The book needs me...

What the book will be like…


Sunny days had a way of making the dirt on project buildings glisten.  Rumbling trains interrupted the screaming matches of hungry children sped along to places I couldn't even imagine.  I often wondered what brought my mother here, to this exact spot with this laundromat with dirty windows nestled into our four story building.  The air was thick here, nothing like home and our clothes never seemed as clean rotating in those big, dark cylinders as opposed to hanging on the line in the sun's backyard.  Buses swam through the city streets like sharks and watching them was enough to make me feel like I was drowning.


Mommy was fearless though or at least she seemed that way.  She pulled me through massive crowds to go shopping and then crept back into our one bedroom apartment that was like our secret hideaway.  Our tiny space always smelled like St. Thomas.  Fresh fruits lined our small windowsill and keeping the oven door open made the cold space warm as if we were sitting on the equator again.  I was trying to believe that this was a better life for us although I had no idea that the life we were living before wasn't the best.  Though my countryside bones grew tired of city life, I clutched onto my picture of Junie and I, while I laid on my side of the bed along the cool wall.  He was my best friend and no matter where in the world I had landed, as long as I wrapped my fingers tightly around the fading polaroid, I would be home.  I would squeeze my eyes tight enough until the darkness was so blinding that I thought it was my island's sun familiar enough to fall asleep soundly under.

Erykah

I've been gone for a while so I felt like I owed you something…


Now….
What am I supposed to do when I want you in my world?
Oh Erykah
Like you speak his name into the ridges of my fingers
Into the pores in my thighs 
From the soles of a ballet dancer's feet
I'm weary and I want to fall into his arms tonight
I want to make love in nouns and verbs
In moans and sighs
In exhales sweeter than molasses in Georgia's heat
How can I want you for myself when I'm already someone's girl?
I guess I'll see you next lifetime
When the moon collides with the sun in the dark sky 
When the stars swim in shallow waters
With the planets dancing at our wedding
Lord, I want to love him into existence
I want to love him into evolution
Every single time
Every single day
Every single night 
Until the fish kiss the smile of birds flying into the oasis of my waiting womb, my endearing palms, my loving lips
I guess I will, I guess I will or I guess, I will, I guess, I will
I guess he loves me in the rhythm of the rolling earth
I will myself to love him like the wind graces each and every continent without ever asking for a thank you
Without ever expecting a gift in return
Dry your eyes
Please don't cry
I could love him into ecstasy
I could love him into a numbing pain just so he can feel again
Now what am I supposed to do when I'm already someone else's girl?
Love him in the quiet parts, in between the whites of my scalp
Underneath the wrapping of my gold skin
On the inside of my bottom lip
I plan to love him like I was born for this sh.t

Bitter crescendo

A bitter crescendo of words
I go up and down with you
Moans sound like screams
Pain feels the same
And I look in the mirror and see a woman I don't even recognize
I'm loving you more these days, hugging you more these days
Believing in myself, these ways aren't me, well they aren't me if you knew me yesterday
But I'm grateful for a critical love 
A loud love
A demanding love that requires me to be more of a woman than the reflection of a man
I am glad that I found a love that I can't own 
Because it is so free, so unshackled, so "I'm kissing you because it's Tuesday and I don't even have to be here" 
I found the "put the kids to bed because I want to make some more" love
The empty love that fills its own belly up with plans for upcoming holidays and anniversaries for things we haven't even done yet
This was a bitter crescendo of words
Learning to love you in kind nouns and refrain from using harsh adjectives when you make me feel negative things
It was bitter watching you go but sweet knowing and believing that you would come back to me
This was bitter finding my fit into your arms, my legs around your waist, my smile wrapped around your lips
This was a bitter journey wiggling ourselves into eternity
Banging on the door of monogamy
Screaming "Let me in! I don't want to f.ck anybody but you!"
I mean, when they told me that all's fair in love and war, I had no idea what it meant
And now I look at you, looking at us and I know that being fair in love is knowing that sometimes love isn't fair
We will get angry, we will get selfish, we will be unkind, we will be lovers again in the morning, we will be partners in the grocery store, we will be the captains of our own sailing ship
We will have balance and the bitter crescendo of words will be sweet by the time we figure out how to put this love into a sound so light that words cannot even lay their head upon the melody

Ms. Genisha Wallace

So on December 17, C.O.OL. Kids had an amazing holiday party for 100+ children.  It was an exhausting day but the kids were happy and smiling and the adults were just happy to have made it through the day. But this post is more about the brunch afterwards.  


During the brunch, some speeches were made that honestly brought real tears to the table.  There were three very important things that were discussed.  


First, there is a sense of honor in being around Genisha Wallace as she is the founder of C.O.O.L. Kids, a new mother, a spouse, a woman of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority Inc., a member of her church, a grad student, a daughter and a friend.  To have friends that do the impossible by showing others how impossible can be done is INSPIRING.  We sometimes forget that we have grown up with each other, first meeting on campus through mutual friends when we were still wearing jeans and Jordans.  Now we have become separate entities chasing a dream yet still holding each other close to accomplish those same dream.  I say it all the time, there is no school like Temple University.  Our alum goes hard.  It is truly a blessing to share the abundance of our own personal successes with each other.  It is reassuring to know that if nobody else shows up, WE WILL from all over the east coast.  We support one another.  This is Genisha's dream but it is our legacy and we will stand behind her like others have stood behind, as well as before us to make sure that she is recognized and appreciated for her work.


