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As far as I'm concerned, love means fighting, big fat lies, and a couple of slaps across the face.
It's been said that members of Congress love receiving pats on the back weekdays in Washington, D.C., but they would benefit greatly from going home regularly to receive valuable slaps on the back of the head in their districts.
Basketball players want contact to get a foul called. Slaps on the wrist and bumps on the shoulder are big time to them, and they don't like that. In football, you get that all the time. The whole mental makeup is different.
I don't like poetry that just slaps violent words on a canvas, as it were.
It slaps your dignity just right. I loved the idea of these proud, dignified black men, and I saw the older ones wounded, and it wounded me ten times as much because I couldn't stand seeing them hurt like this.
This fame is a juggernaut: It slaps you in the face, and you don't know what you're doing. You don't know who has your back, who is your support system.
These are clothes my friends and I could wear. This ain't Prada. I don't want to be one of those celebrities that slaps their name on a label and collects royalty checks. Everything on that runway reflects me.
