August 2025

No Filter. No Fear. Lady 380 Is Speaking.

When Lady 380 steps to the mic, the room shifts. Not because of volume or flash, but because of truth. Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Unshaken. Her words hit deep, not just because of what she says, but because of where they come from. A place of lived experience. A place where silence once lived but now burns with purpose.

Named one of the top 20 poets in Houston, Lady 380 is more than a performer. She is a storyteller. A truth speaker. A builder of platforms and a fearless creative force. Her path stretches from open mics to sold-out theaters, full-length poetry albums, and original stage productions. Her work does not just entertain. It moves people. It opens doors. It makes space for honesty.

In this exclusive conversation, Lady 380 shares the heart behind her mission, the moments that shaped her journey, and why speaking the truth will always matter more than the applause.

Lady 380, your work is known for being raw, real, and sometimes uncomfortable. Where do you find the courage to speak your truth so unapologetically on stage?

I always remember my why. Why I wrote the poem and the healing and inspiration that could come from it. I think of all the times I stayed silent. Times when speaking up could have made a difference. Could have comforted someone. Could have saved someone. That silence sat heavy on me. It followed me. And now, every time I get on that stage, I refuse to carry that silence any longer.

I know my words are not just mine. They are for the woman who is too afraid to speak her truth. For the man who is breaking inside but never learned how to cry out. For the child sitting in the back of the room thinking nobody sees them. My voice reaches them because I have been them.

So no matter how uncomfortable it gets, I speak. No matter who walks out, who rolls their eyes, who whispers in the corner, I speak. I speak because I remember what it felt like to need a voice like mine and not hear one. And I owe it to that younger version of me who held back to never hold back again. I owe it to the people who never made it out. And I owe it to the ones still trying.



My truth may not be pretty, but it is real. And I will keep telling it until the silence is no longer louder than the pain.

You have made your mark at legendary venues like the Houston Improv and The Black Academy of Arts and Letters. What performance stands out to you the most and why?

They each carry their own weight in my journey. The Houston Improv will always be special to me because that is where I started. To this day, it remains one of the biggest and most important stages I have ever performed on. I was embraced by hundreds of people who came with love, energy, and open hearts. That space became my comfort zone. It taught me how powerful spoken word can be when it is delivered with truth and received with grace.

The Black Academy of Arts was a different story. That performance pushed me. It stretched me. I did not have my usual circle in the crowd. No familiar faces. No safety net. I had to perform my full set with a live band, which I had never done before. That night taught me what it really means to adjust, to trust yourself, and to rise in the moment. And I did. The audience felt it. The venue felt it. I walked off that stage knowing I had left a piece of my soul up there.

That experience also opened my eyes to the difference between being booked for a show and actually being part of one. From the flight, to the room and board, the travel schedule, the dressing room with my name on the door, the autographs, the way I was treated from the moment I arrived to the moment I left. It felt like more than just a gig. It felt like respect. Like recognition. Like someone saw my worth and honored it without question.

Both shows changed me. One gave me a home. The other gave me wings.

Being named one of the top 20 poets in Houston is no small feat. What did that recognition from Broadcast Houston mean to you personally and professionally?

Both personally and professionally, I just felt heard.

Carlos Wallace, CEO of Sol-Caritas, has long referred to you as Lil Pistol. Not just for the name, but for your precision, your fire, and your unapologetic aim. When you step into the spotlight, loaded with truth and ready to deliver, what are you aiming to hit and why does it matter that nothing and no one is bulletproof to your words?

It is always my goal to inspire and spark something real. Whether it is thought, conversation, or change, I want people to feel something when they hear me speak. I believe words carry weight. Just like a bullet, they do not always hit who you meant them to hit. But somebody is going to feel it. Somebody is going to get caught by the impact. And sometimes, it is the person who needed it the most.

When I write, I do not write just for people who have lived exactly what I have lived. I write so that even if you have never walked in my shoes, you will still pause and say, I felt that. I understand that. I see you. Because empathy is not about shared experience, it is about shared humanity. That is the power of poetry. That is the power of truth when it is laid bare and spoken from the gut.