The second thing that must not ever be dismissed, forgotten or overshadowed no matter where we end up is the children that will complete our legacy.  It is a political truth that black children are not valued in this world.  They are rarely nurtured, educated, fed, clothed, loved and appreciated in a land their ancestors built on their backs.  The system is designed for them to fail.  I didn't learn this until I went to college, where I read books, essays, studies about policies and laws that created unfair advantages for others and almost impossible roadblocks for black children.  Though I lived in America, I wasn't an active participant [being West Indian and all, flying back and forth, I didn't know any Black American children and therefore I did not know their struggle] but their struggle is real.  It is up to us, Black men and women who have found a way around those policies to look back and bring those children with us.  We must bring our children through a modern day Underground Railroad.  We have to bring them to their own freedom.  Genisha is very passionate about disassembling the trajectory designed for our children to fail, she is concerned if the children we played with ate today, if they had a place to sleep that was warm, if that was the only toy they received for Christmas.  She is humble enough to admit that she doesn't know the way to victory, but she will make one if that's what it takes.


The last thing discussed represents a very important phase that most of us are going through at this age.  Finding a partner that loves, supports and believes in you and your dreams is rarely ever discussed.  Most of the time, our social media debates discuss cuffing, lonely tweets, basic men & women, Concords and bitter endings to once happy relationships.  But the reality is that a loving partner probably won't have their life set up entirely by the time they meet you and then marry you to complete your happy ending.  We're all struggling!  The beauty in relationships that are happening at this age is the conscious decision to GROW TOGETHER, to put your pieces and their pieces together and MAKE A LIFE instead of just waiting to complement an already pretty picture.  To find a partner that takes on an active role in your dreams, that speaks to you with compassion and faith, to hold you when you're busing holding everyone else up -- that is the meaning of partnership.  To watch two people build a life, a beautiful little girl and a legacy together is wonderful.  I urge all of you to find a person that dedicates him/herself to making you a better one.  Find someone that challenges you, that pushes you to the edge but never pushes you over.  Find someone that believes that you can do anything by always doing something to help you get there.  Find someone that not only believes in love, but lives their life loving you.


With admiration, grace and promise, I present to you, the people who have changed my life, inspired change, and acknowledged their purpose in this world.


Graduates of Temple University.  I love you. 

Holiday reminders

My good friend, Cedric reminded me that my relationship is sacred so I can't tell you everything.  But I will tell you that the love that I have experienced in this past year has been monumental, in these last few days - breathtaking.  I usually don't celebrate Christmas but this year with the constant babbling of @ms_she I participated and I am a better person for it.


I thoroughly believe that there is a reason Christmas is celebrated at the end of year.  By the time December 25th comes around, you have lived through three hundred and sixty days of love, hate, deceit, infidelity, betrayal and a few bad hair days. We [my friends and I] have come a long way.  We found out some ugly truths, revealed some, made some new friends, found love or something like it, fought love, came out with some bruises and decided we would go a few more rounds, we did a LOT.  But in the end, we came out of this year so much smarter with the ability to laugh at exactly how dumb we were.  


I must say, this has been the year of REVELATIONS and my gifts are a testament of such.  Everything I received were reminders of my dream - to redirect my focus and understand exactly who to thank in the credits.


This time is not so much about the holiday but really about who stood by you for every day leading up to it.  To my old friends - these friendships are aging beautifully.  To my new friends - this is FO' LIFE.  To my supporters -  I have a few surprises for you in the upcoming year, thanks for sticking with me, you've made the upcoming third year possible.  Love you.

Does Love Conquer All?

It was just one of those things – loving him provocatively and innocently at the same time.  It was a balance I had perfected.

If your first love and your first boyfriend/girlfriend is the same person then this isn’t for you.  In fact, let me just say that you are truly blessed so go forth and be merry.  But for many of us, the first love is more like a second chance.  When I say ‘first,’  I’m not talking numerically. I’m talking the kind of love that marriages are made from.  I’m talking about the love that is so different, that every love before that seems to pale in comparison; the kind of love that is so unique, that you feel almost obligated to call it your first because it convinces you that it should be your last. 

Numerically, my first love was magical and no I’m not saying that to imply that it was some kind of illusion.  Him and I did love one another and we were very compatible but it fell apart.  Maybe we weren’t mature enough, maybe someone cheated, maybe someone lied but either way, our love wasn’t enough.  We needed much more to sustain, to grow and to ultimately become one.  We failed one another as partners but learned from one another.  He taught me to how to be vulnerable, how to trust again and how to believe in my own capabilities.  He also taught me that love does not conquer all.

But having been years removed from that love, I find myself wondering when my ‘first’ [not the numerical first] love will happen or if it has happened already.  When will I get a second chance at a first love?  Am I in the midst of my second chance as we speak?  Though I like to give any credit deserved to the numerical first love, I am anticipating my second chance.  I am curious to know what it feels like to engulfed by a love so grand.  I want to know the feeling of a love that inspires to be a better person and partner.  I’m wondering if the person I’m kissing now is the person I’ll be kissing last.

