Karma’s

Dirty Secrets
Memoir

Written by, Newoka LaShelle Baker

 Dream Play Productions, LLC

www.Newoka.Info
www.wix.com/Webmistress2/Audio-Book-Production

Copyright © 2011 Dream Play Productions, LLC

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Baker, Newoka LaShelle

Karma’s Dirty Secrets Memoir/Newoka LaShelle Baker. [1st,
Ed.]

ISBN: 978-1-4583-7148-5

1. Literary works –- Memoir 2. Digital formats,

eBooks, audio books, mp3 etc. 3. Self-Help

All rights reserved. No part of this book or digital formats

produced may be reproduced in any form or by any means,
without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-4583-7148-5

Contact/Book Author: NewokaSpeaks@gmail.com

Dedicated to my late great grandfather Port Arthur Wright
(Born January 1, 1905 - Sunset: March 11, 2000)
Author Message:
My Closure
The content that you are about to read in this book entitled, Karma’s
Dirty Secrets is based on true stories. Some names have been
changed only to protect the truly innocent. You may even be
surprised to relate to some of the stories as if the author was talking
about you. Either way, if you cannot handle the truth we advise you
to put this book down now and remain in the dark. However, if you
desire to know the detailed truth read in-between the lines for the
names revealed in the light of karma.

Karma is a bitch in the end. –Newoka LaShelle Baker

CONTENTS
Introduction (message from the author – My Closure)

Dea r K a r ma – Ab o u t Fa mi l y Se cre ts

1. Facing A Little Girl’s Demons

2. Muggy Mug Shot
3. The Curse of Karma
4. Facing Demons of a Child Stripped of Innocence
5. Child Molesters on Aldine
6. Gang Rape & Karma – Flash Back
7. Dirty Sheets
8. Please Excuse Your Ignorance
9. Crazy Card Cover Up
10. Strange Hands Flash Back
11. Setting the Record Straight
12. Sugar Daddy
13. Stalked by a Police Officer
14. Dreams & Nightmares
15. The Rapist Next Door
16. Dear John
17. Speaking of Being Heard
18. Taking My Life Back

Closure –Garden of Dreams

19. Poetry
Photo Gallery
AB OUT F AMI LY S E CR ET S
My mother was a clever, charming, deceitful, smiling in your face, back
stabbing low down dirty bitch. – Alexyss K. Tylor
 CHARTACTERS - WHAT ROLE
DID YOU PLAY?

Newoka LaShelle Baker

Born January 17, 1976

My Father – Rollin My Mother – Stink

Grandmother Grandfather Great Grandmother Great Grandfather

Facing A Little Girl’s Demons

Dear Karma:

By the time you get this

letter I will be thirty-five
years old, disowned by my
mother, a family of my
own and living as far away
from St. Louis as I can
afford. However, I wanted
to share my story in detail
about the way of the world
when I was a little girl.

Born to teenage parents out of wedlock was indeed

an adventure that I am blessed to have survived.
Some people are not capable of being loving parents
and in my opinion should not have offspring.
However, my parents conceived a daughter born out
of wedlock on the 17th day of January born in the
year 1976. My childhood home was located in the
historical Ville neighborhood in North St. Louis
City. The Ville was once homes to wealthy
landowners, modes laborers, simple farmers,
doctors, lawyers, teachers and influential
politicians.
Our family lived on the same street once
nce shared by
Charless Edward Anderson "Chuck" Berry (born
October 18, 1926) an American guitarist, singer,
and songwriter, and one of the pioneers of rock and
roll music. My
childhood home was
several doors down
from the historical red
and white Peter Clark
house that still stands
in good condition
today and owned by
Eva Woolfolk. Peter
Clark was the nephew
of William Clark of
the Lewis and Clark
Expedition. My late great grandparent’s
ndparent’s were
th
married on the 9 day of June in the year 1927 and
remained a loving
ng couple until death departed them,
in mid November 1986. My life changed drastically
when my great grandmother died. This was one of
the loneliest times in my life and I was often
depressed about the nasty things people did to me
including my own mother when no one was around.
Daddy Port would always tell me stories about
when he was growing up in Wrightsville, Arkansas.
He had two sisters, three brothers, four sons, one
daughter, twenty-twotwo great grandchildren, thirty-
thirty
four great grandchildren, a host of grandchildren;
nieces, nephews, friends and retired from the th
railroad when he died March 11, 2000.
 Daddy Port was born on
January 1, 1905 and
could no longer protect
me from the sick twisted
intentions of my ignorant
child parents who never
took responsibility
respon for
their own actions until
this very day. Daddy’s
house was demolished by
the city of St. Louis for
new home construction
almost eight years after he died. This was the only
sentimental physical memory that I had left of my
childhood home with my great grandparents. It
seemed like the sun did not shine as bright when
they both died. There was no longer anything left to
hold onto in St. Louis. I was considered to be a
highly intelligent, well mannered precocious child
by most adults in my childhood.. Inquisitive about
life, nature, art, drawing, books, music, reading,
writing, church and pets was my pass time as a little
girl. I had a life of a child briefly granted with the
support of my great grandfather for piano lessons;
sculpt classes, violin lessons
ssons including studies in
bird watching and identification of species, singing
in the school and church choir ending in drawing
and painting lessons in the Parkway School District
with a 3.0 GPA considering the fact that t I had to
study with no help. On top p of trying to focus on
general core studies I was also dealing with being
touched by adults and older kids in private places at
or near home that involved familiar faces. It was
unheard of in our family to talk about sexual abuse
and I would find out the hard way about rape and
molesters. I was a child, a virgin ‘meaning’ that I
was sexually inexperienced and did not have the
ability to understand the term consensual sex until
much later in life. My mother’s brother use to take
me to the third floor of the house that he shared
with his mother and siblings. He fondled me on at
least two occasions that I can recall. When my uncle
tried to penetrate me and I would scream and he
would tell me to be quite and open my legs, I was
six years old because I recall this being right before
I was enrolled in the kindergarten. When I told his
mother I got a beating for what happened. I was a
little girl beaten by a woman who I never ever
spoke to again in regards to the topic of sexual
abuse. Later in life I found out that I am not the
only family member to have been molested. The
sexual abuse stopped by my mother’s brother but
continued with my grandfather’s step son by age ten
and a half years of age. After momma Jessie passed
away it seemed like the wolves couldn’t wait to get
at me. My great grandmother had always told me
not to talk about things like this quickly cutting me
off from describing in detail what I was trying to
tell her about being sexually molested. In the end
my childhood and virginity was stolen leaving me
only to deal with my swollen, ripped, bleeding
eleven year old vagina in pain with no one to turn
to. But of course they did not want me to talk about
things like this bull crap got old eventually. I wrote
about everything that was going on in my life in a
private diary. This was the only way that I knew
how to cope and hold on to peace of mind. My
childhood with my great grandparents was
sheltered, consistent and limited to strict rules and
religious practices for example playing cards was
considered a worldly thing, missing church on
Sunday was not an option and talking about
anything sexually related was the ultimate taboo of
all for as far back as I can recall. The little girl that I
use to be loved sweets, ice cream, coloring books
and bus trips downtown with my great grandfather.
Daddy spoiled me with a new Barbie doll almost
each time he went downtown with or without me.
He use to pop popcorn in a heavy old black cast
iron skillet and I recall how eager I was to watch the
lid rise overflowing with large fluffy popcorn.
Daddy rarely ever said ‘no’ to me, never hit or
raised his voice at me or anyone else that I can think
of. I recall having a long talk with my great
grandfather asking if I could live with them and go
to school. Daddy Port started out walking me to
school and picking me up every day when I
attended John Marshall Elementary School in North
St. Louis City. John Marshall Elementary School
was built in the 1900's and was the only school in
the Ville area not originally intended for African
American students. In 1918, Marshall became an
intermediate school for African Americans where it
served the Ville area as an elementary school since
1927. Along the way we would talk all about my
school day and I recall being eager to see him
standing at the bottom of the steps waiting for me to
come out of school. Our walks ended after momma
Jessie died leaving me to walk home with
classmates. I was always tired in the mornings at
school because I had developed a severe case of
insomnia with a hard time sleeping. My great
grandmother’s untimely death was devastating to
me because I slept in her room at night until she
died. Daddy started sleeping on the couch after her
death to keep an eye on the front door to his house.
Grieving for the loss of my great grandmother left
me angry and confused at that age pondering how
this could have happened when we needed her so
much as a family. When she was living I never
witnessed anyone do dumb disrespectful things in
her presence. However, after her death it seemed
like the family fell apart into a million tiny pieces.
Daddy didn’t laugh as much anymore and I didn’t
talk to him about everything because I had always
known to approach my great grandmother for
private female matters. The older I became the
harder it was to talk to daddy about things that were
starting to happen to me. I was becoming a mixed
emotional roller coaster holding on to secrets that
became a brutal cycle of abuse. Thinking back to
how daddy never censored or cut me off from
expressing myself. I never told daddy about who
was sexually molesting me but I think he had an
idea something was not right and helped me
however he could. Daddy sat me down one night
because I had been crying. I would not tell him why
I was crying but he went on to tell me that I could
talk to him about anything that was bothering me.
However, I knew in my heart daddy was too old to
stop what happened outside of his house and I had
become use to dealing with the humiliation from
being sexually abuse alone because all past attempts
to tell the ones who had the power to stop it ignored
or blamed me for what happened. Flashing back to
weekends my grandfather and his wife started
picking my sister and me up from my great
grandparent’s house to spend time with his step kids
and go skating. I was a sheltered child by my great
grandparents and did not understand the purpose of
being touched in my private place or the pain
associated with the following unnatural actions of
what some call a Muggy.
MUGGY Mug Shot
The raggedy bastard
that stole my virginity
when I was just a little
girl smiled in his mug
shot after being
convicted in 1989 for
sodomy victimizing a
fifteen year old little
girl. Flashing back to the year 1987 when a teenage
boy thought it was a good idea
ea to steal my virginity
through molestation, rape and sodomy damaging
my childhood innocence for life. He was a vicious
conniving ugly black bastard who will forever be
burden with being exposed to the world as a
‘registered sex offender’ as an adult. However, I
highly disagree with his release back into society. I
do not believe sex offenders deserve a second
chance living in civilization because anyone who
commits sexual acts upon a child or anyone else has
to have some deep rooted mental sickness beyond
rehabilitation. People who support rapist are just as
guilty especially when they knew about this
behavior and decided to keep that information
hidden. However, as always what’s done in the dark
will be revealed in the light of ‘Karma’. It would
be well over twenty three years before this
information was revealed to me by an anonymous
source who wanted me to know that this fool had
been convicted for a sexual offense around the same
time he was raping me as a little girl. I was a baby
and in a sense it feels like closure was validated
because at least he did not get away with a sexual
offense on another child who spoke up and was
heard loud and clear. I also think back to the recent
ignorant messages sent in 2010 including threats
from his sister because I publicly spoke up about
her brother being a ‘rapist’. I don’t give a damn
what his family thinks about me when it’s all said
and done. The truth will be told like it or not.
Rapist, child molesters and the people who cover up
for them compare to a family of slugs in the opinion

of Shell.
Muggy was the first one to strip away my virginity
when I was eleven years old in the laundry room in
the basment on Monarch in Moline Acers, Missouri.
There was a mattress leaning up against a wall in
the laundry room with a washer and dryer near by. I
was forced to my knees to perform oral sex on at
least two occassions until the point of gagging with
reflexes to throw up. Muggy would not stop and
made comments like open your mouth because he’d
mentioned that he could feel my teeth. I lost my
virginity standing up with Muggy’s hand over my
mouth to muffle the sounds of pain. A logical
person may think it was expected for the parents to
report to police and investigate allegations of
molestion or rape and have the child checked at the
hospital, right? Unfortunately, I did not have that
support as a little girl from my guardians and the
molester walked freely to molest or rape someone
else. The problem continues to leak down through
generations of families allowing this kind of sexual
behavior to be ignored with hopes that it would
simply go away. I am here to tell you from
experience that it will never go away.This book was
inspired by the experiences of a little girl who
continues to speak to be heard about a problem that
need to be addressed to break this vicious cycle of
keeping secrets and covering up sexual abuse.
However, keep in mind to take a closer look at the
staute of limitation and state laws regarding sex

