four twenty seven

Jesus said come as you are but who was I when I left?

a conversation, not a lecture.

i don't need you to agree with my point, i would just like for you to acknowledge that i have one.

mother nature would like an explanation

so you take a tree from its home and put it in your home only to throw it in the trash days later. doesn't sound like the spirit of giving to me.

what's your nationality?

some say, we are racially ambiguous. as long as we're never ambiguous to race, i'm cool.

every girl ain't daddy's

i don't know if my dad could ever be my hero. i don't remember him rescuing my mama.

going over the details

conversations sound so different after they've been had from when they are happening.

favorite jeans

i wore a 15 year old's jeans.  a 15 year old boy that is. and they fit well. that makes me and my widening hips feel great.

my own sense of comfort

not worrying about being pregnant is a weight off my shoulders i can't even describe.  magnums anyone?

watching the movie This Christmas

i swear to God, i'll beat a grown ass man with a belt while he's slipping and sliding over some baby oil.  i don't play these reindeer games called adultery and deceit.

"The Lord has a lot on his plate this morning."

it's way more fun when you don't care

i'm completely enamored with the thought of NOT being enamored.

cursing like a sailor

he said, i'm too beautiful to curse so much.
i thought of lauryn hill when she said, "i add a motherf.cker so you ignorant n.ggas hear me."
but i didn't see the conversation going well if i said that out loud so i smiled and made a conscious effort to make a change.  i mean, i don't have to curse, it's not like i know any ignorant n.ggas.

a tiny box can do so much

i got diamond earrings for Christmas and they make me feel beautiful.
it's a very strange feeling but i like it.

you read me like a book

you turn me into the pages of a book i haven't written yet
flipping over ivory sheets with letters that could only spell out love
you unwind my binds
with your fingertips
and i spill ink into the atmosphere
i drip onto this canvas called life
imitating the art of ecstasy
you call my name and angels come sliding down to pause the heavens and play with us
i am ferocious when i am in your arms
but vulnerable when you are in mine
you want to tame me
into chapters you can comprehend
bookmarking the moments of me you love
and i owe you that much
i owe you peace
i owe you solitude
i owe you the nape of my neck
and the curve in my back
but my heart...
my heart beats gold
naturally
so as you turn me and flip me between your fingertips
searching for that happy ending
i pour onto you the seven wonders of my soul
trust.fidelity.honesty.thoughtfulness.patience.forgiveness.
and most of all
love.

oh no he didn't.

i have trouble with being vulnerable.  blame it on being a leo.  what lion do you know is ok with being afraid?  what lion has time to feel weak when he's too busy being strong to protect those around him?  well that's me.  i don't do vulnerable well.  most things i say come off as harsh.  it's not what i'm saying, it's how i say it, which is a big reason i write.  because my voice doesn't translate 95% of my emotions correctly, you can read what i write and decide for yourself.  anyway, this harsh tone that i carry is a lot to handle for some people.  some tend to take it personal like i'm always attacking them.  if you know anything about a leo, we don't attack, we respond and if you know me, i don't start sh.t, i just finish it.  but when you're dealing with a new person, it's like navigating a maze.  everything has to be deciphered and explained which is just a fancy way of saying 'everything is a f.cking argument.'  

now i've come to realize that people can't always dismiss my harsh tone.  but what i have not come to terms with is people who also have harsh tones pulling the 'you're always picking on me t.' seriously.  just because i can handle your harsh tone doesn't make it right, especially if my harsh tone is considered wrong. granted 98% of things don't bother me but that doesn't mean it's ok for you to do.  

anyway, there was a point to all this.  i said something that had vulnerable written all over it.  and i wasn't looking for a particular response but i was looking for a response, partly because if you ask for something and i give it to you, acknowledge it.  needless to say, i didn't get a response and i was pissed and i'm almost NEVER pissed.  originally i was pissed because in twelve hours, i know there was 30 seconds to acknowledge my comment.  but that wasn't even where my emotions started to turn into rage.  i was in the middle of saying, 'when i'm 'hostile,' you respond defensively and then when i'm vulnerable, you don't respond at all.' and then i got CUT OFF, CUT OFF LIKE AN EXPEDITION GETTING CUT OFF BY A MINI COOPER. STRAIGHT MIND BOGGLING.  in the midst of hearing how busy their day was and how they didn't get a chance to really give my statement their full attention, i sat there wondering why they couldn't even say 'ok' when they got the message to which they responded that NOTHING THEY EVER DO IS RIGHT IN MY EYES.  

i felt knots in my stomach.  as much praise and adoration as i express, to even hear that NOTHING they do is right in my eyes felt like a damn slap.  this cannot be coming from them of all people. they can't say that, not without lying at least.  but i sat there, letting them finish their description of the ALWAYS DISAPPOINTED version of myself.  i finally said, 'you didn't even hear what i had to say.'