Why doesn’t anyone tell you that more often times than not, that the numerical first love is the equivalent to training wheels.  You get your scrapes and bruises until you learn how to pedal and then after throwing caution to the wind, you ride that bike with all the faith in your own two feet.  Maybe someone told you, but no one told me.  My mother’s first love turned out to be the love for her entire life and though she might have wanted the same thing for me, she certainly didn’t or couldn’t rather, prepare for the contrary.  My numerical first love was just that, a number on the timeline known as my womanhood and though I’m glad he’s where I started, there’s a reason [at least for right now] that he’s not where I am. 

The thing I like most about the second chance is that you get to apply some of the things you picked up on your way to it.   You learned something on your own.  You have completed your own trial and error and if the person you want comes your way [Glory be to God], you have finally reached a point where you’ve worked hard enough to enjoy them.

I truly believe that the UNPRECEDENTED love is the first love, even if it is boyfriend/girlfriend #3.  Currently, I’m in a space where I feel like I’m doing everything for the first time.  Things that I never cherished are now sacred and sentimental.  Things that I have never said in the past are now my most commonly used phrases and for the first time, I feel like practice is over.  Could my second chance be approaching?    Will I be ready to use what I’ve learned to nourish the love that I’ve dreamed of?  Having learned that love doesn’t conquer all, will I finally conquer love?  Most importantly, will you?

Ferociously

(started this ten days ago from the last post)


It's been ten days
And I loved him ferociously
Like I had a pulse made out of beating drums and eyes with the brightness of the North star in them 
I smiled from the inside
Like stars colliding in my veins and rainbows peeking from the corners of my mouth, I believed that better days were to come
He taught me that better days come
And I loved him 
Ferociously
Loved him from the pits of my soul 
To the soles of my feet
To the back of my knee caps
To the symmetry of my hips
I loved him 
From the delicate puzzle of my ribcage
To the blocks of my spine
I loved him ferociously
From his breath to the curve of my lips 
I loved him intimately and loved him presently
Knowing who I had been was something like shaped Christmas dough
His hands would build my curve and I would rise under his heat
Listen to me and hear this
I loved him 
I loved him ferociously
And that hunger for him ultimately made me ultimately filled the void of never having him sooner
I loved him 
Ferociously.

Simply

When you choose to love me, that's when I respect you most.

Where honesty hides

don't get used to this


I believe in gratitude
That the separation of bad decisions, mistakes and progress are just one apology away
That hope lies in quiet spaces and growth, in loud minds
I believe that making love ends arguments
And that my silence may trigger your anger but it's not a trigger under pressed flesh with the intent to kill
I remember when you lied to me
About who you are and what you won't do
You weren't about love and you weren't about forgiveness
But here you come scratching at my door with returned phone calls, anger in your voice and soft hands on my breasts
You said you didn't believe in forgiveness but you answer the phone, you show up and you kiss me like it's the first time when it's supposed to be the last time
You want me to shut the f.ck up then give. me. something. to. think. about.
You want me to feel secure then put a lock on this
You want me without admitting you have me
Let's understand that your anger is not your love even though your love can make you angry
And it only makes you angry because the one thing you want eternally cannot live forever
Humans were not built for that
We have graves waiting for us to welcome us home
And we're made of flesh that will eventually melt away
Though our spirits flash traits of being eternal, that's fool's gold
Pardon my presumption that you are a better man

My house

I have truly missed the process of writing so let's get right into it.


Imagine me as a house.  On the outside, I had fresh paint, a nice lawn and lilies lined up my walkway. Imagine me on a quiet street, a house not for sale.


But inside, I only had a couch and a television - something like a bachelor pad.  My floors were scratched up, my walls wore chipped paint but it was my house, my little empty house. Where did all my stuff go, you ask?  I feel like my visitors kept borrowing things and not bringing them back and before I knew it, all I had left was this couch and television.  Because the visitors themselves kept coming back, I didn't realize that my stuff wasn't.  I guess I was distracted.


But then he comes along, he being some handsome, mysterious yet familiar guy.  He's undeniably a work of art but I can only see him from my window.  I have the padlock, the alarm and a homegirl standing outside watching the camera to make sure that no more intruders borrowers come along.  I've been talking to him from my porch for quite some time, but I'm not ready to let him up my walkway.  I don't trust it and I'm scared.  My morals are falling to the wayside like panties at a Trey Songz concert.  I don't want this man anywhere near me unless he's planning to be there forever.  That's a big demand but if he's half as amazing on the inside as he is on the outside, the loss might kill me.  Foreclose this house because it will be more than just a hardship for me, a b.tch will be bankrupt. 


But my homegirl is weak and she's a sucker for dimples and dark skin.  So she lets him up the walkway and convinces me that I have nothing to fear, that whatever I've been doing hasn't been working so maybe I should try something new and he's pretty new.  I open my door three inches just so I could take a better look at him up close and I can smell his cologne through the crack.  I don't even want to let him in so he stands at the door for a few days, weeks and months.  I can't just let him see my television and my couch and I don't have the money or the time to buy back the things I've lost.  What am I going to do?  


I finally let him in for what I think will be a few nights and it ends up being a lifetime.  He brings things, things I never even had before, things I didn't ask him for.  He furnishes my house and together we build a home.  But it isn't easy.  We fight about how to assemble things and we disagree about where to put them but there is an unwavering gratitude and respect for a man who doesn't walk around with empty hands.