Take a closer look at the

database of registered sex
offenders in Missouri,
provided by the Missouri
Sta
State Highway Patrol.
Perhaps, you may see
someone you thought you
knew on Monarch Drive.

crimes involving children. If you or someone you

know have been a victim
ctim of sexual abuse as a child
it’s never too late to take the matter to the police
and be prepared to speak your truth and repeat it if
necessary.

I was afraid to tell because I got a beating the first

time I told an adult about the sexual assaults started
in the laundry room in the basement on Monarch.
My little body weighed well under a hundred
pounds when my virginity was stolen through
forced repeated rapes. It escalated and became a
regular routine always starting out the same and
ending in rape and sodomy. He had a habit of
covering my mouth to muffle the sound of pain. The
last time that I saw Muggy as a little girl I was lying
in bed in an upstairs bedroom on Monarch. I will
never forget the pain endured when he shoved his
entire hand and fist as fast and hard as he could into
my then eleven year old vagina leaving me balled
up in pain crying myself to sleep. There was no one
left to tell that I could trust because when I did I
was always ignored and told don’t talk about things
like this. I am happy that girl spoke up putting his
twisted ass away at least for a while but it should
have been life in prison for what ‘Muggy’ did to
me.
Facing Demons of a Child:

I started staying at
home because he rarely
came over to my great
grandfather house. I
grandfather’s
had friends in the
neighborhood but there
was a catch.
h. This was a
lonely time in my life
because my great
grandmother was dead and daddy was getting old
and did not leave the house anymore. After Momma
Jessie died my mother escalated the punching that
included calling me names to hitting me with
objects. Beatings
atings ended up happening in front of my
friends in the neighborhood. On top of the abuse
and neglect
glect at the hands of my mother I was also
faced with being molested, raped and bullied by
teenage boys in our neighborhood. Lots of drama
and bullshit continued
d until I decided to take my life
into my own hands. Considered rebellious by the
time I was thirteen because it was then when I had
decided to run away from home. Over the years, I
have learned this cycle of abuse is not uncommon in
families. I cannot imagine
gine what any grown ass man
sees in a child. I could never understand how a
person can sleep not knowing if their babies are
safe. But most alarming is the fact some people
know their children are being abused and look the
other way for reasons only they can
an answer. My
mother still laughs and smiles in his face as if
nothing
ng happened until this
very day.

Personally, I do believe
what goes around comes
back ten-fold
fold and what is
done in the dark will come
to light. It will only be a
matter of time before karma
k
exposes the truth and in
some cases put the devil to
shame. Secrets are revealed January 9, 2011 listing
registered sex offenders you may know personally. I
can only imagine how one must feel after hearing
about the details of a brutal history of rape upon a
child. Personally, I believe the attack on the fifteen
year old girl could have been prevented.
prevented It was a
sunny summer’s day when I met my mom at the
nail salon by the Delmar Loop years later when
she’d mentioned something about Muggy asking
about me. I tried to tell my mother about what he
did to me when I was a little girl but I recall our
conversation cut very short as we went our separate
ways. Never once did my mother confront or even
try to look into the matter just like always. I
commend the little ittle girl that spoke up and the
parents who took ‘action’ to see to it that this
monster caged stopping him from destroying the
life of another little girl.

I will ‘never’ forget how my virginity was stolen

when I was a little girl by Muggy the same menace
to society convicted of sodomy on another child but
I will have my justice and closure in the end.
end
Stripped of Innocence
 Hell on earth continued for a little
girl…

Crazy Card Cover Up

My mother was
good for throwing
around the crazy
COVER UP
card label.
abel. As a
matter of fact it was
always the first
defense to cover up the truth and a tactic that had
been used all of my life to get me to shut up about
what was really going on. My mother believed a
convicted sex offender over her own daughter still
laughing and smiling in the face of a monster who
raped the eleven year little girl I use to be. No
questions asked.
The ‘crazy card’ label came from a certified crack
head, backed by a convicted registered sex offender
and others who believe whatever they have heard.
 However, no matter how it is
perceived the truth cannot be
concealed exposing the ones
responsible for why intense
COVER UP therapy was ever needed in
the first place. The little girl
that I use to be fought her way out of a cycle of
family dysfunction
n and secrets that has apparently
been going on for generations. As a little girl, I was
expected to endure grief, abuse, neglect, repeated
rapes, respect my elders, go to church, pray and still
do well in school. My mother was more like a
dictator compared to Adolf Hitler because she was
cruel with her way of ‘simple communication’ to
use her fist to get a message across often to small
children. The trauma that I endured as a little girl by
family, adults and older teens was not normal by
any means. My mother
her treated me like a kick ball
when I was a little girl and lives
ves in denial as none of
this has ever happened until this very day.
day The
rumor that she started continues because I hear now
that I am bipolar with schizophrenia being the new
‘crazy card’ label coming after the release from
pages in this book published on-line
line since July 4,
2010. My mother never came to the hospital once
when I was seventeen and admitted for thirty three
days. The doctors could have told her why I was
acting out in detail but she knew her ass would have
also been going to jail if she’d showed up because I
had overheard the nurses talking. My mother’s
crack smoking days flashed back memories of being
hungry and near death freezing because the house
she left us in did not have heat in the middle of a St.
Louis winter. She was too busy chasing her next
high and would beat the hell out of me if I did not
give her my hard earned money from work to buy
drugs. My mother was a welfare recipient collecting
food stamps and a check but never bought food. I
recall having nothing more than stale corn flakes
with nothing more to eat sometimes going days
without food because I had no money or old enough
to get a job. When I did get a job to buy myself
food, clothes and personal things my mother wanted
to take it all not even leaving me enough to buy a
bus pass to get to and from work well over twenty
blocks as I sacrificed and walked through higher
crime areas just too eat. I was thirteen years old
when I walked to work most times in the freezing
winter with no coat for the $3.18 an hour cashier’s
position that I had landed with the franchise owner,
Ira a Jewish man who paid me cash on pay day at
Baskin & Robbins in the Central West End. I was
scheduled right after school at three o’clock and
allowed to be late because I was known to walk to
work. I always ended up walking to work and back
home from Annie Malone Drive to Euclid after
midnight. After work I did my homework for
school and often times not getting any sleep because
I had to be on my bus stop by 6:10AM every day. I
drank coffee to try and stay awake because my
situation did not allow sleep often. I gave notice to
quit after a seasonal job was offered in downtown
St. Louis Center Mall. By age fourteen, I was
becoming more independent in earning an honest
living when I was offered a retail sales job at the
Gap in the St. Louis Center. I’d managed to keep
my home life private from work until my mother
gave me a black eye right before I was scheduled to
be at work on my second job in the mall at
Scribbles and Giggles. Before the black eye I came
home to get dressed for work at the mall. By then, I
had a nineteen year old drug dealer/gang member
boyfriend in North St. Louis. His family protected
me from my lying crack head mother and her police
friends. One summer’s day my manager noticed a
black eye and bruises on my body. I was
conditioned by then to not talk about my private life
but my manager insisted that I tell her or she would
call the police to find out why my eye was black. At
that time I did not want to see my mother go to jail
and I found myself protecting her in some ways. My
manager promised not to call police if I told her
who caused the bruises and would give me more
hours on the schedule so that I could earn more
money to support myself if I would just tell her who
had caused the visible injuries to my body. My
manager took me into the back office and closed the
door for what seemed like telling someone about
my life on the clock because I was granted special
privileges thereafter including offers to become a
mall sales associate/cashier floater to fill in for other
retail stores in both St. Louis Center and Northwest
Plaza and paid for it. My manager had shared
enough information about me to other mangers to
hire me part-time and on call if someone did not
show up for work to get me out of my abusive home
as often as possible in three malls including St.
Louis Center, Northwest Plaza and Galleria mall
outside of the city limits. According to verified
documents from the (IRS) Internal Revenue I was
fourteen years old the first time that I had filed
taxes. I went on to work and be promoted through
the means of temporary employment methods
combined with part-time jobs offered in three malls
provided by several managers who knew about my
home life. My own travel expenses were covered
out of my check by public transportation and rides
provided by some mangers from stores. I was hired
as a head cashier/floater for Champs Sports,
Footlocker, Lady Footlocker, Kids Footlocker and
Champs Sports. I was promoted by 5-7-9 stores and
Wild Pair for my first entry level management
positions trusted with store operations and company
bank deposits. Only one of my mangers ever
approached me in an inappropriate way but that was
settled quickly because I had choices to quit a job
and still have another waiting. After work some
managers took me home and on one occasion sent
another sales associate to pick me up from home
and bring me to work because I had no money to
take a bus. I loved going to work and relieved that
Debra told me how to get a work permit from
school so that they could continue to keep me on
schedule while under age. Debra did not seem angry
when I told her how I forged a birth certificate and
gave me advice encouraging me to purchase of my
first key lock diary to write down what was
happening to me at home and what to do to work
legally work under age. The diary had a black and
white cover with a lock and key for protection from
intruding eyes. I would have gotten a beat down for
sure if my mother would have found my first diary.
However, the diary contained my inner thoughts
described in detail including secrets. The complete
diary was given to my first boyfriend Snipes where
it was placed into a locked box under a bed in the
basement of a large house on John in St. Louis.

