Imani Wisdom's brainchild -- Pink Noire Publications -- has been known for her unpredictable style of storytelling. Now its founder is expanding the "pink and black" brand to shine on prolific artists. From the inspirationalist, Danica Worthy to bestselling author, Stacy Deanne, Pink Noire understand these talented individuals know how to express their craft through words, song, dance, and stroke of a brush.

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If you read between these lines, I hope my words can express the burning anticipation that’s been withheld for so long.  The anxiety of my declaration churns from the pit of my stomach wanting to tell you in the simplest of words. Yet this utterance is more than a confession, but an unyielding deep attraction. I cannot say there’s anything more since the closure of your heart exists. Fear has become your bondage, and trust is a reciprocal feeling. It's mutuality beyond any magnetism.

If you read between these lines, you need to understand where my heart is coming from. It’s been shredded into million of pieces, and tossed like yesterday’s garbage. Fear for me is draped with a cover. It cloaks to keep this emerging feeling in darkness. Although I want to shout among highest mountains and to the lowest valleys, I need to say simply its time to unlock our hearts. Let it all go.

If you read between these lines, my words aren’t faux to your imagination. There are real as the air you breathe, or the softness of your skin, or when you smile it lights up a room. Your soul is an angelic creature. It’s as if as your wings flew into my life, dashing me to places I’ve never been before. The unrealism has now become an unbelievable reality.

If you’re still reading between the lines, these words are all have. I’m pouring every syllable and vowel through this text. I’m risking more than the comforts of a locked heart, but mortification. But before you go, I want you to close your eyes and imagine me leaning against your ear to gently whisper some sweet indulgence. What I say is between us. You know there’s no need to express them here. These lines, well, I’m sure you already know…
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Fifteen years is a long time to be in solitude. It’s not that I had, or having trouble finding the “right one”, it’s that I’m focused on taking care of “me”.

You must be asking yourself, why I chose to be single all of that time. Several reasons—for one, I’ve been a caregiver during that time. And I felt bringing someone in my life would put a burden on them they couldn’t handle. Besides, I had nothing to offer for the relationship. I had no substantive income, bad credit, no goals, and writing was not on my mind.

The love and the sacrifices for my mother, aunt, grandparents, and my kids was enough. They became my life. I forgot at that point what it was like to do anything for myself, like go out to dinner with girlfriends; enjoying a relaxing day at the salon; shopping at the mall; spending quiet moments alone, or opening my heart for a specific person. All of those small things taken for granted, I lived without for years.

And let me back track deeper in the past.  Before returning home to care for my mom, I’ve been in a thirteen year relationship with my children’s father. We met in high school, so therefore, we never dated. It went from friends to sex to kids. Then he went back and forth between another chick and I. Before we both knew, I had the three kids with him, and he had his eight.

Now I’m not making him to be a bad guy because what I’ve done after our breakup was just as bad.

I developed a mentality while I enjoyed my carefree (and I put “carefree” mildly) single days after my ex and I went our separate ways, hurt them before they hurt me. Yeah, I have to admit it was stone cold. Yet anyone who been hurt tries to beat the “hurt” before it gets them again. This just doesn’t apply to the ladies, but to the fellas as well.

And ladies, we scream how “strong” we are. We boast it on Facebook or tweet about it on Twitter, “I don’t need a man to be happy”. Before all of that existed, I used to boast, bragged, and stuck my head up high telling the world of how strong of a woman I was. Myself, and many women out here, misconstrued the phrase. When we’re actually saying, ‘I’ve created a wall because of the bullshit of my past’. It’s the wall I created to keep good men from coming in.

Later, I was finding my so-called tough exterior was a lie by jumping to every beckon and call for these men—even the two a.m. booty calls. Then one day, I took a hard look at myself and wondered out loud, ‘what am I doing…I don’t think this is God’s intention to live a self-destructive lifestyle’. So I stopped the madness. I stopped accepting their text messages, phone calls, and the two a.m. booty calls. And the rest is history…

So here I am at this point in my life. I am small business owner of a publishing company, Wickedly Sweet Ink, LLC, and weeks from becoming an official a published author. I am a one woman machine performing my own public relations, accounting, and any other jobs a Chief Executive Officer has to perform. Life is going good, and I’ve never been happier…seriously!

My Imani's "How to" Moment...getting your happy on doesn't mean building walls to protect your feeling. It means to love yourself, finding your purpose of life, or stepping out of your comfort zone to pursue a dream you always wanted to accomplish. And being alone isn’t a bad thing. What inspired me to write this post was from T.D. Jakes’s powerful sermon. He preached—and I’m paraphrasing—God put you in a situation for a reason. Sometimes He wants that loneliness for you for your personal development. In other words, He’s working you when you think He has forsaken you.

All of those years as a caregiver, I thought I was being punished by HIM—and really all along He’s been preparing me for this point in my life.