Yes, my house is empty but my home, our home is complete.

Speak your piece/peace, I'm listening

this post...this story... i dont have the words...you are a beautiful person, and my closest friend and we dont even really know each other, but every time you write i get closer to you and i learn a little more about myself. From the bottom of my heart, I believe you are the strongest person I know. --- Your biggest fan on No looking back.

You (and people like you) give writing a purpose and I thank you for that.  Growing up I  never anticipated that sharing my life would bring a sense of satisfaction or a sense of purpose for others.  I really appreciate this and I'll probably read through this (and the other comments) on rough days and especially on days when I don't feel like writing anymore.  Thank you for walking with me on this journey.  I know that you don't have to and that being here is a conscious decision so it doesn't go unnoticed.  Thank you for being my friend when I know I give you plenty of reasons not to on this blog.  Jesus is still working on me and as far as being the strongest person you know…well, I am honored.  Thank you.

What having sisters feels like...

Zoe Saldana and her two sisters.

One day,  I will tell you about my sisters. 

All six of them.

Speak your piece, I'm listening...

T....I'm telling you that God speaks thru you most times that you are not even aware of. This was a beautiful post that needs to be read. May God continue to use you every way that He can written by Kosi on To My Friends with Estrogen

Thank you! There are not enough words or exclamation points to express my gratitude for a comment of that depth.  The one thing no one can teach you in writing is how to say thank you to such provoking and kind comments.  I haven't gotten used to hearing such beautiful things to describe something that seems so natural to me.  I really appreciate from the bottom of my heart.  Comments like yours definitely make me search deep within myself and thank God for being there.  Thank you =)

Briant M. Rowe

Briant has called many of you to a higher purpose. Life is often too short to apologize, to forgive, to enjoy even. Far too many times, these social networks convince us that we can describe every minute of our lives because we have them. The truth is we are on borrowed time and a lot of us spend time watching the clock, tweeting from in front of it and then in times like these, we end up weeping in front of it begging for more time.


Just because we are beautiful creatures going through ugly times doesn't mean we can't shine our light from the inside out. It shocks an entire generation when one of our own is taken abruptly. But like all natural disasters, there's often no warning grave enough to convince us to prepare.  


This has been a roller coaster of emotions for friends of mine and as much as it pains me to watch them go through this, the acknowledgement of death is also an acknowledgment of life.    I know that it easier to laugh with one another, to party together and to go on vacation with each other but friendship, family and unconditional love lies in crying and praying with one another.  Sometimes your only job will be to hold someone's hand to let them know they are not alone.  If you knew Briant, I wish you peace.  If you didn't I wish you wisdom to share your strength with those who are feeling weak. 


To his frat brothers, his friends, his family, his community, especially Reenee, Shadavia, Christine, D Jones, Matt, Carma, Genisha, Nate and many others, this is written with an unconditional love.

Her beautiful interview

something about her is so kindred.

Love your own mind

I was born Seventh Day Adventist but I'd be lying if I said I'm not trying to live as a Buddhist.

At the right moment, I found this

"I used to search your face in shadows and my reflection in parked cars and toasters, crooked lines and dreams that fell short by bed sides. I used to doubt you as faith played hummingbird in the silence of my ear...I used to wonder if your forehead ever wrinkled in disappointment when you saw me not acting like a queen. Did your head ever collapse in your hand when you saw me acting too human for wings? Did you ever for a second, consider giving up on me, when I was too stubborn to see the God in me?  Did you ever think about leaving me? Like maybe our fear of heights make us too scared to find the heavens or maybe we are too stupid to count our blessings.…Did you ever, for a second question your love for me?God, in my eyes you are a taller, dark carpenter of a man with rusted and tired hands from molding beauty for so long.  Did we gray all your hair? Are your shoulders bent over with the shape of the world engraved in your spine?  Are there stabs wounds decorating the softness of your back from angels who too flew too close to the sun and sons who did not die close enough to angles?  Did you bleed rubies or cry diamonds on cold and lonely nights before hearing voice mails from your children who stuttered your name into the darkness of their bedrooms?  

Did you ever tighten your fists after realizing too many prayers ended in question marks instead of Thanks, Good Night Father, I love you no matter where this world takes me I'll hold onto you. You are a wonderful God, I would never stop loving you.  Are you tired Lord?  Sick of holding the unkindness of a human on your hands of bloody and bruised did Jesus inhale his palms from you? Does your heartbeat stutter within your chest? Do you get cranky and bitter when broken hearts wake you up out your sleep at night. God, I know us humans have a thing for dancing on the edge of your sanity and playing hide and go seek with faith. And sometimes there isn't enough singing in the air for the holiest of us, to choke on but i insist on catching my breath for you, holding your name on the edge of my tongue.  I know little girls who've forgotten that you were there first love but I promise when I make my way to your door, I'll fix your tired voice, tea with honey and a little thanksgiving I'll hand you back my heart.  I'll thank you for letting me borrow a soul beautiful enough to call your own. I will hang my flesh on a wired hanger in your closet, I'll wrap my spine around your wrist. Just promise me until i have strength to pull myself up you'll hold on to me and allow these angels to sing for me."

No looking back.