CHILD MOLESTERS ON ALDINE

For some reason

teenage boys made
it a habit to sexually
pursue little girls
much younger. He lived directly across the street
from the elementary school and always made it a
habit to sit out on the front porch when my school
bus dropped us off at John Marshall Elementary
School. By then I was accepted into the Parkway
School District and bussed from the city to Ballwin,
Missouri. My childhood friend ended up conceiving
a child with him when she was thirteen years old.
He started to move through the little girls in our
neighborhood like changing underwear before he
was eventually convicted for touching the wrong
girl. My friend and I fell out and she was sent to
live somewhere in the South for a few years. For a
while bad blood remained between us until we
started to speak again eventually. Many years later
our friendship has completely ended and the little
girl that was conceived by a child molester is now a
grown woman living in the Midwest. He would
sneak me into the basement at his grandmother’s
house before having sex with my then twelve year
old body. When I think back to my past I can only
wonder truly what runs through the mind of men
who seek out little girls for indecent acts. I have no
respect for pedophiles, molesters, rapist or people
who abuse children in anyway. Talking to my
mother about anything regarding my life was like
talking to a can of paint when I was a little girl. As
an adult my mother told me if she had to do it all
over again she would not change how she treated
me as her child and she has already established that
I am already dead to her. I see my mother no
different than I see the rapist and molesters who all
played major roles as the monsters of my childhood.
Still today there is denial and the old tactic of
throwing around the crazy card label with hopes this
will all simply go away. However, in this case there
is the burden of truth and I will not stop repeating
what happened to me as a child with hopes speaking
up will stop this vicious cycle for future
generations.

Gang Rape & Karma – Flash Back

Men may not get all they pay for in this world; but they must
certainly pay for all they get.
-Frederick Douglas

Dear Karma:
 By age thirteen, I
was damaged
da with
low self-esteem
self and
feelings of being
powerless to stop
the vicious cycle of
rapes and molestation because the ones doing it
already knew my mother would
ould not confront them.
them
However, you
ou should know about a game some
teenage boys played in our neighborhood.
neighbo The
object of the game was to gather as many of their
male friends
ends as possible. Then they would select
one young girl and invite her to a party. However,
by the time the girl figures out that she had been set
up it will be too late and she will be brutally
b gang
raped. When I fought back Derrick tried to break
my arm and threatened me if I did not submit. For
five long hours I was restrained, gang raped and
tortured in vicious ways including double
penetration that left my vagina and buttocks so
badly ripped that I was swollen and bleeding
bleed for
days after the attack. My mother found out about
the attack through a social worker some years later
and asked me why I did not tell her what happened?
She knew why I did not come to her because she
knew she would do nothing just like always. After
the gang rape they bragged about it to other kids in
the neighborhood attempting to ruin my reputation.
However, I was the wrong one in the end and all of
them ended up personally apologizing to me several
years after the attack. The rap occurred at a house
on Martin Luther King Drive in North St. Louis
City. Why did all three attackers come back to me
years later to apologize for the five hours of rape
and brutality endured?

Which one ended up dead in the end?

Karma is a bitch. –Newoka LaShelle Baker
Therapy was needed to learn how to cope with the
facts of my life from my past so that I could give
the little girl I use to be peace and serenity and the
woman that I have become closure. The divine
purpose of this
is memoir was inspired and
encouraged by the love I have for my family from a
distance to take a closer look and begin the process
of breaking the cycle of sexual abuse created by old
generations that still exists today. I would not wish
this kind of pain upon my worst enemy but I do
believe in taking responsibilities for my actions and
speaking my truth from experience.
 Think back to the child
you use to be and
imagine yourself in my
shoes for just a moment.

What would you do if you were abandoned by both

parents, abused, neglected, molested, raped,
expected to do well in school, respect the elders, go
to church, pray, and silenced by adults about being
sexually molested ignoring your request for help to
stop it? Ignoring the problem will not make it go
away. Telling the world about what happened to me
is embarrassing to point out and name the monsters
that abused, molested and raped me in early
childhood. As an adult, I do not trust anyone for
close personal relationships because the side effect
of this kind of abuse seriously changed my personal
outlook and perspective on life. Personally, I do feel
sorry for those who played a major role in this
memoir because as long as you live in denial there
will be no peace or closure for your own well being.

Dear Karma:

My mother has made it a

habit to excuse my behavior
by telling people that I am
mentally ill like my father.
Actually, anyone who claims
rape in my family is labeled
crazy. This opened doors for
others who wanted to do
nasty things to me as
a a little
girl including my own
biological mother who was
skilled at covering up child
abuse with the victim blame
tactic.

He was a cousin, a preacher and mentioned if I ever

told anyone he would tell people I was bipolar
because my mother told him that.. He had been to
jail for shooting someone and I had to live with his
family briefly in South St. Louis. I moved out
before he could touch me because he had already
told me what his intentions were.
You should know that there is at least one female in
the family who has attempted and failed and you
thought you knew. Nasty bastards do exist and they
know who they are without saying names because
there are no secrets in this book.

PLEASE EXCUSE YOUR IGNORANCE

My mother recently wrote to me in a message on

face book that she would not touch me or my poor
unfortunate kids because she has always believed
that I had a disease. She went on to write that she
believes I was not raped and it was consensual. The
problem that I have with this goes back to our
family history. My mother allowed me to be
molested and raped each time I told her and she did
nothing but blame me. I understand that I have
never been loved by my mother. I can accept that
because that is between my mother and her God.
The face book drama continued with messages a
bitch wrote in response to defending allegations
about their precious Muggy, a registered convicted
sex offender on a child. The response message went
straight for the ‘crazy card’ label that has become
the first defense that no longer works to stop me
from speaking the truth. Your brother stole my
precious eleven year old virginity when I was a
‘little girl’ regardless to what you think of him.
Your sick twisted brother molested, raped and
sodomized the eleven year old girl I use to be and I
will not be silenced.

Crazy Card Cover Up

My mother was
good for throwing
around the crazy
COVER UP
COVER UP card label. As a
matter of fact it is
always the first
defense to cover up
the truth and a
tactic
ctic that had been used all of my life to get me to
shut up about what was really going on. My mother
believed a convicted sex offender over her own
daughter still laughing and smiling in the face of a
monster that stole my virginity and raped the eleven
year old girl I use to be, no questions asked. The
‘crazy card’ label came from a certified crack head,
backed by a convicted sex offender and others who
believe whatever they have heard. However, no
matter how it is perceived the truth cannot be
concealed exposing the ones responsible for why
intense therapy was ever needed in the first place.
The little girl that I use to be fought her way out of
a cycle of family dysfunction and secrets that has
apparently been going on for generations. As a little
girl, I was expected to endure grief, abuse, neglect,
repeated rapes and still do well in school. My
mother was more like a dictator compared to Hitler
because she was cruel with her way of ‘simple
communication’ to use her fist to get a message
across often. My mother’s crack smoking days
brings back memories of being hungry and cold
because the house she left us in did not have heat in
the middle of St. Louis winter. She was too busy
chasing her next high and would beat the hell out of
me if I did not give her my hard earned money from
work to buy drugs. I knew she was a welfare
recipient collecting food stamps and a check but
never bought food. I recall having nothing more
than stale corn flakes with nothing more to eat
sometimes going days without food because I had
no money or old enough to get a job. When I did get
a job to buy myself food, clothes and personal
things my mother wanted to take it all not even
leaving me enough for a bus pass to get to and from
work well over twenty blocks. I walked to work
most times even in the freezing winter for the $3.18
an hour that Baskin & Robbins provided in the
Central West End right after school. I always ended
up walking back home after midnight to do
homework for school and often times not getting
any sleep because I had to be on my bus stop by
6:10AM every day. By age fourteen I was
becoming more independent in earning an honest
living when I was offered a retail sales job at the
Gap in the St. Louis Center. I’d managed to keep
my home life private from work until my mother
gave me a black eye right before I was scheduled to
be at work.
ST R ANG E H AN DS - F LAS H B A CK

Cherish your visions and your dreams as they are the children
of your soul, the blueprints of your ultimate achievements. -
Napoleon Hill

Dear Karma:
My mother was watching
me walk to the bus stop
from her front porch that
morning. I saw two men
pull up in a car and one
man jumped out of the car
and tried to grab me. My
mother was screaming for
me to run and scared the
two men off. I started to skip school every day and
walked over to my great grandfather’s house. My
mother never knew that I was cutting school
because the school never called her if I didn’t show
up and she stopped watching. I was abducted by a
stranger a year later walking to school and left for
dead between two vacant houses on Aldine Street.

I had to be on my bus stop at 6:10AM every

morning left to walk well over four blocks when it
was still dark. A man walking towards me in the
opposite direction waited just until he passed me
before grabbing me and dragging me into a
gangway of two vacant houses on Aldine across
from June. The man was beating me in the head
with something hard and the more I fought back the
harder he would hit me and so I stopped fighting
and pretended to be dead. I could feel the warm
blood running down my face and broken glass and
debris from the vacant house under my back trying
not to make a sound. It was in the middle of a St.
Louis winter when my clothes were removed and I
laid there enduring the pain of being raped in
freezing weather and acting dead. By then, my
mother had moved to Alton, Illinois with my
youngest sister and her new husband leaving me in
St. Louis on my own by age fourteen. My mother
was the kind of woman who put men before her
children. Men who didn’t give a damn if her kids
had a place to live, food to eat or anything else for
that matter. I recall having a married step father
briefly. He was police officer who was truly kind to
my mother and her kids. However, that all stopped
when he had to go back to his wife.
Anyway, there is a long list of characters that have
filled the temporary step daddy shoes. In my
opinion--all were a piece of shit for even being with
a woman who abused her own kids.