"You have nothing left to say..."

and that's when the tears welled up in my eyes and the knots tied tighter in my stomach.  all i wanted to say was, 'when i show vulnerability and i don't get a response, i put it on my 'things to never do again' list and i don't want that for us so if that's what you want, that's how it works in my mind.'  i did not have the conversation to question time management or how busy the day was or to accuse anyone of blatantly ignoring me.  i just wanted to say, i'll give you what you want but only if you're willing to accept it but apparently i had nothing left to say.  

i'm more submissive than they give me credit for.

the sexiest parole officer

it seems men my age or around my age despise the titles boyfriend and girlfriend no matter how appropriate they may be.  boyfriend is defined as a 'male friend with whom a person is romantically or sexually involved; sweetheart or lover.'  the two men i spoke with prefer the term parole officer, when describing the person who can be defined as their girlfriend.  why? i have absolutely no idea.  but if i'm anyone's parole officer, i'm not sure i want to be.  i don't want anyone to feel burdened by my presence or obligated by my needs and wants.  being a 'parole officer' takes away from the beauty of companionship, the fair trade of power, effort and vulnerability.  being a 'parole officer' makes the whole relationship seem more like an obligation as opposed to a choice and forgive me if i want to be the best choice you make.

i'm not sure what the expectations are when people call each other boyfriend or girlfriend and i'm not sure what changes between the two when titles are added on. it's been a while since i've been in a relationship.  from first glance though, it seems like someone is just avoiding the responsibility that comes along with commitment, which is fine as long as you don't sleep with me, call me, date me, meet my friends, meet my family, remember my birthday or pay for the movies.  if you do all those things, you're a boyfriend, whether you put it on facebook or not.  you're in a relationship.  from my own experience, i think i've had a problem with being someone's girlfriend because i didn't want to be a guarantee.  what if in the morning, i realize i don't want to call you anymore or what if i don't want to meet your mother?  if i'm not your girlfriend, there's no guarantee.  but as boyfriends and girlfriends, i think that every morning you decide to make an effort to make your partner happy and if you can't, to change that as fast as possible.  it's like a guarantee that you will keep trying.  that in itself is a big responsibility and i completely understand the fear of it.  but i wish men would just say that.

i'll even give you a script.
"hey, i like you and i love sleeping with you.  right now, everything's going well. it's easy to talk to you and to laugh with you and we genuinely have a good time together.  but if we hit a rough patch, i'm not sure this is worth the effort.  i may not want to deal with this if it gets difficult.  i may not wanna hear much about your feelings past horny and happy.  i'm just saying, if i change my mind, i don't want to have to deal with the aftermath."

now if y'all said that, i wouldn't get emotionally involved.  i wouldn't give you that vulnerability.  i'll keep it all smiles with you. if i'm having a bad day, i just won't call you and if you happen to call me, i won't pick up. if there's a movie i think you would like to see, i'll suggest you go see it, but i won't ask to go with you.  in fact, we don't even have to have real conversations, just the shallow kind.  you know, the kind of conversations that talk about television shows, pop culture and politics.  we won't talk about your family or my friends and we won't ever talk about children.  i won't tell you my dreams or listen to the details of your job.  and i'll only hold your hand when we're having sex to get the angle right.

honestly, i don't want to be your parole officer. i just wanna set you free.

sandy beaches

i like coconut.  just thought i'd share that.

Michael Buble - Home


i'm lucky i know but i wanna go home.
i'm the type of girl who can get married in a plain white slip dress handmade by my grandmother.  on the sandy beaches of whichever island i grew up on.  i wanna feel the sun on the nape of my neck wrapping around my shoulders like the shawl of eternity.  besides a pair of earrings from my parents, my wedding ring will be the only other piece of jewelry i wear as a reminder of who i came from and who i'm leavin with. and i want birds released into the sky like melodies off the surface of grand pianos.  and my husband?    well, he's going to have to be my best friend because if he can't handle me at my worst, then he doesn't deserve me at my best. that's what ms. monroe said.

every other season comes along and i'm alright

he said i've been miserable all week.  could be that i wake up at 4am everyday.  it could be ten hour shifts. it could be my ovaries knocking my ribs around with a sledgehammer.  it could be the migraines or the nightmares. or it could be that it's the holidays, the most emotionally draining season of my year.

when people hear that i don't like Christmas, they look at me like i have three heads, which is funny because i barely use the one i have.  i usually ask why do YOU like Christmas?  their first answer is family.

well, then that about sums up my dislike for the holiday outside of its religious affiliation.  long story short, i have a huge family and we stopped speaking for reasons bigger than any ego.  can you imagine growing up with a huge family and then losing them all at once?  put it this way, death would have been easier.

here we go with the holidays

i'm not a fan of Christmas.  it's a reminder that my spirituality is off balance, my body still hasn't adjusted to cold weather and my family is completely indescribable.