I have to be honest with you. I don't hate much but I'm pretty sure I hate holidays.  I don't remember ever feeling connected to days like this, never had anyone to look forward to seeing, never seen issues set aside for the sake of a glowing turkey, never really felt like my family was the one for me.  This is not to say that I don't have family.  I actually have a huge one - plenty of siblings, aunts, uncles, countless cousins, one grandparent and even a little version of myself.  In the midst of that eclectic family tree, I only communicate without reservation to two people.  It's funny how it feels like I have everything I've ever wanted with the exception of a good family and the ability to make one.  


It's hard to fathom for a lot of people because if you hear someone say they can't stand a family member/the entire family, the automatic response is "Don't take them for granted."  In my head I always wonder why people think EVERY family is this grand blessing that should be valued so deeply that in the event of an unfortunate emergency, we won't feel guilty for not loving/talking to/wanting/appreciating them more.  People will tell you "Don't take them for granted" as if there will be a gaping hole in your soul when they're ripped from your life.  Not every family is that great, blessed, functioning or worth the gaping hole.  Now don't get me wrong, I've never wanted for anything (materialistically anyway), I went to good school, never went to bed cold or hungry and I even have support with my little princess.  I know how blessed I am for those things.  I wake up every day amazed that my life included those things, that God wrote out the word "fortune" somewhere on my dimmed path.  Even in all of that, there were things that were missing, crucial things that were set aside like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow for when I stopped believing in leprechauns and finally became a woman.  There were things that were done that were detrimental to my spirit, had forsaken my childhood and disrupted dreams of mine with the static of nightmares.  It is those things that I am not grateful for.  It is those things that if and when, God forbid an unfortunate emergency happens, I will not be left with a gaping hole for.  In fact, sometimes having the family I have is the hole itself.


Each child needs different things for their potential to be reached, for their virginity to be offered, for their love to be requited and so forth.  Each child needs certain things to thrive emotionally, mentally and spiritually.  I will be the first to tell you that I had more than I needed physically but everything for my spirit, for my heart to accept and return love, for a will to live righteously and virtuously with the ability to trust, I didn't receive in childhood from my family and as an adult, I haven't figured out how to trust them with that responsibility after all this time.  


I remember being twelve years old and confiding in my mother.  I told her something that was really bothering me, something that was changing my life.  It kept me up at night.  I used to wake up with blood all over my pillows from biting my lip so hard.  I started worrying about everything, crying at the drop of a dime confused by changes I felt were only happening to me, unnoticed by the entire world.  I can't tell you what I told my mother, not yet at least but I will tell you that she dismissed me.  She spoke to me as if there was nothing to be done so why was I even bothered.  She did offer me a psychiatrist though.  I remember walking into her room as a child and walking out leaving the child in me behind.   I haven't confided in my mother or family really since [with the exception of the two mentioned above].  And then life happened and I found myself with no buffer.  There was no one to take my beatings for me, no one to hold ice packs to my bruised spirit.  I was still very much a child getting battered by life without so much as a voice on my side.  I felt alone much of the time, introverted and extroverted at the same time.  Found myself keeping up appearances as to not to make any suspicion that something was going wrong.  Straight A students don't contemplate suicide.  Cheerleading captains don't dream of dying.  The girl who had the most valentines couldn't possibly be searching for love and smart girls don't get pregnant at eighteen.  


But I was all of those things simultaneously.  I was a woman and a child at the same time - the woman being the fighter, the child being the fought.  The woman in me dealt with all my consequences, suffered in silence and even convinced the child in me that we would be ok, that I would never leave her behind again.  The woman in me felt that the child deserved to be loved unconditionally, she deserved a soldier and so I didn't kill myself.  But one day, the child in me was born again and manifested herself into these big brown eyes and fuzzy hair.  I gave birth and vowed that before being a mother, a friend, a tutor, a chauffeur, a personal chef, a nurse and whatever else she requires, I would be her biggest ally.  I vowed to always stand in front of her to take her hits, to take her lashes, to bleed for her, to shed tears for her, to fight battles she would never even know happened.  I vowed to love her enough to die a thousand deaths for her. Some days I feel like I die more than that but she is the child in me and I watch her sleep.  I watch her scream out of her nightmares wondering if I passed that on to her, if fear is hereditary.  I smell her skin, rub my cheek to her warm flesh, knowing that the animal in me throbs every day, daring anyone - mother, father, brother, sister, friend to stand in the line of a fatal fire if they even dream of harming her.


My very first battle, in her sake was giving her up.  I left this fresh baby in a home I had loved more than some people.  I couldn't even say bye as I watched my grandmother's arms wrap around her under this beautiful sun and its dry air.  I had to face the world and she wasn't tough enough to witness what I would have to do, the blood I would have to shed, the hours I would have to work, the nights I would cry.  I had to use all my strength for my biggest weakness and I returned back to New York's emptiness and Philadelphia's responsibilities.  I found myself in a routine of sadness disguised with a full schedule.  I rarely had any time alone or any time to retreat into myself and search for her in the quiet of my own soul.  I learned how to function in secrecy, just like my younger self.  People surrounding me never noticing my war wounds, the marks that welcomed the story of my motherhood.  Women and men knowing my name without actually knowing who I was and I became okay with that.  I set my demons aside for a greater purpose, leaving my idle mind behind for the devil to play with.  I became too busy to think.  I slipped and made a small choice that would later turn out to be one of the biggest decisions in my life.  I let my rapist in my own home, walked him through my front door, offered him juice for his short stay as a thank you for giving me a ride home so I could get back to work sooner.  It was in that moment of being violated and wrinkled under the hot iron of a man's snatching hands, the child in me and the woman met again, not the child I gave birth to but the one I could never leave behind.  And there I was crushed underneath who I was and who I was too ashamed to be - scared and weak.  The woman couldn't even cradle the child in me, couldn't even convince the child that everything would be ok because innocence was never for sale, all purchases were final never to be returned or exchanged.  The woman and the child merged in arms, melted by the heat of their own naiveté.  It was almost like what he took from me, I never had to begin with and it was a shame to discover that in the darkness of your own apartment that there was no one outside myself.