Sugar Daddy Flash Back

Never will I forget the day that I was robbed

coming home from work. I was seventeen years old
and recently enrolled in the St. Louis Job Corps
program. The program was good for me because I
ended up moving on the campus away from my
abusive home. It was Christmas break and everyone
went home for a couple of weeks. I had just got a
new job offer in the Saint Louis Galleria Mall and
was excited about starting a new job. However, I
made it to my first day with barely enough bus fare
to get back home. New to the bus route I’d made a
mistake and got on the wrong bus which put me
several blocks from a relative. The area was not a
good one off Grand but it was still day light and I
didn’t have a choice but to walk through the area. It
was just starting to get dark when I was feeling like
someone was following me. As soon as I turned to
look back I was hit in the face, fell to the ground
and I could feel the strap of my purse being
removed from my shoulder. A man stood over me
and calmly uttered the word ‘bitch’ before running
off. Dazed and confused I stood up and tried to
walk falling back down to the ground. I was hit so
hard that my focus was blurred but I’d managed to
stumble into an open corner store. When I walked in
customers and the employees came over to me with
great concern. There was blood all over my coat and
I had a hard time speaking. I was rushed to the
hospital and that when I was shown my face.
Doctors and police believed that I was hit with brass
knuckles. I had fractured bones in my face, a black
eye and my mouth was so swollen that I could not
speak clearly. Doctors discussed possible plastic
surgery to fix my face and all I could do was cry.
All of this for my purse that only contained make-
 up, a quarter, a penny
and my state
identification. The
man was never caught
for this crime. I was
kicked out of the Job
Corps Program because I’d refused to go back with
the damage that had been done to my face. Over
time my face healed from my injuries
ries leaving no
physical scars. I had been robbed for nothing off
Grand Ave. the emotional scars left behind still
brought about many nights crying myself to sleep
many years later. I questioned myself many times
and sought answers to what kind of message was
God trying to send. I started to wonder if there
really is a God who would
uld allow this kind of daily
torture. This was a time in my life when I really did
not have anyone and the facts of life were men who
front a little cash for food orr whatever will also take
advantage of women and girls down on their luck.
After the robbery,, I wondered why I had become a
walking target for assaults, rapes and other attacks
by both kids and adults. I could not understand why
my life was burdened with a crack head for a
mother and everything else that came with it.
Despite my circumstances I had no choice but to
continue to try working and return back to school. I
found strength and faith in daddy’s words often in
my darkest hour.
By then, I was out of mace and I knew it was only a
matter of time before someone else would come
after me. The area we lived in had become a high
crime area and so did the surrounding
neighborhoods. No place was safe and I didn’t have
a choice but take my chances to get back out there
on a bus to get to work so that I could earn money
for food and personal items. Instead, I got a
babysitting job that allowed transportation to and
from the designated location off Grand. The house
was always a mess and I would clean and babysit
with hopes to impress but not in a way that would
lead to more issues of sexual abuse or deception.
My first intentions were never to fall into the new
messy drama that was about to unfold before
reaching the age of eighteen. Personally, flashing
back to a talk that I had with my aunt Sylvia
regarding the rules of men and dating. The life talk
that we had when I was a little girl explained to me
dating someone who liked or dated a family
member or close friend was considered taboo.
Either way before this next sugar daddy scene took
place I found myself fighting two grown woman at
the same time one after noon at my great
grandfather’s house later said unrelated by Stink
and the whole ball game changed.

There was a different

kind of predator with
his eyes on me.
Someone unrelated
and much older made
his move by gaining
my trust over the years. I had been single for a few
years after my long-time boyfriend broke up with
me for one of my classmates. My heart was broken
and I found myself lonely most times. This man was
very handsome and much older and clearly off
limits under the circumstances. Flashing back to the
first time he approached me in a sexual manner. It
was cold outside and he was asked to take me home
by my aunt after a night of babysitting. He had
never approached me before until that night. His
conversation led up to a sexual nature before he
decided it was a good idea to remove his penis from
his pants. I recalled feeling highly uncomfortable
the first time that he approached me and did not
reciprocate mutual feelings nor did I tell anyone
because by then I was conditioned to not talk about
things like this. I made money babysitting and
found myself in another bad place. If I said anything
about it I could lose the only source of income I had
at the time to simply eat some nights. That night
nothing happened and he did not force himself on
me like I was use too instead he apologized took me
home and did not mention it again until months
later. However, one evening after work I ended up
spending the night at his family home. I had spent
the night there many times over the years and
nothing ever happened. I slept in his guest room that
night only to be awakened by inappropriate sexual
acts he began to performing on me. I ended up in a
hell of a messy secret relationship that lasted well
over two years. He introduced me to what he called
an oral alphabet technique and my very first
experience to receive oral sex from anyone at the
time believing a person must love you and
convinced this was how love was shown.
All I knew up until that night was how vicious and
painful intercourse had been from my past issues.
His habits were to come into the room when my
aunt left in the early morning hours leaving us alone
on several occasions awakened me by always
performing oral sex before penetration.

Life seemed a little better

when I had someone I
could call who seemed to
have my best interest at
heart. However, I was
inexperienced and confused
about what true love was
really about because I had
learned about sex through
force but this old man’s approach seemed different
and at the time truthful with honest intentions. He
provided me with a pager paid for by the Ritz
Carlton providing service for well over a year. He
told me about his plans to stage an accident on his
job to fall down the stairs and sue for his injuries.
The advantage of working the hotel security left
him bragging how he had access to cameras
catching his accident on video. However, I never
knew how it turned out because eventually he ended
up leaving his job where he allowed me to call and
talk to him often. He took care of me financially
financiall to
begin with little things like food or small amounts
of cash.. Most times, I did not have to catch a public
bus and risk another stranger attack when he was
available for a ride.. Our relationship remained a
secret leaving others to only speculate. He went
we as
far as introducing me to select members in his
family with promises he would marry me as soon as
I was eighteen years old. However, the marriage
never happened and I found out I was one of many
women in his life ignoring the deformed knot
attached to his private area.

He later admitted that he was

addicted to sex and enjoyed the
variety of women that he had
selected. I was furious with
him. One morning I decided to
check his ringer on his house
phone; it was off and so I turned it on. As soon as I
turned on the ringer the phone rang. It was one of
his girlfriends. By the time he returned home I was
gone and his place had my mark. He called me later
that day and told me everything I wanted to know.
He had been involved with several white women
and sisters alike including two women I knew
personally. I had also found his audio journal with
detailed descriptions about what he liked about each
one of us and his weekly rotations to spend time
with us. Once again, I was heart-broken and
realized that I had been used for sex. By then I had
paid off his last new car note after getting my
income taxes. I was seventeen years old simply
looking for true love and got caught up in the mist
of it all. He eventually married someone else and I
was back to square one in my love life. It’s amazing
to me how people manage to keep secrets that they
think will never come to light. My grandfather’s
wife dropped me off to his sister’s house that lived
only a few blocks over from Monarch where we use
to spend the night. I’d over looked the deformity of
his private area thinking it was enough to show that
I was not judgmental failed because I truly started
to fall in love with him and the comfort he
pretended to offer. There was backstabbing
deception surrounding this whole matter and several
adults played a role by assisting and keeping this a
secret of an under aged girl and a grown ass man.
I’d become a kid down on my luck, hungry and
looking for someone who loved me and all of the
things associated with the American dream. I had
dreams of marriage and truly loved the ones who
deceived a child for adult sexual gratification. I am
not a little girl anymore ready to reveal the deepest
darkest of secrets. This was the breaking point that
landed me in the hospital for thirty-three days in the
custody of doctors who saved my life after a failed
suicide attempt. I was placed with other children
between the ages of twelve and seventeen.
Concerned doctors and nurses were never able to
locate my mother and she never once came to the
hospital. I had become a lonely depressed teenager
tired of the pain associated with all I had endured in
seventeen years. There was no one left to trust and I
wanted to find a way out of what had became a
personal hell. The first week I was on a strict high
level suicide watch with a nurse assigned to check
in every fifteen minutes. I had arrived unconscious
and angry waking up in the hospital with no
memory how I got there.

My nurse’s name was

Sharon an average height
Caucasian woman with
curly blonde hair and blue
eyes. We had bumped
heads the first two weeks and I was always sent to
my room based on rebellious behavior and refusing
to eat. The third week I had begun to open up and
tell the doctors what was happening to me at home.
My doctor scheduled group sessions with other kids
and I was required to keep a daily journal starting
with my life story from as far back as I could
remember. Dr. Black came to see me at least once a
day and my journal was eventually added to my
medical records for the entiree staff to analyze.
During a visit with Dr. Black one afternoon he
mentioned my journal entries and asked if I was
ready to discuss what I had revealed about my home
life. I was ready to talk about everything but the
man who had drove me there in the first place. It
was becoming very clear to me that my mother was
not coming to the hospital and the state had become
involved based on reporting child abuse and
neglect. I had nothing else to lose and answered all
of their questions in details that included names. Dr.
Black went on to tell me that based on my life story
that I should consider writing a book some day
because I had experienced more in my life at age
seventeen than the average thirty-five year old. I
would later be released to my great uncle known for
his drug use. It seemed to get a little better after
being released from the hospital but looks can be
deceiving. The man I was having a secret
relationship with did not leave me alone but made
sure to tell me not to mention his name on a phone
call when I was in the hospital. In the end the
hospital experience gave me one last chance to
speak out about the history of my dysfunctional
family and what was happening to me. I learned
meditative coping skills through intense group and
private sessions. Meditation sessions were voice
guided with soothing sounds of the ocean, birds and
nature. This would be the first time that I had heard
of such therapy but by then willing to try anything
to stop the pain I was feeling within my heart.
When I had arrived I wass a broken teenage girl
ready to end the life I had come to know as my
own. Upon departing I had learned a new way to
cope with the obstacles life had to offer.

Protecting me from
wicked ways and
dirty secrets would
prove
ve to not be an
easy task. Released
Release
to the small brick
home on Annie
Malone Drive with my great uncle only meant I was
returning to a home with no food or heat in the St.
Louis winter months. My mother received food
stamps for yearss but she never brought us food.

Desperate measures were taken when I started

hanging around a female drug dealer in our
neighborhood. Within the first week I had made
enough to buy food to eat. Soon after I did need to
sell for someone else taking over enough to
generate enough money to supply basic needs and
paying bills the adults stopped paying.

Darker Days

I was given a small hand gun for protection by

another teen and eventually surrounded myself with
very bad characters. This behavior went on for
almost six months before I was caught up in a drive
by shooting
ooting on Evans escaping through the back
door the first time. The last time I went to the house
it was raided by the St. Louis City
C police
department.

This time I did not run

or even try I was
detained by police and
simply taken home. I
was beginning to live a dangerous life just to eat.
Several of my peers were concerned that I had
changed into someone who had become very
capable of pulling a trigger and ending a life.
life Sad
part about it all if I got caught up by police they
never arrested me police just took me home to my
great grandfather house. It’s a shame when you
can’t even get arrested if you tried.