So when I hit that mic, I know the room may not be full of people who look like me, or think like me, or believe like me. But if I do my job right, it will be full of people who feel something real. And that is all I ever ask for. That is what keeps me writing. That is what keeps me speaking.

Your transition from poet to playwright with The Other Woman was bold. What inspired you to take your artistry into theater, and how did it challenge you creatively?

I wanted something for my audience and me to be excited about. I had been doing showcases for years, and while I was always grateful for the stage, it often left me feeling like I was only giving people a glimpse. I would have time to do maybe one or two poems, and then that was it. That small window did not allow my audience to really see me. Not the full range. Not the depth. Not the different sides of my creativity.

There is more to me than one fire piece or one emotional moment. I wanted to take people on a journey. I wanted them to laugh, to reflect, to sit in silence, to react out loud, to walk away with something that stayed with them. That cannot happen when you are just checking in for ten minutes. So I knew I had to create a space where I could stretch, where the pen could breathe, and the audience could experience me without limits.

This was not just about performance. It was about connection. It was about building something where my people could come, sit down, and say, I know exactly what she means. And even when they did not know exactly, they could still feel it. That is what I was after. Something more. Something lasting. Something honest.

The themes in The Other Woman and Group Therapy hit hard. Love, betrayal, healing. Why do you feel it is important for artists to lean into the uncomfortable truths?



Everyone loves to wear their best mask. The one they think will get them the most approval. The most praise. The most acceptance from people who are also wearing masks of their own, carrying demons they do not talk about. We all play that game at some point. Trying to look whole while breaking on the inside. Trying to look strong while carrying things that are eating us alive.

But when I step on stage and speak the uncomfortable truth, it shifts the room. It evens the playing field. It makes people stop pretending. Not out loud, not always in front of others, but within themselves. That truth creates space. It gives permission. And sometimes, that is all someone needs. They do not have to perform. They do not have to speak back. But they sit with themselves in that seat a little different. They hear that truth and it echoes.

I am not here to impress. I am here to uncover. I am here to say the thing too many people are scared to say. Because once it is said, it loses some of its power. And once people realize they are not alone in it, they start to heal. Even if it is quiet. Even if it is private. That is what the work is really about. Not applause. Not popularity. But honesty. Raw, necessary, soul-shaking honesty.

Many performers aim to entertain. You aim to impact. When did you realize your words were powerful enough to shift a room?

There have been times when I did not get the big reaction during a performance. No loud applause. No standing ovation. No explosive energy in the room. And for a moment, I questioned it. I wondered if I missed the mark. But then, after the show, people came up to me one by one. Quiet. Honest. Sometimes emotional. They told me how deeply my words touched them. How my story hit something they had never heard said out loud. That is when I realized something powerful.

It was not that they were not feeling it. They were just feeling it in real time. They were listening. They were processing. They were sitting with what I said. And by the time I finished, they were not sure if they were supposed to clap for the performance or reflect on the weight of what I shared.

That taught me not to confuse silence with disconnection. Some pieces are not meant to be clapped through. They are meant to be felt. And when people are really feeling it, they are not thinking about making noise. They are thinking about their own life. Their own pain. Their own truth.

I used to chase the reaction. Now I look for the impact. And trust me, they are not the same.

Your poetry album Reloaded showcases your depth beyond the mic. What was the process of turning spoken word into a studio project like for you?

It feels familiar. I started as a rapper. I always wrote poetry, but the performance came from rapping on stage and recording in the booth. That is where I found my voice. That is where I learned how to own the mic, how to control a room, and how to make words move people.

So when I started performing poetry, getting into the studio with it was already second nature. I knew how to bring presence into a recording. I knew how to sit with the words and still let them hit. The rhythm changed, but the purpose stayed the same. Make people feel something. Make them listen. Make it real.

Poetry gave me more space to breathe. With rap, I was focused on flow and delivery. With poetry, I could stretch. I could lean into the silence. I could speak from a place that did not need a beat, just truth. But everything I learned from music still lives in my voice. The confidence. The tone. The ability to command a moment.

It all works together. Every version of me helped shape the artist I am today.

You often refer to yourself as a Spoken Word Assassin. What does that title represent to you, and how do you embody that every time you step on stage?