I researched  my own rape like it was a book full of adventures because I needed to know the next step.  I had to know how I was going to feel, what I was going to do, if I was ever going to love again and I wondered if I would ever feel like my body was mine again.  There wasn't enough research.  No one could tell me how I was going to react, what my flashbacks would be like, what falling in love would do to me, nothing.  There were no answers.  There are no answers.  My flashbacks are sporadic.  The scent of a man can either make me feel safe or terrified.  And falling in love is almost impossible, not because men aren't willing to put broken women back together, but rather because men can't understand women with missing pieces.  They feel helpless, trying to figure out how to protect a woman whose biggest crime is the one she commits against herself - not feeling valuable enough to be valued.  


The truth is when I remind myself of people not to take for granted, my family doesn't necessarily come to mind, at least not the family with the same blood running through our veins.  I think of my friends, people who have been strategically placed in my life to put it back together.  This life is not to be taken for granted and family members are people too, with their own flaws, demons and even habits that only the devil could have came up with.  Even though I want everybody to appreciate what they have, that doesn't stop me from recognizing what I don't.  Maybe No Shame November couldn't have picked a better month, but in honor of it - I hate myself for hating my own family but the reasons are so valid and so succinct that only a book could hold a secret so deep.

Speak your piece I'm listening...

sorry but i have to disagree with your post. i am a true believer that Black Women do Rock but your post defeats the purpose of the show. Black women do NOT rock because they have accomplished more... they rock because they work just as hard and do not get the respect that they deserve. As a person that worked on this show, i have never heard anyone make the comment that you made. Knocking a mans accomplishments is what is wrong with our people now. there is no reason to do so. i hope you change your mindset before next year... or actually listen to the message of the show. written by Anonymous


You don't ever have to apologize for disagreeing with me.  I don't expect anyone to share the same sentiment I do about anything.  Though we're having a shared experience known as life, that doesn't mean we have to react to it the same.  I read my post and your comment over and over again and I think you're disagreeing with a statement that was never made.  I didn't talk about the show at all.  I didn't disclose how I felt about it , its messages, the performers, the speeches, the awards, none of it.  Though the tagline is all throughout the post, the post is not about the show.  When emotionally charged shows like that are aired, it creates dialogue.   If you read the post, I'm responding to the ignorant and degrading comments made to the black woman via twitter. I can see why you don't agree with my defense especially if you weren't made aware of the entire debate.   Though you believe that women black women rock because 'they work just as hard and do not get the respect that they deserve,' the truth is that there isn't just ONE reason black women rock.  There's many.  That's yours and mine may be different. 


Nowhere in that post do I knock the accomplishments of Black Men.  I actually don't even discuss their accomplishments [because this is not a competition at all & if it were, Black men as a unit are not winning. Just because I can say that with a straight face doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt that they are not doing as well as Black women because ultimately, I want that for and think it's necessary for the Black community to thrive].  I am critical of their missteps [the leading population in the prison system] and to be fair, in that post I was critical of women as well [running around and sleeping with involved men].  However, to be absolutely clear, my point in that post was for the Black men that were degrading and insulting our [Black women] strides and I stand by it.  How dare anyone [I was talking to some Black men though because they were who I was having the discussion with] disrespect our achievement, our struggles and our accomplishments when they [the Black men I was talking about, not ALL Black men] haven't even been there to witness the beauty and the pain of it?  


Respectfully, as a person who worked on the show, please understand and be mindful that even beautiful things can spur ugly comments; ugly comments which sometimes need to be addressed with constructive criticism and the hardcore reality of the very topic being discussed.  Highlighting problem areas is not the same thing as knocking an accomplishment; they are two very separate entities.  Doing something wrong doesn't negate everything you've done right.  I'm opinionated but I'm also fair.  Though you hope that I change my mindset, I challenge you to first dig deeper into what my mindset is and  accept that we weren't all born with the same kind.  You never having heard anyone make the comments I've made is further proof that you have missed the initial comments that transpired and I'm not sure if that's better or worse for your mindset.  I'm glad you don't have to experience that kind of shame, disrespect or embarrassment but it saddens me that you haven't been challenged to be critical of our entire race with the opportunity to hold people accountable for certain behaviors.  Differences are what make shows like the one you worked on possible.  As far as me grasping what the message of the show is, I never disclose that so how can you be sure I wasn't listening?  