I was seventeen years old screaming for attention

because I had become confrontational and armed
guarding territory in the neighborhood where I grew
up. Crack heads from several blocks started coming
to buy the drug from me including some parents of
my friend’s and my guardian that I had been
released to after being discharged from the hospital.
I took the money and paid the heating bill and
turned a phone on in my name for the house. I sat
on my front porch selling out of the little off white
rocks no bigger than the tip of my baby finger.
Averaging $120 per day until a man from Evans
took interest in me and sold it for me so I did not
have to work the streets. The money was delivered
to me every evening before midnight never short
changed. It seemed as if I was starting to gain
respect when all three teenage boys came to me
individually and apologized for gang raping me a
few years earlier. After that day when those boys
apologized to me something else happened that
made me wonder if guilt played any role or was it
something else. I was given a small handgun after
failing to handle the first gun called a nine
millimeter. It had too much kick for me and was
traded off. Later that gun was taken in a police raid
on Evans. All three of those boys did something for
me as if they were trying to show their apologies.
One of the boys began to give me drugs to sell
without a cut of the money. I use to keep the money
in a cigar box under an antique chest in the
backroom daddy built onto the house before I was
born. Another boy paid for all of my dry cleaning
suits for my job at the mall. The last boy apologized
and was killed shortly after his apology with details
only known by St. Louis City Police. My life was
once again spiraling out of control when small kids
in our neighborhood walked the neighborhood
begging for food because almost every adult around
me was a crack head. I was becoming something
that I was not meant to be trying to earn fast cash
off someone else habits and noticing the respect that
seem to come along with it. I was threatened once
by two older males to sell somewhere else. I went to
the person who use to front me and the two men
never mentioned it to me again as I continued to sell
in a territory that I had taken over. There was
nothing glamorous about the life-style with the
constant pressure to watch my back. It became too
much when my guardian started letting the crack
heads come into my bedroom when I was sleeping.
The last straw was when I found myself in the
living room of an addict with several other girls
there to assist me beat the money Kim owed me out
of her or collect. Anyway, the tactic worked
because Kim paid me in full for her drug habit and
moved out of the neighborhood soon after. My
friend Herman came to me one night and told me
that we could no longer be friends because he was
afraid of what I had become. He went on to express
his concerns about my attitude since I had begun to
carry a gun. My drug selling days were short lived
because I was getting close to losing my life and my
freedom barley making it out of drive by shootings.
My mother was informed about what I was doing
and simply warned me to stay away from Evans.
Moving away from the neighborhood was my best
chance to survive and that opportunity happened
with the St. Louis Job Corps Center on Good-fellow
Boulevard at the old military base. I was offered a
new job in the St. Louis Galleria at Claire’s
Boutique. I was excited to leave the neighborhood
for what seemed like the last resort to changing my
life situation. Job Corps accepted me one evening
immediately picking me up from home and taking
me to my dorm room. I shared a room with several
other females including a Caucasian girl from
Oregon. I use to get up one hour before lights on to
shower in private for thirty minutes, go to breakfast
and then to class every day. At my progress hearing
I was told that I was failing my G.E.D. class with
one of the ladies asking me about my parents and
my home life. The lady went on to tell me that I did
not belong in Job Corp and she thought I belonged a
regular high school. She’d inquired about
contacting my mother because she had an interest to
take me to her home but nothing ever came of it
because I had no idea where my mother was around
that time. The most popular boy at Job Corps at the
time was named Jimmy and a lot of girls on campus
would not have mind being his girl friend. He was
cute and I was scared to talk to him after being
corned in the girls bathroom talking my way out of
a beat down from several girls who made it clear to
stay away from Jimmy. Funny thing about it was I
did talk my way out but my roommates were a mess
in getting together and standing up for me on
campus. Thinking back to the night one of my
roommates came back to campus after hours. She
bolted into our dorm room and slid under her bed
with a hall monitor following close behind.
However, Angela managed to conceal herself under
her bed begging us not to tell where she was. The
hall monitor asked did you all see Angela come in
here. The only white girl on campus spoke up first
saying; no I haven’t seen her causing a snow ball
effect of girls hiding Angela. She could not hide for
long of course but we all laughed about it later.

The hall monitor was considered to be a mean older

woman with an almost military style roll call as
described by most of my peers. However the older
woman was always nice to me and even
recommended me to the student government on
campus. I was selected to write a speech and
provided with a pair of shoes to match my colorful
outfit by the hall monitor the day of my speech that
Sterling helped me to write. My eye opener was the
day that we learned we were headed on a field trip
to see Mr. Les Brown, a motivational speaker at
Matthew Dickey’s Boys and Girls Club in the city
of St. Louis. His message was inspiring as he spoke
about mediocrity. Mr. Brown walked the entire
room personally introducing himself to each person
before shaking hands before his speech. I was
honored and excited to meet him because I had
already been introduced to the literary works of
Napoleon Hill and Dr. Dennis Kimbro. This was the
moment in my life when I believed that I had a
divine purpose in life if I could simply hold on and
survive through this mess of a life I had come to
know as my own. I was holding on for dear life by
then and finding a way out of a very bad situation
would require many more years of overcoming
personal adversity before my situation changed.
Over the years I continued to move from foster
home to foster home holding on to as many good
memories as possible. My foster home in Baden
with my father’s sister and her husband was my
ultimate break to live as a normal teenager. I had
great respect for my aunt because she treated me
like a child of her own but I also had a rebellious
side. My life turned around for the best when I was
enrolled back into a regular high school, allowed to
work part-time, have friends, taken to family
gatherings and most importantly I was chaperoned
by my aunts husband who never once approached
me in an inappropriate manner. I was learning to
drive and spent time watching my uncle’s singing
group rehearse in the basement every week. My
aunt’s husband taught me about music, voice
recordings and video recording. There were no
more issues with being molested or abused and I
found myself in a happy place with nothing
expected of me except being a normal teenage girl. I
recall my aunt and grandmother taking turns taking
me shopping for new clothes and personal needs. I
loved the foster home that I called home on and off
until my early twenties after giving birth to my first
born son. My baby’s father and I split before the
birth of our son that later ended up being a nasty
break up and custody battle that was settled in 2008
in the 21st Judicial Circuit County Courts granting
me full physical custody and the right to live
interstate with our child. My first born son arrived
on October 30, 1996 struggling in his first three
years with febrile seizures. Later he was prescribed
a nebulizer machine for regular breathing treatments
for symptoms associated with asthma in young
children. I was a young single mother left
abandoned by his father struggling to keep my baby
alive and healthy. One evening, I working at
Dillard’s in Northwest Plaza when the phone rang at
my cash register. There was a long line of
customers at my register waiting to check out. The
phone call was one of the most disturbing calls that
I had ever received regarding the well being of my
child that I’d left in the care of my baby sister. On
the other end of the phone was a female voice
identifying herself as a law enforcement officer
instructing me to meet them at St. Louis Children’s
Hospital because my ten month old baby was
having a seizure attack? The news came as a shock
to me because my baby seemed fine and never had a
seizure before then. I hung up the phone still in
shock and could not remember anyone’s phone
number to pick me up from work and take me to the
hospital. One of the customers noticed that I was
highly distraught and expressed that she had over
heard my phone call with police. She was a short
Caucasian woman with hair that reached well past
her waist. The woman told me her name and offered
a ride to the hospital from the mall. I was desperate
with no other choice and accepted her offer. My
register was closed and customers wished me well
before the woman escorted me to the entrance of
Children’s Hospital Emergency Room. My baby
spent his first Christmas in the hospital fighting for
his life under the supervision of doctors and nurses
who found his seizure attack to be fever related
from a diagnosed case of Influenza. The hospital
place us on the floor where everyone wore mask
because it was a contagious illness. I’d become sick
taking care of my baby who was released a few
days after Christmas. My aunt and her husband
welcome us with Christmas gifts and my son’s first
home video recording at age three months. My aunt
had a habit of taking and collecting pictures
showing me how to hold on to precious memories.
Having a sick child was only the beginning when
his father refused to take us to the hospital because
our child was having the most difficult time
breathing and needed medical attention. This went
on for the first three years of my baby’s life and I
had a hard time finding a daycare capable of taking
care of a child that required constant supervision
and medical treatments. Eventually my son made it
through his ordeal and has never had any more
symptoms of asthma or seizures. Life went on
becoming more complicated when it was time to
transition out of foster homes into a home of my
own. My father’s mother encouraged me to apply
for an income based apartment in Wentzville,
Missouri. I was excited about having my own
apartment with my new baby and applied
immediately. However, I did not have a car; I was
young with no previous rental history and was not
approved the first time applying for an income
based apartment. I ended up traveling to
Milwaukee, Wisconsin in July 1997 with my then
seven month old baby to live with my biological
father and his wife. Within the first forty eight hours
I was back on the Grey Hound bus back to St. Louis
because it was not the best environment once we
had arrived. My father picked me up from the bus
station and took me to a drug house leaving me and
his granddaughter in the car while he went inside.
He later told me that was his whore house. This trip
was taken shortly after the death of my brother
LaRon who died at the age of fourteen and born one
day before my birthday. My grandmother told me
about a brother and a sister that I had never met. My
brother lived with his mother in Wisconsin and my
sister was last known to be living near the old
cemetery off Florissant. My father seemed to be
more into spending time with me and get to know
his grandson based on the conversations we had
while my father was visiting St. Louis a month prior
at my his sister’s home in Baden. I wanted
desperately to try and continue to establish a
positive relationship with my mother, father or both
and I was let down in the end with the true feelings
revealed by both of my parents because neither one
wanted to be bothered with me. My father was
known for his evil way with words my mother
repeated to me on many occasions. My mother
seemed to hate my father and my father seemed to
love taunting her into an argument or shooting
negative words back and to placing me directly in
the middle. My mother spoke harshly of my father
in my presence as a kid but I still wanted to know
him and I think that infuriated her. My father was
the same each rare visit and often told me that I was
a bitch just like my mother always placing me in the
middle because I loved them both at one time. I
have more of a resemblance of my facial features
like my father more so than my mother including
the naturally thin body frame well into my mid
thirties. Lonely times returned when my attempts
failed to move with my father in Wisconsin finding
myself back on the Greyhound bus back to the hell
hole St. Louis offered. I’d refused to ask anyone for
a place to live taking my baby to a local private
women’s shelter in Overland, Missouri. My son’s
father had a change of heart and allowed me to keep
his car so I could have transportation to and from
the shelter. We split up because he refused to leave
his mother’s house after I had our baby into a place
of our own. There was no privacy and the
conditions of the house were deplorable later
finding it to be a known problem house by Pine
Lawn Police Department. I was still in my first year
of college, working a fulltime job and taking care of
our baby. On one occasion my son’s father asked to
borrow money from me to put rims on his car. I was
trying to tell him that rims were not as important as
saving to get our own place and be rid of the burden
of living in poverty and an environment not fit for
dogs. The house was known to have an order that
could be noticed from outside and my bedroom was
the only room in the entire house considered clean,
neat and organized even after a police raid looking
for the drugs his sister and her boyfriend sold out of
the house. I continued to stay in the house until I
was finally approved for my own income based
apartment in Normandy, Missouri. My employer
allowed early release to meet with the woman who
had come to my current home for a walk through.
After several months of waiting I was given keys to
my first nice place for me and my baby. I was
granted a first lease starting at two hundred and
sixty dollars per month for my rent later down to
zero dollars for rent and a utility allowance to pay
my bills as long as I was a fulltime college student.
I was placed on the fourth floor down the hall from
the laundry room with views to the back parking lot.
The building was secure with working police
officers and every guest was required to sign in for
resident visits. My neighbors were mixed in age
range from eighteen to elders and handicapped. I’d
managed to successfully transition out of foster care
into a lovely
vely clean apartment of my own. However,
there was drama lurking as always and it would be
only a matter of time before it was cut loose to reap
havoc. I was an adult by now in my early twenties,
twenties
in college and dating a dentist from a Pine Lawn
Community Dental Clinic. I met the doctor when I
went for my annual dental cleaning one afternoon.
Dr. X was filling in for the regular doctor that day.
He was tall, handsome with a well above average
appearance, physically fit and single. He was
considerably older than
han me and I loved getting a
chance to talk to him in-between
between his patients.

