Judge Me Not, Again

By: Honey

Kwame’s Story


As usual, this book as every other book I’ve ever written or will ever write, is dedicated to my one and only beloved child, Solomon III. You are my greatest inspiration. I also dedicate this book to my amazing parents, Billy and Lauretta. Thank you for raising me to be a successful woman of many talents.


I give honor and reverence to God for blessing me with the gift of writing and the talent to tell wonderful stories. Thank you, Solomon III for being a patient and understanding child. I couldn’t do what I’ve been blessed to do if you weren’t the incredible little brown boy that you are. I write for you. Mommy loves you more than words can describe, Pooh Bear. You are my heart. Thank you Solomon Junior, my husband of 11 years. I know it gets rough sometimes when I’m totally engrossed in writing and I kind of neglect you and the house. But thanks for hanging in there with me through each project. I don’t take your love or patience for granted. I love you from the bottom of my heart. You’re still my guy. Thank you, Mama and Daddy for your unwavering support. You are the world’s greatest parents. Dawn and Nikki, I love you two to the stars and back for all you do for me. I wouldn’t be where I am today without your encouragement. Thank you, Shirley and Jeff for your support. To my manager, confidant, and cousin, Andra, I say thank you. You’re there when no one else is. You keep me rooted, grounded, and on track. I appreciate all you do for me. 2016 is our year. I have the best lawyer in the world. Thank you, Selinda for keeping me legit. Thank you to my no-nonsense screen readers: Dawn, Nikki, Andra, Ashley, Cherell, Christan and Deborah Anne. Last but not least, I’d like to thank all of my fans who encourage me and enjoy my work. Your reviews and email messages make me smile. I write for all of you. Keep the feedback coming.

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Honey’s Bio

Honey was born March 7, 1968 in Macon, Georgia. She is the middle child of five born to very loving, devoted, and supportive parents. In the third grade, Honey developed a passion for creative writing. She used her gift in school, church, throughout college and beyond, writing and editing political speeches, essays, and skits. However, she did not pursue her dream to write professionally until many years later. “Judge Me Not”, her debut novel with Jessica Watkins Presents, was released in March 2015 and received outstanding reviews from readers across the country. Her second novel under the JWP brand, “Love, Obsession & Power” was released to favorable reviews September 2015.

Honey is happily married to her husband of eleven years. They reside in McDonough, Georgia where they are raising their ten-year-old son. Please feel free to contact Honey at [email protected] or on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/honeywrites.

Chapter One

It ain’t cool to lie to yourself ‘cause before long, you’ll start to believe all of the bullshit you’ve made up inside your head. I thought I was fine. That’s what I kept telling myself. From the age of thirteen when we moved from our Section 8 house on the west side of Macon, Georgia to our fat, new condo in the Miami Lakes, I’d considered myself a healthy, normal kid. I was smart. Hell, I was a genius. I still am. At least that’s what my 4.39 grade point average, SAT, and ACT scores say. My principal, Dr. Lowery, all of my teachers, and my guidance counselor often call me a prodigy. I’m down with that, but I’m not everything they think I am. All of my life I’ve been an over achiever. Even on those nights when I went to bed hungry ‘cause my mother had traded her food stamps for crack, I was able to wake up the next morning and perform in school ten times better than any kid—black, white, or other—in my class. I was resilient and invincible. I was damn near perfect.

My sister, Nesha, the one who raised me, thought the sun rose and shined on my black ass. She said I was the sweetest kid in the world. According to her, I was destined for greatness. Everybody believed that about me ‘cause I only showed them excellence in school, at church, and on the baseball diamond. I hid my worries, insecurities, and weaknesses from them. But as I watched that steel pink casket being lowered six feet into the earth three years ago, I realized that I was not perfect. I was vulnerable, inadequate, and scared as hell about what my future held.

“Do you want a flower from Debbie’s casket, Kwame?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I’m cool. Divide them between my nieces. They like flowers, especially roses. I’m about to head back to the limo. Y’all, take your time. Don’t rush on my behalf.” I kissed Nesha on the cheek and walked away. My heart was bleeding, watching her mourn a woman who didn’t even deserve her acknowledgments.

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