I could have easily kept holding on to bitterness, or throwing my fists up to God complaining of silly things, or staying in a comfort zone by putting others before me. Then again, life isn’t supposed to be easy, now is it? 
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DEVIANT MADNESS: A Downfall of an Empire

You may have heard the recent sex scandal of college football’s giant, Penn State. If you haven’t, here’s a link for you to catch up on these allegations in this article about Joe Paterno’s firing.

Not only this story is disturbing but growing each day with new horrible allegations. I’ve been hearing of the story on and off for the last few days. It wasn’t until last night when I caught wind of the details, and it sickened my stomach.

Before I go further let me remind you that I am a survivor from sexual abuse. Hearing these allegations nearly put me in tears, enough to have flashbacks of my experiences—and yes, I said experiences. I wrote a post about a specific moment called, Persevering Through the Storms. A victim remembers every detail during their ordeal, even down the attacker’s scent. My lasting memories beside his cold hands was the stench of cheap whiskey. I can almost smell it now as I type this.

So these victims of this scandal—that span a fifteen year period—have their own nightmares. The disgusting accounts had been going on under the nose of the university. According to the Huffington Post, Mike McQueary—another assistant coach—had seen Sandusky raping a young boy in 2002 and told Paterno but not the police. Then Paterno told the board at Penn State—and again, not the police. Now HuffPo is now reporting there have been “multiple threats” against his McQueary’s life and will not attend the Nebraska’s game this Saturday.

Smart move, dude!

I don’t condone violence, but this scandal is upsetting to question the university’s, the assistant coach, and even Paterno’s common sense. How can a person witness a grown man sexually assaulting a young boy without blatantly telling him, this shit is wrong—or physically manhandling the pervert off the child! It’s no different than McQueary performing the act himself. His silence was almost as though as he said it was okay to have sex. Therefore, anyone who has knowledge of a child getting sexual abused and do nothing is just as sick as the pedophile. Period.

Even if it sat on McQueary’s conscious the night before telling Paterno, the damage was done; even if Paterno brought it to the attention to his superiors, the boy(s) innocence been shattered; regardless when the Prosecutor had known, the memory of the darkest moment of their lives is stained to their hearts forever. All in all, the grown ups actions spoke louder than words—let’s protect a football program and a school’s reputation.

What’s more, this scandal hasn’t hit its peak. According to several news sources, there’s a new rumor to epic proportions. It’s now being said that Sandusky were pimping these children to rich donors from his foundation called, Second Mile Foundation. As of now, this is only a rumor and I pray this allegation is not true. To read more of this story, here’s the hyperlink.

And the sad thing about all of this is, McQueary and Paterno may had followed school’s policy by sending their information to their superiors and probably felt what they did was right, but there are too many people who knew of this and did nothing. Because of their lackluster efforts, lives are ruin.

So empires eventually crash and burn. The Romans and the Greeks could vouch for it—and I could go out on the limp to say that the U.S. is getting a taste of it. This upstanding school and their football program will feel the fire for a long time. More importantly, how they will recover?
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You should know by now that I'm trying to prevail from obscurity to a level of greatness.  And when I mean "greatness", I don't mean rich beyond any means.  "Greatness" is knowing fact that when you create something; whether it's an artistic expression such as writing or painting, having the ability to speak in front of others, or spending time with someone who feels hope doesn't exist, and made that person think, feel, or carry your words permanently inside their heart, to me that's greatness.

Two years ago, I had no idea if I was going to live past 40.  Why?  I was so filled with so much emotional pain, I couldn't answer that question to this date.  And yet, what I can say now is I had to "flip my own script".  It was either wallowing in my pity, and wait for death to knock on my door, or regain my dignity and enjoy the ride going into my 40's and thereafter.  What's more, even though I feel the devil do exist and can make our lives a living a hell (no pun intended), I refuse to keep blaming the devil on my life's screw-ups.  The devil made me eat a whole bag of "Cheetos"...The devil made me NOT get up in the mornings and walk...The devil caused me to be not strong enough...not loving myself...not believing in myself...not realizing that I am more than just someone's caregiver.  And because I was inundated with my responsibilities, the devil made loose my identity of who I am. (SMH)

Let me say this....the devil is a liar, even if it takes for the beast to implant the seed of doubt, it's allowing the DOUBT to escalade into a domino effect of darkness and constant bad choices, and that's exactly what he wants. With that said, I'm not giving him credit on anything.  To prevail on my general purpose, I've stop speaking of it and stop listening to the doubting voice in my mind so I can pursue what I intend to do! As I go on through this part of my journey, I will have the occasional negative thoughts, or look back in the past and heavily sigh of the shoulda, coulda, or woulda.  And yet since I've been literally been on skid row, I've learned so much about myself, and became stronger and wiser.

I have a mission. I will keep moving, keep believing, keep fighting, keep writing, keep believing, keep running, keep writing, keep creating, keep loving, keep believing, and oh, did I say keep writing?  I'm basically riding on "FAITH" (Imani) to get my goals and dreams. As one of my FB friend's posted on my wall, "I'm International now"......I'm holding my Aussie friend's words true because I'm may be an unknown author for now, but wait and see, with name "Imani Wisdom" is hard not to take notice.

Have a blessed day 

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