After a few months of

talking to the doctor over
the phone he started to
invite me out on dates.
However, the dates never
happened because I
ended up dumping him to date a well respect
D.A.R.E police officer that worked in our apartment
building in 1998. Our
ur relationship became serious
when he’d proposed marriage to me. During the
time that we were engaged we conceived a daughter
the following year. Our engagement was broken off
on April 17, 2000 ending our romantic relationship
indefinitely. My ex-fiancé was never told about the
details surrounding my painful childhood until now.
Many years later he asked me why I never told him
about some of the things mentioned in this book. I
replied and we both agreed that our major problem
was broken communication because I was known
for shutting down into silence or even cold shoulder
modes. When I was with him I did not want for
anything because he was a good man in providing
for us. I was spoiled but still very unhappy with
what I was trying to face on my own without
dragging him into the drama of my past that did not
have closure. The rapist and molesters mentioned in
this book all have one thing in common and that is
denying the truth. They are still trying to use that
‘crazy card’ label to make it all go away. If you can
trust the words of a convicted sex offender who will
be the first one to try and use the ‘crazy card’ label
because this is how it has worked for many years to
try and cover up the truth The first thing a rapist or
child molester will do is deny the allegations using
the ‘crazy card’ tactic as his defense why he is
being accused in the first place. However, in my
case this fool thinks nobody knows he is a
registered sex offender.

Stalked by a Pine Lawn Police Officer

I started making plans to

join the Navy when I was
nineteen years old. I
thought the armed forces
would give me the
opportunity to leave St.
Louis for a fresh start.
However, it did not quite
work out that way. My mother had introduced me to
my current boyfriend at the time who later asked if I
would consider staying in St. Louis. I’d decided to
stay and enroll into a community college not far
from home. At the time, I was living with my
biological mother, her boyfriend and my youngest
sister in Pine Lawn.
My mother asked me to come back home after she
got out of rehab and rented a two bedroom house on
Beachwood. For many years, my mother was living
in a van parked in her boyfriend’s auto shop when
she was on crack. She told me things would be
different and I moved out of my foster mother’s
house on Gimblin Street proving to be a huge
mistake later on. The drama started to unfold before
a strange man was caught peeping into our bedroom
window. Our neighbor’s chair had been removed
from her porch and placed at our bedroom window.
My boyfriend at the time chased the man down the
alley but lost him. The man was never caught nor
did I ever feel safe again. I’d managed to buy my
first new car with no money down but my mother
always had my car. On occasion, I went out with
my girlfriends and left my car at home. My
youngest sister use to get in it and start it up playing
around and my mother took it whenever she
wanted. One afternoon my sister and I got into an
argument that turns into a full-blown fight. I started
bleeding after being stomped in my stomach and
was rushed to the hospital. My baby was in danger
and I was threatening to lose it. Hospital staff called
the police and suggested charges be filed if my baby
died. A young attractive Caucasian police officer
came into my hospital room and interviewed me.
He asked for my personal information including the
address, phone numbers and took my statement.
After I was released from the hospital the officer
met me at my mother’s house. My mother cussed
me out and told me if charges are filed on my sister
I needed to pack my things and go with the police.
To keep the peace I did not press charges. However,
the officer didn’t give up either. He took my
personal information from the police report and
started watching my mother’s house from the alley.
I would see him on many occasions in his patrol car
in the alley behind our house with his lights on the
house. I started getting phone calls from him and
my mother would not allow him to speak to me.
The officer went as far to ask a stranger to call the
house for him because my mother did not like white
people. I found out about the stranger because I was
at work at the gas station one evening when a young
man asked me about my name badge. The man went
on to ask how I pronounced my name and I told
him. The man went on to ask me if I knew the Pine
Lawn Police Officer by name. I said yes, and that is
when the man told me this officer paid him to call
my mother’s house for him but I was not home. My
mother told me if I did talk to him anymore I had to
get out and so I avoided the police officer when I
was out. The officer started pulling me over on
bogus traffic stops never giving me a ticket on any
of the stops. It only escalated when a woman on our
block came by my mother’s house one day when
she was not there. She was a pretty older Caucasian
woman who had a disturbing story about a cop who
she had recently begun dating. The woman told me
she thought he really wanted to be with her until he
started to question her about it she knew me. She
wanted me to know that I was being watched and
she had been used by the officer to get close to me.
Eventually, my mother found out and went to the
Chief of police to file a complaint. An investigation
was launched and the officer was fired from the
department. I never saw him again after that but that
was just the beginning of the stalking because it
would happen again with
th a police detective from the
same department later. My mother had pull in the
department somehow even after assaulting a police
officer several years earlier
when he was kicked in the
face on a domestic violence
call involving my mother
and her boyfriend.
boyfrien My
mother was a low down
dirty bitch for as far back
as I can recall known for
cussing out police or
anyone else pissing her off.
A local community news
paper about crime contained my mother’s story
after being arrested for carrying an unregistered
concealed
ealed weapon into a court building. No jail
time or punishment and records just may disappear
depending on who you know is possible or is it?
Patrolled by the ‘dirty badge bunny’ Officer
O Stink
who is too knee deep in denial to accept this award
for the worse example of motherhood. The only
thing missing was the wire hanger scene but I will
never forget the table leg my mother broke off in
one of her rages and beat me with it because I
refused to give her my last twenty dollars.

My mother was more of a dictator compared more

to Hitler are the only other ways I can describe how
she has treated me all of my life until this very day.
Cops never did anything because they knew my
mother with some knowing more than others
eventually spilling over into the sheets of Karma’s
Dirty Secrets.
 Dreams & Nightmares
ightmares

Dear Karma:

Vivid nightmares started when I was a

little girl. I remember always having a
hard time sleeping or staying sleep. The nightmares always
started the same with me at my great grandfather’s house.
My
y great grandparents are always in the dream and I seem
to forget they been dead for many years. My great
grandparents talk to me in the dreams but they disappear
just as fast as they appeared. I started to embrace the
dreams as messages from my great grandparents
gran for
guidance. However, if I open a door in another part of the
house I always end up somewhere else and that’s when the
dream enters into the nightmare stage. Being misdiagnosed
and prescribe medications that I never needed did not help
when I was younger because I found out later some of the
medication included side effects of having vivid dreams.
dreams
At one point in my life I started to second guess myself
wreaking my brain to comprehend why God punished me
to be born into a family of dysfunctional coupled with evil
intentions and abuse. My great grandmother Jessie use to
listen to me tells her about my dreams in the morning
before I went to school. I recall the morning I told her
about a dream I had involving an accident with my great
grandfather. There was a trail of blood leading down the
hall way into the kitchen in the dream. My great
grandmother listened and sent me on my way to school.
That afternoon after school I came home to momma Jessie
sitting in her rocking chair with a facial expression that let
me know right away something was wrong. When I asked
her where daddy was she told me he was in the hospital. I
then asked her where the blood was and she said she’d
mopped it up. Someone left a hammer hanging off the edge
of the refrigerator. When daddy moved a ladder through the
kitchen it knocked the hammer off hitting him in the head
and sending him to the hospital. I will never forget the
blank stare on my great grandmother’s face answering my
questions about what happened to daddy. She believed that
I had a gift as a child through my dreams but I have always
considered it to be a curse because my dreams always
turned into nightmares in the end. Later in life I was able to
find the source of why I had been having these dreams and
nightmares. I had been traumatized in my childhood from
being molested, raped, beat, abused, neglected, called
names and ignored when I reached out for help was the first
part. However, through intense therapy the dreams stopped
when I accepted closure and the fact that I was destined to
move on with my life no matter what anyone thought of
me. The last time I saw momma Jessie in my dreams we
were standing a long hallway that looked like a hospital
setting. She stood next to me as we looked down a hallway
with doors on each side. I asked her what she was doing
there and she said I came to get your daddy. Right after she
said that two men pushed a gurney out of a room covered
with what appeared to be a body under a white sheet.
Momma had disappeared and I woke up in a cold sweat. I
called Uncle Arthur and asked him if daddy was alright
because at the time he was still alive living in the nursing
home on Kings-highway in North St. Louis City. My uncle
told me that daddy was fine. Daddy died several years later
and it was the last funeral that I’d attended. Before my
great grandfather died I was hired at the nursing home
where he lived. I did not tell the staff that he was my
relative so that I could keep a close eye out for him.
However, I was assigned to the floor above his and I would
spend my lunch break with daddy so we could talk. I told
him all about his great-great grandson, Christian and I’d
promised daddy that I would bring my baby so that he
could see him. I kept my promise and daddy got to see his
great-great grandson with one single tear rolling down his
left cheek because daddy had lost his ability to speak before
he died. That bother me because he could not tell me if
someone was hurting him in that nursing home because I
had seen firsthand it is not a place that I would want to die
alone. I truly wanted to preserve the childhood home that I
shared with my great grandparents. I can still see them in
my dreams on occasion guiding me through dark days.
People came at me in all kinds of ways when I was a little
girl. I have fought grown women, men and older kids
eventually fighting back just as dirty to defend myself,
protect my dignity and ensure the ones who crossed that
little girl I use to be will forever be haunted as long as they
hold on to taboo topics no one wants to discuss. Author
Chris Mulligan was a featured guest interview on our
Internet based radio show with the topic of grieving the loss
of a loved one. Before the radio show we had the pleasure
to speak in a private conversation that had me close to tears
because I could relate to her words. I was no longer in a
private place once we started to speak. Chris continued to
keep in touch with me through social networks until this
very day long after our interview ended on radio. Chris is a
social worker and author of After Life Agreements: A Gift
from Beyond For over three years, Chris Mulligan has
provided training for foster and adoptive parents to help
prepare them to understand the grief experienced by
neglected and abused children prior to placement in their
th
homes. For another 10 years, Chris developed safety plans
for children and their families recognizing the pain,
emotions and grief all these individuals experienced. I have
continued to meet amazing people and other authors
including Sharron Poppen, who
o writes about a brutal rape
of a character
er in her book entitled, After the War, Before
the Peace. I am still at war.

The Rapist Next Door

In 2009, our
Capricorn birthday
parties were
planned with a
neighbor for several
people including
my neighbor and he
son that I had known for five years. It was perfect because
the party
arty would be right next door from my home and all I
had to do was cross my lawn to get there. The night of my
thirty-third
third birthday started off with taking pictures of
rooms inside of the house before guest arrived for our red
and black themed party. I took this picture of myself in the
mirror in the lower level of the house. The party was set up
so that guest had access to the upper and lower level of the
house. I had a professional photographer join us later in the
evening to take picture throughout the night of all four of
the birthday girls and the guest.