between the calls from guys to remind me how we should have worked it out and how they're going to do better in the upcoming year no matter how much i decline, i'm simply not enthused. then the messages from distant relatives trying to have conversations five years later makes me want to choose between my sanity or my ongoing battle with my inability to forgive.  it feels like today is a wakeup call for everyone but me.  and don't get me wrong, i know i am eternally blessed but i knew that yesterday.

anyway. the moral of the story is, i like one holiday and this ain't it.  to those who do enjoy it, do just that.  don't just spend it with the people you love, make the most of the time spent.

and as far as blessings go, i'm ok with the few i've been given.

what could it be?

i have absolutely no idea what love is anymore and i'm actually fine with that.

appreciation

it's easy to take things/people for granted. we say thank you in the moment and then we dismiss acts of kindness like yesterday's newspaper.  i don't know which gender does it more.  ask any woman and they'll tell you that most days, they just feel unappreciated.  if you bother to ask any man, he might tell you the same thing.  what i'm saying is this: it's not enough to be be grateful. express that gratitude to him, to her, to whoever matters.

my first thank you goes to you.

comments

i haven't forgotten about your comments! i'm listening and i WILL respond, so what's the holdup? blogspot has a very strange format and i want it to be easy to read so i'm still trying to wiggle out some details. bear with me please! thanks. =)

R Kids!

Here's another success story!

A few of my friends from Temple University in conjunction with alumni from colleges all along the east coast have joined forces for something SPECIAL on DECEMBER 12, 2010 [tomorrow].  In an organized effort to enhance the lives of underprivileged children in the New York City area for the holiday season, R KIDS will do just that. Dedicated to service, they have reached out to our peers, our leaders and most importantly our children to ensure that Christmas happens everywhere.  Tomorrow morning, we will be gathering together to give Christmas to over 250 children.  Plenty of events have been held leading up to this special day and we want you, we NEED you to participate! Please do.  

Tomorrow December 12, 2010 at 

Manhattanville Community Center at 

530 West 133rd St. Ny, Ny 11027  

Click below to read the official sponsorship letter by Ms. Genisha Wallace, a Temple University alum and friend and the flier for the event.  Support young people supporting other young people. 

In love and in service, 

we thank you!

R KIDS!

the sunrise

my sky at 4:45am.

look at God peeking through my window.

sing me a love song

i never knew much abut my parents relationship except that they had me in the midst of it.  but there is one thing that i've always noticed and i don't know if it's representative of their relationship or their personalities but either way, it sticks with me.  my parents ALWAYS play love songs, all types of love songs.  so i grew up with melodies of love playing in my head trying to teach my heart some things.  so today as i was playing through my pandora station, my mother jumped in to ask me what i know about Otis Redding.  excuse me? i know because y'all taught me.  so i guess that's where my penchant for love songs comes from and maybe that's why i'm enamored by the thought of love.  emotions in combination with melodies soothe me and give me something beautiful to look forward to.  whether my love works out or not, the mere thought that i am willing to try is something to be grateful for.  my parents taught me something valuable - love may not work, but it exists.

word of the day

adore:
1. to regard with the utmost, esteem, love and respect; honor.
2. to pay divine honor to; worship.
3. to like or admire very much.

i use it loosely but after looking at the definition, i'm not doing the word enough justice.  if i had to define it, i would say the following...

it's liking you when you're not very likable.  all encompassing. makes me want to take care of you, even though i know you're capable of taking care of yourself.  it's a sincere joy from your presence alone.

when i adore someone, i'm drawn to them, specifically. and in a world where there a millions of great people, adoration feels like fingerprints.  it is unique to you and only you.

je t'adore.

twitter chronicles

i tweet every so often and i said, "i think he put a map in between is us so that we could find each other."

time and distance sneak into the corners of our soul
and our conversations run longer than the stretch of road between us
sun rises aren't as beautiful if they're not coming through his window and over my shoulders
meanwhile, rain is a sad song when you're listening alone
but distance is neither a friend or an enemy
just an acquaintance that we must deal with in passing
not bringing us close enough to touch but not letting enough space in between to stop wanting to
and time?
there's simply not enough to like what distance does but there's too much of it in the first place
so we bounce back and forth between eternities trying to find one we can own
just trying to go the distance in the time we've borrowed
but then reality hits us
and we wake up, in separate beds
him hugging distance
while i'm kissing time
because when time and distance sneak into the corners of our soul, it feels like love

new terminology

i just heard the term 'female machismo' so i came up with a few moments that qualify...

