still feel pain right here. 

Hard to breathe sometimes. 

Replaying his last words 

as he looked to the edge of his bed, “Mama.” “Mama?“

Thank you mama, for waiting. 

And tastin’ his ashes pushed me to the edge of space. 

Made us feel close again. 

And I don’t wish for time y’all. 

I wish for the world to love as hard as we loved 

with no healthy examples of how to love.  

How our love language STRETCHED. 

IS etched into my skin, over deep contusions LEFT BEHIND.

Embedded beneath my bare breast bone, on the left side. 

How I cant tell our scars apart or our sleepless melodies. 

However, the wind grows me just a little, each day. 

My big sunshine face, travels in the wind. 

My Phoenix arose from the dust. 

My baby brother flows in my DNA. 

He is in the water too. 

Mama Oshun. Bless baby brother with your rivers honey. 

Mama Yemayah. Please nestle us both, in the safety of your oceans back bone. 

Thank you for your sanctity. 

For being a home. 



I’m Sunflowers Sista shareable audio with music by The Nest Collective’s Walk to Tawaret. Thank you for listening.






Triggering by TheeAmazingGrace

To trust u with my heart is impossible.

It’s triggering to be writing these words.

It’s triggering not to hear back from u.

It’s triggering to have patience when u disappeared so long.

It’s triggering to have prepared for a date only to learn it skipped your mind.

Its triggering to think of the peace I lost after giving so much love to u.

It was strange hearing “will u marry me” when I have never experienced the full joy of your ❤.

Why I love Pictures by Theeamazinggrace

Why I love 📸? Many aren’t aware that I grew up in abject poverty, was a ward of the court, am the eldest of 9 on my mother’s side, motherless and fatherless, survived childhood trauma, homelessness, and late enrollment in school. So, in most cases it’s not difficult to understand why I cherish images so much.


I once had a person violate my trust by deleting images from my cellphone without my knowledge. It hurt because it was not only my personal property, they betrayed my trust with impunity and told me they were doing it for me. I no longer have contact with that very toxic person, yet the symbolism wasn’t isolated. Made me recognize how important it is to protect my heart and sanctity at all costs, and to cherish memories I create.


They never cared enough to ask me why images were so important to me, so it likely wouldn’t have made a difference.


Yet, they’ll never know how I didn’t take school pictures because we were too poor, or how evil my grandmother was about it, ripping the packages up in front of me. How I took my first school picture at 15 and got a camera that same year. How we would visit mama in prison during the holidays and took pictures that mean even more now that her and two of my brothers are gone. And other unspoken truths.


I take so many photos to preserve my visual legacy. Because while the memories are sacred, the images are living proof that I was there. An irreplaceable, visual poem that chronicles one of the many love languages of my life.

#cherisheverymoment #collegedays #girlrillavintage #imageslive #livingproof #lincolnuniversitypa #mccally #memoriesdontlivelikepeopledo #tbt #takeapictureitlastslonger