I was excited to have accomplished finding a beautiful

home in a quite subdivision five years earlier and this
would be my first time celebrating my birthday in a long
while. We use to have family day once a month and my
neighbor would invite all of her friends and their kids to
celebrate once a month. It took a long time but I’d become
comfortable enough with my neighbor to attend a house
party. By now I’d been accepted into Kennesaw State
University, my business was growing and I was happy with
the way my life had turned out. My neighbor was an older
woman with one child about the same age as our son. Our
boys had become the best of friends and spend almost
every weekend together for a while. Our friendship was
compromised when my neighbor’s ex-husband violated me
in the worse possible way the night of our birthday party. I
fell into a deep depression fighting back after reporting the
rape to Cobb County Police detectives. I was sick of
motherfuckers getting away with raping people. I would
learn during the investigation that Herbert was a convicted
felon who had been in and out of prison over a twelve year
span. The detectives came to my home for a face to face
interview on evening after my classes at Kennesaw State
University. My neighbor and others were interviewed and
five months later on Mother’s Day the detective had the
nerve to come to my house to tell me the case had been
closed because they thought it was consensual like the
accused told them. It was a low blow to hear why my case
was being closed and I went into a rage on the Internet to
contact the Georgia prosecuting attorney, Pat Head. Seven
days later the Cobb County Police detectives were ordered
by the district attorney to return to my home and let me
know that my rape case had been re-opened meaning if this
son of a bitch rapes again he will most like be charged. I
did not have enough evidence and the video mentioned in
the case did not catch the rape on tape. The bastard still
hangs out right next door to my home.

Dear John- Flash Back

One of my aunts had a live in boyfriend

living down the street from my great
grandfather’s house in a multifamily
apartment building on the corner of Annie Malone and Colt
Brilliant Street. John was a dark skinned man with huge
lips and I recalled that he had awful table manners chewing
and smacking loudly whenever he ate food. One afternoon
my aunt was not home when I’d stopped by her apartment.
John let me in then he told me she was not home. John
walked into another room coming back shortly wrapped
only in a white bath towel. Before I could get the door open
to the apartment John dropped his towel exposing his naked
body and hard penis blocking the door so that I could not
leave. I was wearing an off white and blue jogging suit that
was a little too big when John tried to force my pants down.
I told him that I would tell and struggled with him holding
my pants up. Eventually he stopped and told me he would
buy me a doll house if I didn’t tell anyone. John did not
rape me but he was wrong for coming at me like that and
my aunt never knew she was sleeping with a monster in her
bed. John was an ugly black bastard that I was happy to see
move away from our block when my aunt moved to
California. I will never forget any names or faces of the
monsters from my childhood and what they show me when
no one was around. John can shove the entire doll house he
promised up his ass literally. End of story.
Speaking of Being Heard
PRAYERS FOR BETTER DAYS

This photo of my great

grandfather Port Arthur
Wright was taken in
January 1968 in St.
Louis, Missouri. Daddy
had a boisterous laugh
and seemed happy most
times. He was my hero,
protector and I will
forever be thankful for
his kindness and
patience.

I would always pray before bed just like Daddy Port

showed me asking God to show me the way to better days.
It always seemed like my prayers were answers in some
ways. My great grandfather would give me money and light
bulbs just in case my mother locked us in the basement
again. I hated walking through the new neighborhood
because it was vacant buildings and no other houses around
if anyone came after me. My fears were confirmed when
two men attempted to abduct me one morning on my way
to school. I thought this would open her eyes but I was
wrong. I truly despised going home and desired to move
away from my mother as far back as I can recall. My
mother had always had a hateful way of discipline that I
found later to be flat out abuse. She used her fist to
communicate more than she ever used positive words. She
called me derogatory hurtful names and I could only think
my way out. The basement became a quite place with the
help of daddy’s light bulbs as I’ve waited for the better
days. Often times I flash back to seasons of yesterday in
order to gain this closure for today because I do not recall
ever having a bad day with daddy who advised my well
being. I miss daddy terribly because there are so many
things had failed to tell him but I know that he would have
been proud of all that I have accomplished in my life.
Taking My Life Back

It’s January 17, 2011

Dear Karma:

Today, I am a proud mother of two beautiful well

mannered intelligent children, single by choice, a
successful small business owner and a confident woman of
color who took control and responsibility over every aspect
of my life embracing closure. This book represented my
personal life struggles, overcoming adversity, peace of
mind, serenity and most importantly closure in the end.
Taking my life back required many years of intense therapy
to learn how to cope with all of the deception and
dysfunctional ways of my childhood experiences. I stepped
out on faith when I moved well over six hundred miles
away from my hometown for a fresh start in 2003. In my
journey, I have learned to embrace myself with a clear
understanding that what happened to me in my childhood
was not my fault and clear the precious name of a little girl
within who is finally at rest and satisfied with the outcome
of exposing the truth. I take long walks with my children in
the summer and along the way we talk about life and their
dreams and goals. We discuss and express our feelings
without the dramatic need to yell or beat on each other as
means of communication. The walks take us around our
beautiful subdivision leading us right back to the front door
of our family home. Once I’d removed my mother and her
family out of my life things started to change for me in
many positive ways. My business continued to grow; I
went back to college as a non-traditional student at Saint
Louis University School for Professional Studies.
As my
life
continu
es to
change
people
in my
family
have
tried to reach out to me since the release of pages from this
book published last year on-line. The only thing I want is to
be left alone from anything related to the place that I have
come to know as hell on earth. From many years of
experience I would rather walk alone. My daughter does
not know her grandmother and has no desires to get to
know her. My son knows her and eventually asked me
about why I do not speak to my own mother or family. Our
talk was truthful because I wanted him to know that
sometimes we are not always so lucky to have all of our
family close for whatever reasons. For quite some time my
son was angry with me for moving away from St. Louis,
Missouri but as he became older he understands more why
I made the decision to be better than the place I came from.
Moving from the high crime streets of St. Louis City to the
country was the best move that I had ever made. My
landlord is a doctor in Atlanta and Dr. McBrayer gave me
the opportunity to rent a home she owned in one of the
nicest subdivisions in our area. In this picture I was
standing in my living room getting ready to go to work at
Le Buzz Café. I’d managed to skip auditions and was
offered a place on regular cast to act as a vocal pantomime.
The job lasted for over a year with a salary average of
$100.00 for lip syncing three songs of my choice in front of
a live audience. Performing became like a form of therapy
for me because I selected songs that told the audience how
I was feeling personally. Anita Baker’s Fairy Tales was one
of the songs that I performed in 2005 eventually moving
into show tune performances. I loved the stage even when I
was feeling nervous. I had supportive fans and co-workers
who made performing easier in front of an audience. I was
the only female on a cast performing with professional
female impersonators in both glamour and parody skits.
Introduced as Steve only confused the audience but it made
me a lot of money to act like a drag queen and get paid for
it always scheduled for the first weekend of every month
with some of Atlanta’s best entertainers in cabaret shows.
In 2006, I had become more seasoned with each
performance and worked hard in learning all of the lyrics to
each song. I had security and a personal assistant that took
care of me at every single show that I did that first year. All
of my performances were filmed, edited and published on-
line. Le Buzz started to see more people come out to the
shows and I was having the time of my life to work, play
and get paid for it.

This picture was taken at Le Buzz

with my co-worker Ronnie. I will
never forget the kindness that I‘d
received from customers as well as
the staff of Le Buzz Café. In October
2006, I put in a one month notice to
leave the stage and focus on
publishing all of my books and building my new media
company. Looking back at the dark place that I came from
truly has humbled me into believing that God has always
watched over me regardless of how bad I thought things
were when I was a little girl. I came from nothing and
established my life into the dream I have always
envisioned. There is no drama because all was released in
this book exposing anyone who has ever made an impact
on my life negative or positive. I wanted to tell you about
the bad stuff first because in the end the good things out
weigh with continued blessings. I have learned to love my
life in every aspect and respect my children. Being a loving
mom is a top priority that I have to give them good
memories of their childhood. I can only want the best for
them with no desires to ever abuse, neglect or harm them
like my mother did me. I never want them to hate me for
trying to keep them safe from the kind of people I was
around as a child. As their mother I want to see them grow
up into productive healthly positive adults who will
contribute to society. I did not ask God for much but I am
praying for both of my children to be protected from the
ways of the world.
Taking My Life Back (Continued)

Dear Diary:

Sixteen years ago I received

a phone call from my college advisor at Forest Park
Community College. I had no idea how much that phone
call would change my life and my future. I was instructed
to visit the local community clinic a fill out a simple card
for a random computer housing lottery. Sixteen months
later I receive a letter informing me that I had been selected
for the Housing Choice Program. Accepting the program
allowed me to live anywhere in the United States with
rental assistance. I selected to move to this subdivision in
2005. Two families were being considered and in the end
my family was selected to rent the house two door down
from this one.
The homes in our subdivision are about seventeen years
old. It’s a quite homeowners association established
community with one hundred thirty three homes. It is a
mixed community of races from Japanese, Black, White,
Italian and many others. Crime is very low in our
community and patrolled daily by our HOA President. My
ticket out of St. Louis landed my family in a place I have
dreamed of many nights when I was a little girl. This is
what we see when we open our front door to take a stroll
down our street. It like a beautiful dream that have woke up
to everyday leaving some very dark days behind. My
strength and courage always goes back to the words of my
great grandfather who gave me a fighting chance to survive
thirty-five years with the last five years a dream turned
reality with the support and comments of thousands of
people from all over the world. I have successfully
transitioned out of foster homes and negative environments
well over six hundred miles away from a little girl’s hell.

Our home is on a quiet street with more than enough room

for children to play but the upkeep on this house is a
monster but I’ve managed to hang in there for the last
seven years. I would nuts if I gave up what I have
established to ever consider living in the Midwest. This will
be home for a long time to come with hopes I can afford to
buy it from Dr. McBrayer. This is the part of my life where
I have found the ideal home environment without the daily
screaming, fighting or whatever unpredictable drama
lurking around. I have become accustomed to living a
drama free life and go on with my life without the negative
people of my past associated with the traumatic memories
of what was clearly the most hateful experience of my
entire childhood. Today, I am proud to be acknowledged as
a survivor.

Here there is no graffitti on the neigbors homes. There are

no gun shots heard throughout the day or night. There are
no crack heads hanging out in front of our house and I
would not trade the outcome of my life for anything. I think
back to where I came from and often smile because I
worked hard to remove every negative thing of the past to
where it no longer effects my future. Going back to that
serenity, peace of mind and closure. I love finding blogs
on-line that others took time to write about me.
 Dear Newoka:
ewoka:

Author Chris Mulligan

wrote: Saturday, April 11,
2009

I spoke with Newoka LaShelle

on the Web Mistress Show on
Blogtalkradio.com.at
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/WebMistress/2009/04/12/A
tp://www.blogtalkradio.com/WebMistress/2009/04/12/A-
childs-death-is-a-parents-worst-nightmare.