To my friends with estrogen

Let me start by saying that I love women.  I believe our struggles are so unique and complicated and don't receive enough attention.  It truly bothers me when a queen doesn't recognize the beauty of her own kingdom.  @Tiffthomp reminded me that I wrote a letter to myself/the younger generations of women somewhere on this blog.  I have absolutely no recollection of it but I did watch Tatyana Ali's letter to her younger self.  So in an ode to all women and a slap to my failing memory, I am inspired to remind you of a few things I haven't forgotten yet.


Know that everything will be okay.  One night during my pregnancy, I was miserable.  I had convinced myself that everything around me was falling apart and I wanted to die.  I prayed that God wouldn't wake me up the following morning and that He would offer my mother comfort when I was gone.  I figured, at least that way, my baby and I could always be together, I could always protect her and we would no longer be a burden on anyone. I closed my eyes that night, hoping that it would be the last time and before I fell asleep, my body started feeling light.  I felt ok, for the first time in months, I felt relaxed and something inside of me said, "No matter what happens, know that you will be okay. You will be okay."  I've never felt more at ease.  Even know, years later, sometimes stress overwhelms me and I have at least one good breakdown every 6-7 months, but I know that everything will be okay.  You need to know that.  Walk in faith.  You are unconquerable, you were made that way.  Things can fall apart but know that you won't.  The minute you accept that the outcome will be okay in every problem that will arise, you will realize that you have fewer problems.  


I can't stress enough how important it is to understand humanity.  You are human but don't forget that we are dealing with other humans.  We are imperfect, we make mistakes, we make bad decisions, we are selfish, we are blind but know when you've got a good heart in your chest and know when you've got a good heart in your hands.  I'm not saying forgive every Tom, Dick and Harry for the repetitive offenses.  I'm saying that sometimes you have to think outside of your own mind.  Try to understand where other people are coming from, it might help you get to where you're going.  I hear all the time that I have a rare mind and as beautiful of a compliment that is, it doesn't stop me from trying to understand others.  I like my train of thought but I'm still curious of others.  The way your mind works is not intentional.  It is a biological and environmental set of occurrences strewn together that help you view the world.  Opening your mind to someone else's doesn't negate your own.  Learn by letting others teach you what they've learned as well.


Your body is not a playground.  Lord if I knew that six years ago.  These hands, these breasts these eyes, these thighs, this arch in my back is art sculpted by the most divine hands.  Two people came together to build beauty in the flesh.  I have thirteen chromosomes from each parent as a blend to become whatever I want to be.  I am a single night turned into a miracle. So are you.  No one is entitled to you.   Is sex fun?  Is kissing fun? Yes. Yes. Yes.  But looking back, the most intimate moments can be so much more subtle than those two things.  Brush my hair out of my face, put your hand in the small of my back to guide me through a door, massage me shoulder while we watch tv - these small gestures can be just as important.  They can show you love long before you take a risk that may or may not be worth it.  Sex can turn into a lifelong commitment and nowhere in a lifelong commitment is anything simple.  Understand that committing yourself to a moment is very different from a moment committing itself to you.  I won't call anybody in my past a mistake, but had circumstances turned out to be worse than they actually were, it would not have been worth it.   I was made in beauty and should not settle for a lesser standard, no matter how cute the guy asking is.


Love.  Love.  Love.  I'm shaking my head as I type this and I laugh at the word but I envy it all the while.  It's funny how people spend their whole life searching for it and don't spend enough time practicing it.  I used to think I would meet a guy and know how to love him just by dating him.  Nope. Apparently that's not how it works.  I had to practice loving, compromising, trusting and sacrificing.  It doesn't just happen.  Everything and everyone leading up to this point was practice.  In order to love someone forever, we have to start by loving someone for a day.  It is becoming apparent that I will learn to love my boyfriend/husband/significant other/jawn/boo/joint/man who knows I can't sleep without a sheet, by first loving my parents, loving my child and my friends.  Learning to love and forgive those people become the template to bring another person into my world and will teach me how to make space for someone to occupy.  Don't wait to start loving in hopes of a marriage.  Start loving to give your marriage hope.  


And finally to women everywhere, share your story.  We are always blooming.  It cost you nothing to adjust the crown of another queen.  We were made in the image of someone and we must recognize that the upcoming generation is made in our image.  We can't afford to be judgmental of these younger women looking at them sideways without realizing we're looking in a mirror.  Little girls pretending to be independent women are only afraid to be vulnerable because we haven't let them know that it's ok.  It's ok to cry.  It's ok to scream, pout and be emotional.  We were designed to understand and sympathize with others to be caregivers.  It is ok to be several things.  We are multifaceted and our grace wears many colors.  Know that you were never meant to be one thing, feel one way or live one time.  We resurrect ourselves in other women but first we have to love them, we have to believe in them, we have to encourage them and remind them that their journey is round trip.  They will stray off their path, but they will always have a home to come back to with open arms.  Believe in one another to become better women.  Know that she is capable of learning but you must be willing to teach.   God may have given us that rib but we TOOK free will.  We have always been strong minded in seeking out the different wonders of our world.  Embrace that. Believe in that.  Find your strength by sharing it.  You are only one woman, but you can raise millions.


Become better, want more and love immensely.  I love you with all of my heart.  My uterus bows to you.

Being Someone to Love

I don't want to write tonight.  I can't even comprehend the fact that I'm sitting here instead of laying down somewhere.  But I guess I just have to speak on some things.