It is part of my brand. As Lady 380, a gun, I have to let people know that I am not just shooting, speaking, aimlessly. I am the marksman, the hired assassin in this spoken word industry.

With No Smoke Productions, you are not just performing. You are building platforms. What do you hope other poets and artists gain from seeing you produce your own work?

I hope they gain a sense of pride, elevation, and inspiration. That is always the goal. I want people to walk away feeling like they can stand a little taller. Like they can do something with what they just felt. We can all do it. Every single one of us. It really just comes down to whether or not you want to. That is the truth.

For the ones who do want to, I hope they see in real time that it is possible. Not in theory. Not someday. Right now. I want them to see that the power is already in them. That nothing I am doing is out of reach. I am just choosing to use my gift. I am choosing to show up. And so can they.

If my presence helps someone unlock something in themselves, then I have done my job. That is what matters most to me. Seeing that spark light up in somebody's eyes. Knowing they felt it. That is why I do this.

Artist Access has become a respected platform for emerging voices. What has that journey taught you about community and storytelling?

I believe everyone has a story to tell, something within them that is meant to be shared in this creative space we all occupy. Artist Access is a platform for artists to share their experiences and journeys, inspiring others to tap into their creativity.

Houston is your hometown and your stage. How has the city shaped your voice as an artist, and what do you hope to give back to it?

The city helped shape me. It gave me my sense of pride, my connection to culture, and most of all, my core experiences. Everything I am and everything I create started right here. The way I speak, the way I move, the way I carry my story all comes from this place.

That is why giving back is not just something I think about. It is something I feel deeply. I want to create real opportunities. I want to bring jobs to the community. I want to support our youth and help them see what they are capable of. I want them to know they do not have to leave to grow. They can build right here.

Through the art form, I want to offer more than just a performance. I want to create a space that feels like therapy. A space where people can breathe. A space where they can feel without being judged. I know what it means to carry pain in silence. I know what it means to look for healing and not know where to find it.

If I can use my voice to create healing, to spark growth, to build pride in where we come from, then I know I am giving the city back what it gave me. That is what matters most. That is the mission.

Spoken word is evolving. What do you think is the next frontier for the art form, and how do you plan to lead the way?

I envision poetry festivals. I see Broadway stages. I see us represented in spaces we have not always been invited into. Bigger platforms. Mainstream audiences. People who may have never heard spoken word delivered the way we bring it. That is what is up next.

Poetry belongs everywhere. Not just in coffee shops or open mics. Not just in small rooms. It belongs on major stages. In theaters. On television. In film. Anywhere music is played, poetry should be in the mix. Because we are doing more than rhyming. We are telling stories. We are teaching lessons. We are creating moments that live long after the lights go out.



The goal is not just visibility. It is access. It is ownership. It is making sure the voices that have always been powerful finally get the reach they deserve. I am not waiting for permission. I am creating space. And I want to see everybody rise with me.

You have been called the hardest working poet in Houston. What drives that level of hustle, and what is the legacy you hope to leave behind in this space?

My greatest strength and my greatest weakness is that I always want more. I am never fully satisfied. I am always looking at what I just did, how I did it, and how I can do it better next time. I analyze everything. I push myself even when nobody is watching. That hunger keeps me growing, but it also keeps me restless.

When I leave this space, I want people to feel something real. I want to know that I inspired other creatives to keep going. To carry the torch. To speak louder. To dream bigger. I want to be remembered as someone who opened doors. Someone who created opportunities where there were none before. Someone who reached back and pulled others forward.

At the end of the day, I want to be viewed as a pillar in this community. Solid. Respected. Needed. And beyond all that, I want to be known as the GOAT. Not just because I said it, but because I lived it. Because the work spoke for itself. Because the impact is still being felt long after I step away from the mic.

TOP TRENDING BLOGS

My Daddy, George Jefferson, and the History They Tried to Hide

When Life Imitates the Worst of Our Art: A Wake-Up Call for Black Storytelling

Reclaiming the Black Church: A Call to Restore Leadership, Unity, and Purpose

The Wealth Trap: Why So Many Millionaires Go Broke Before 40

Too Young to Cut Grass? Stop It.