giving birth unassisted...damn right...
being home alone and opening the spaghetti sauce/mayonnaise/pickle jar by myself
changing your car battery...or in my case calling another woman who knows how to do it...
seeing that your ex text you...come on, it's pretty cool when the person you try to forget everyday remembers you
carrying something heavy by my damn self...in stilettos...yeah yeah what man can do that?
drinking juice straight from the carton (but i have to judge it right, cuz i can't drink that much juice or anything for that matter & i can't put it back in the fridge after that cuz who does that besides boys? -longest sentence in the nation)
being right, whether we're discussing directions or who's going to win tonight's basketball game...if i'm right, i'm doing a touchdown dance
seeing someone's eyes roll back in their head...::flexes muscles:: WHOSE IS IT!? MINE. THAT'S RIGHT.

and i think the number one moment for 'female machismo' will be ::drumroll please::

when he's on bended knee because the best part about acting macho like men do is that it's only acting.  i can always return to being a woman, the very woman he loves.

love and basketball. no, not the movie. 2

they've been together since high school and she's the mother of his son.

i'm just saying, even though it feels like love is happening all around us, we can't forget that it begins within us.

some gifts don't come wrapped.

i want to cry. not for pain or for glory. i just want to cry.
tears of joy.

i'm blessed. that's it. and it wasn't an enlightening experience that made me notice. it was a combination of tiny things with great people tiptoeing around in my destiny. my only fear is that recognizable greatness is indescribable and will leave me with nothing to write and everything to feel.  someone said i wouldn't have time for the blog, facing my new schedule. i almost agreed until i realized schedules change all the time, but breathing is mandatory and since that's what writing is for me, i need all the air i can get.

i found a song that puts it all in perspective. for my angels, from Jack Johnson.

just in case you didn't hear what he said:
you've gotta be careful when you got good love because an angel will just keep on multiplying...

but for real though.

how lazy do you feel?

fellow bronx native

you better work Kerry!

let a good thing be good.

i think falling in love is something you learn. step by step like sewing.  i know you're thinking that sewing is a random example but i'm the granddaughter of a talented seamstress, so it makes sense to me. anyway, falling in love can be a step by step thing. first, you pick out your material, then you cut your cloth and it can't be just any old cloth.  it has to be a cloth that makes you think of dandelions, smell rainbows and taste the morning's dew on your tongue when you touch it.  the cloth has to glide through your fingers like paint over michelangelo's palms.  that man couldn't be anything but a painter like your cloth can't be anything but yours. and then you cut the cloth into shapes that remind you of compassion, inspire you to be divine and forces you to recognize that wrinkles aren't only for humans.  this shape is the heart of the dress.  it is the life that the fashion borrows to walk down the street turning and breaking necks.  the shape that you cut so delicately is the foundation where you will build vessels for arms to hold others and room for legs that will wrap around occasions like tornadoes at sea. the foundation, the cut, the shape of the cloth lets you know where you're going.  i like my cloth dark to bring out the light in me i so often forget to turn on.  i like my material coarse to make me appreciate the smoothness of my skin as it hugs the slimness of my waist and the curve of my brown hips. i like my cloth to rest on my body like morality does on the tablets moses held.  hmm. i like my cloth snug enough to keep me warm but loose enough to let me wiggle out of my fears.  and i love when my cloth stops right above the knee because it leaves me some room to get down and pray comfortably about uncomfortable i am.  i also want my grandmother's knuckles etched into the fabric - the very strength of her lacing the seams with her grace and the hemline with her immortality.  i want to smell my grandmother in my cloth and keep our memories of green bananas, salty water and sugar cakes wrapped around my skin like silk.  i want to hear her humming at the neckline reminding my bust to be modest. i need my grandmother in my cloth like dumplings in my soup, i have to be full inside to have something to offer to the outside.  i need to see my grandmother's crows feet seep in the shape of my movement - her age battles with her wisdom to the drums of my heart beat.  i need my grandmother in my cloth so when i shape the arms i have something to hold on to.  and the arms will fall off my shoulders like the earth from mankind's sinful lips.  there is no space for worry on my exposed collarbone tattooed with the date of the fourth generation to inherit the royalty of the caribbean.  my cloth has dreams y'all, just like my love has dreams of falling, but step by step, i get to build a masterpiece with pillars of kisses and monuments of glances.  step by step, whether i gain my footing or whether i gain weight, we can make alterations to accommodate the space that no longer lives between us.  we can run the sewing machine over and over till the rhythm feels as natural as breathing.  step by step, we can bring the pieces together...together covering bruises named 'hickeys and last year's mistakes.' when we sew, you can look through the eye of my needle and funnel your way through me to do me.  step by step, i can let you pierce into me in the only way that makes me whole again.  i want you to be my cloth, laid on the table in your dark color and coarse terrain.  i want to wear you...out like security blankets and mothers to newborns.  i want you on me like perfume, step by step. i want you stained onto me like the paintings on the inside of michelangelo's eyelids.  you are my cloth, sewn into something beautiful, sewn together, step by step.

the original version.