Not only is she a skilled interviewer and demonstrates her

professionalism throughout her show. She he also has very
interesting guests on her show. Newoka is also al an
extremely creative and talented web designer. Please take a
look at her website at http://www.Newoka.Info as it clearly
demonstrates her abilities. I'll be visiting her show again in
the near future. I invite you to visit these shows as Spirit
Healer and Newoka LaShelle both have other interesting
guests, subjects, information and gifts to share.

Author Sharron Poppen wrote: Friday October 30, 2009.

2009
Today was really exciting. I had another blog talk radio
interview
w with Newoka LaShelle on Web Mistress Radio. It
was an hour and she is a great host who researches the
work of the person she is going to interview and asks great
questions that help to keep the chatter pertinent and
ongoing. Talking with Newoka always motivates
mo me and
makes me feel good about myself. So, here's my quote for
today. "Getting ahead in a difficult profession requires avid
faith in you. That is why some people with mediocre talent,
but with great inner drive, go much further than people
with vastly superior talent." Sophia Loren

I listened to the full hour of my interview with Newoka.

She really does a nice job of leading her interviewees
along. She used my website and led me along so I could
discuss most aspects of my writing like the books and the
classes. My voice didn't sound as bad as I thought it would,
a little hoarse, but not bad.
Bruce George wrote:

This letter of recommendation is for Ms. Newoka LaShelle.

I have had the honor and pleasure to have Ms. LaShelle
Executive Consult on various literary projects that I have
produced and her work has exceeded my farthest
expectation. She has not only promoted my projects via her
own Web Mistress Blog Talk Radio Show, but she has also
marketed our brand to the fullest extent which in turn has
further allowed us to reach thousands of people from all
walks of life.

Ms. LaShelle expertise is second to none, and I highly

recommend her to any person, company or organization. I
can’t say enough about how professional and efficient her
work is. My company plans on employing Ms. LaShelle for
many more projects in the future!

Cordially,
Bruce George
Co-Founder of Russell Simmons Def Poetry Jam on HBO
Happy 35th Birthday
Newoka
 Dear Karma:
K
My thirty-fifth
fifth birthday was the
best ever after
ter reading a total of
three hundred and ninety-five
ninety
private messages from as far as
Italy, Greece, Las Vegas, New
York, Cleveland, California, St.
Louis and many other places. Most messages were posted
on my face book page but some trickled in via email and
phone call or two.. Surprising enough I did get a birthday
wish from my middle sister from the Midwest and a St.
Louis County Police Officer that I had not spoken to since
last summer. It was amazing to see so many people take the
time to send me birthday
y regards. It was even more
amazing that some of them were close childhood friends
and first crushes. I spent the whole day editing the
th content
to a new book project due for release February 14, 2011
2
celebrating Valentine’s Day with my very own all natural
beauty product line for my spa baskets focused on self-
self
guided meditation.
 I love you. You love me.

SEND ME AN ANGEL
NGEL – Flash
Back

Spring 2003

Atlanta, Georgia

The first year and a half was a struggle when I decided to

step out on faith and forced a move to Atlanta. I only had
three months of cash to work with while looking for a job. I
decided to find a salon where I could become an
apprentice. Within a few weeks Salon Nefertiti located on
Ponce De Leon in Decatur made an offer of a life time. The
salon
on owner was looking for someone to manage the shop,
hire stylist etc. The coolest part of the deal was the access I
had to set my own schedule and a place to braid natural hair
for extra cash. I’d established well over fifteen clients in
Marietta with several natural styles including the locks,
twist and cornrows. My neighbors sent their kids often for a
braid and my flyers were posted on the Georgia
Department of Social Services bulletin board. I was
overwhelmed with natural hair clients however there was a
catch. None of my clients were willing to drive to Decatur
from Marietta and I can say that I blame them. Re-building
a clientele in the salon was hard because of the location. It
was inside of a building next to a bowling alley and so
many people did not know it was there. I ended up going to
my clients to braid and for a while the extra income
allowed just enough to cover basic bills. The week that I’d
planned to return to St. Louis for another job interview
went by slow because I was waiting on a check in the mail
from Jefferson City, Missouri. While waiting I ended up
meeting a U.S. Army Veteran and thirteen year employee
of the Atlanta Post Office. Mrs. Demetrice Prados and I
became good friends through positive conversation and
eventually decided to establish a limited liability
partnership. We both had dreams to start a business but I
had no idea just how serious she was until she started to
invest in the start up process necessary to make our dreams
of owning a digital in house media company a reality.
Within the first four years our company was endorsed by
Bruce George, co Founder of Russell Simmons Def Poetry
Jam. Private investors assisted with well over $250,000.00
for business supplies needed and today we are recognized
as a global digital media resource in the media industry.

Bruce George appeared as a featured guest on my Internet

based Web Mistress Radio Show with Louis Reyes Rivera
taking live callers from all over the globe. Since then Mr.
George continues to endorse and support our company as
we continue to grow faster than we ever dreamed. I was
told several years ago that my luck was about to change but
I did not know just how much until I started seeing profits
come back into the company in February 2007.A Dream
Play Productions, LLC was not an overnight success but we
are pleased with the rapid growth and word of mouth.
However as always there is a catch. As the Chief Executive
Officer my job description wears many hats in order to
make this all work. We’ve been so overwhelmed because
becaus
of lack of staff.
Once upon a time my life was like a
glass shattered into a million pieces.
Starting my own business was indeed
the best decision that I had made in a
long while. Many nights of reading
and research was necessary to find the
most ethnical
al way to start a digital
media company on a shoestring budget.. My partner throws
herself into the product development leaving me to make
most of the administrative decisions for the entire
operation. My income was very low to start but the benefits
in the end were all well worth the wait. My contract allows
fulltime hours, family medical and dental insurance,
assistance with car note, car insurance and other neat perks.
The pressure is always on
n to fill orders by deadline with a
high quality digital product.
t. The company’s image was
inspired based on dreams of two little girls who crossed
paths much later in life. Most of the projects accepted are
family friendly allowing the kids to help out as we grow
into a family business and spend quality time together.
Our first office was located on Peachtree Street across for
the Hyatt Regency in downtown Atlanta. The office came
with valet parking, a receptionist, a business mailing
address, dry cleaner services and access to over 900 Regis
office locations if our staff needed to travel. This is a photo
of what our office looked like at night in downtown
Atlanta. The names of the photographers are unknown.
Soon after we paid our first month’s rent a tornado tore up
downtown Atlanta leaving us blocked from entering the
city until debris was cleared. That night a man lost his life
when he was found under a pile of bricks that fell from a
nearby building. The CNN center had what seemed like a
mini river flowing down the escalators and reports of major
damage to other well known attractions and homes
throughout the city from images on the evening news
stations. I wondered just how long it would take to finally
be able to use the office paid for by investors. In the six
months of having the office I’d only went once and that
was at the time of negating the contract suitable for my
company and staff needs. This is what it looked like at
night from an aerial photo was taken off line of downtown
Atlanta. I was allowed sixteen hours per month, valet
parking, access to a small office with no window, voice
mail, a fulltime receptionist and gold card options to access
to all nine hundred plus office locations anywhere in the
United States if needed. In the end it was a waste of money
because I never used the office from simply having no
desires to drive to it. However, nothing seemed to be able
to stop us in our business ventures and I loved working
with the high technology to create whatever I wanted. Over
the years my contract gets better with the support of
investors who believed in me and my dreams enough to
assist me with making all of this a reality including the
book you are reading or listening too. I have shared some
of the most disturbing memories of my life with hopes a
movement to break the cycle of family abuse before it’s too
late. The little girl I used to be fell on deaf ears. However,
the woman that I have become speaks to be heard by
millions exposing the ugly truth.
Garden of Dreams Closure

Ode Poet Valley was written as a form of therapy when I

was into some of the darkest days of my life. I wrote poetry
to keep a peace of mind and recited in spoken word so that
I would be heard loud and clear. The following pages are
the words responsible for helping me cope with my dark
ugly past
 Poetry
This peace is entitled, Little Girl
Written by Newoka LaShelle Baker

This was the way of the world when I was a little girl
Recalling sitting in the kitchen getting a hot press and curl
My great grandmother wore flowered dresses and a string
of pearls

After church Sunday dinner called for home cooked soul

food
Great grandma taught me about manners so that I would
not be rude
However after she died the world became cruel

A little girl was beaten, raped, molested and abused

Her mother called it discipline to use her fist on the girls
face
Leaving the little girl praying for better days

Child molesters and rapist lurked all around

Telling a little girl not to make a sound
Her mother called it consensual when the little girl told
And in some cases the little girl was scold

Stripped of her innocence by age ten and half

Leaving her ripped and bleeding while sitting in a bath
Her mother excused the little girl’s words as mentally ill
Attempts to cover up the truth by saying the girl needed
pills

Left alone to face monsters in her bed

 The mother told the girl she was already dead

End Poem-

This peace is entitled, Thank You

Written by Newoka LaShelle Baker

Dear lord lover of souls

Please help me through this day because my shoes have
holes
I have worked hard to keep my faith and it has taken its toll

Lord, I am tired of being mistreated and do not think I will

last
I am asking for closure for a little girl’s past

Now when I lay me down to sleep

I trust my mind, body and soul for you to keep

And if I should die before I wake

Please forgive my sins because I walked in faith

Amen
End poem-
 This peace is entitled, Detoxification
Written by Newoka LaShelle Baker

Detoxification was my revelation

Mental confusion is no illusion
Mood swings bring things unwanted, destroys relations
Send no patience and weakness on vacation
Stop complaining and start facing difficult situations
The voice will be clearer if you trust that face in the mirror,
you know
As a solo you must trust self first so rhyme and reason can
flow

Purification and rejuvenation on the mind

With time all aches and pains will subside
Let your conscience be your guide

Heal thy self first if nothing else I preach

 Let realistic true words be your speech
Don’t front, be blunt because self healing is what I want

I am, a black queen that rules verified truths

My words are certified with no reason to lie
Put the drugs down that poisoned your mind
Stop wasting your time
To know your worth is the first sign
Thanksgiving and forgiveness will begin your healing
So let the healing begin I am feeling

End Poem
 This peace is entitled, Think Sister
Written by Newoka LaShelle Baker

When you stroll down the street keep your head held high
Know in your mind at all times that you are a great black woman

Don’t settle now for any old thing

Look for quality if what I mean

In that old looking glass smile to yourself

What a beautiful woman and I take care of myself

Say please and thank you because it is only being polite

But of course now we were raised better than that right

Don’t be a user for you might be the one to get used

Who cares what kind of car he drives if he treats it better than you

Have your piece of mind and share it to

Pray to the lord when you have the blues

Continued success in all that you do

Just remember; I am your big sister and I love you

End Poem
Photo
Gallery
Throughout all of my life struggles I have learned to accept
the facts of my life and blessed
d to be able to move on
finding closure in the end. It’s not clear what happened to
some of the characters mentioned in this book but you
should know that there is a part two to Karma’s Dirty
Secrets.