I think love changes you.  One minute you can be this nonchalant person who rarely gets mad and the next thing you know, you're anxious waiting for a sign that someone still cares about you.  You can wake up and be unrecognizable.  Sometimes a person can change who you are and your entire being has to adjust itself to loving someone else.  Some people will tell you that you shouldn't change for anyone else.  Ultimately, you should change for yourself, but I'd be lying if I told you that some people will come into your life and inspire you to begin that transformation.  Change is necessary.  A human that doesn't evolve should have stayed a monkey honestly.  Become better, want more, love immensely.


It is only recently that I realized my love at 19 years old is a memorable force but it is not a formidable contender to my love now.  I have personal goals to become a better person, woman, mother, friend and lover.  It is up to me to decide to fulfill my potential and thank God for placing people in my life that test those basics in order to help me realize that a few need to be upgraded and updated.  


I love hard and who doesn't?  But how many of us are learning to love for the long haul?  How many of us are learning to love wiser?  Love deeper than the world can understand?  How many of us are learning to love even the darkest parts of ourselves to understand and empathize with the darkness in others?  I am finally learning to love someone who is imperfect and it is only because I am accepting that having my own flaws doesn't mean that I have to settle with having them.  I can work on them, I can forgive myself, I can look in the mirror and still find beauty in my imperfections and if I can do that, then it is a little easier to understand and believe that someone else can do the same.


When the world offers you a new definition of love, it can be traumatic.  It can be shocking, especially when you've been loving one way for so long.  You almost feel dumb, wondering if you got it wrong the first time, which may or may not be true depending on your situation.  However different is not another word for better than or less than.  Some loves just feel different. Different space and time, different circumstances, a different you.  But as I come into my own, it's uncomfortable.  There are so many changes, so many kinks to be worked out and every morning I wonder if I'm doing it right.  But at the end of the day, I'm proud of myself for never settling on a basic version. If I've done something I set out to do on my quest to be a better person, I am happy.  In the end, that's what it's all about, being happy and once that's achieved, you want to share that with someone else.  Since I've been working on being happy, I find myself more inclined to make someone else happy.  Perhaps love doesn't change, maybe we do.

The Reconstruction

It took a little while for me to say I love you
Words sprinkle through the air like the dust of cherry blossoms
Staining whoever's skin it lands on
It's a dangerous thing
To sow seeds and be absent when they sprout
It's a dangerous thing to lend a rib and not a heart
Into a body you've never touched and a mind you've never healed
What love is escapes even the most gentle hands and the most fragile leaves
Considering how intangible something sounds yet how tangible it feels
We are sick to our stomachs with feelings
With memories of cold words and a taste of warm nights
Sitting on our dancing tongues
Our firefly tongues
Our words lit up like dragons in storybooks
We blow smoke into each other's lungs and call it magic
I wish I knew better back then
I wish I knew who I was before I decided who I was going to be
My younger self had power and no direction
Love and no suitor worth loving
Shame and no self worth healing
I could have told my younger self that God was going to visit me
Put a few pauses in my life where I was going too fast
And I could have warned my younger self that sex was not a chore but a privilege indeed
I mean, there were hungry bears clawing their way through my self esteem
Vultures picking at the carcass of a woman who hadn't bloomed yet
There were things I could have told myself
But foresight is a dangerous thing and hindsight is never dangerous enough
I lived. I died. And then I lived again
Cherishing the moments that death was sitting on my shoulders beating the world right off
Whispering in my ear that this would easier
Closing my eyes would bring me comfort
Laying down would be bring me joy
And I considered it for much more time that I would like to admit
But death never brought me any joy, it never had any offerings worth silver and gold 
And it damn sure never brought me comfort in a wooden box
You will see your younger selves 
Wrapped in silks and smelling of jasmine
Your hair flowing like the tears of angels
And your fingernails growing like storms on the sea
You will see your younger selves and convince them of who they should be
Let yourself go
You then has a path to run to become the you now
I've apologized to my younger self
Convinced her that the smoke in her lungs saved her from the burning of her flesh
I wished her well, promised her that the damage wasn't that bad
And her enemies weren't that strong
I told her God would come to visit her and that death would not be comfortable but it would be necessary to rise again
I told my younger self that she had God in her and whenever he was to appear, she should take her cross, bleed on that cross, cry on that cross, die on that cross and rise again 
Because someone was going to come visit her and drag her out of the cold stones that surround her
Someone was going to come for her
Who I am now will rescue who I was then
That is the evolution of faith and the puberty of consciousness
I told my younger self I would waiting for her at the finish line

The Choosing that Matters...

When you're a little kid, your friends are thrown together in a kindergarten classroom.  You choose the best option for that moment.  But when you're older, the whole world is your classroom and you are able to choose the people in your life wisely.  Surround yourself with wise friends, open minds and loving arms.  For once, the choice is yours.  Do your best.

If there are rules...

Can't say I disagree.

No Shame November

I will be participating. Eventually. Stay tuned.

The sky...

I wonder if the stars ever demanded that the moon love them back.  Like mistresses of the night, I wonder how they find their way back under the moon's wings, shining in spite of the darkness they are so seemingly accustomed to.  I wonder if they are too busy vying for the moon's attention to watch over us during the day.  I want to know if the moon ever had an answer worthy enough to be loved after the conversation.


Or maybe the moon and the stars were never lovers, just friends with an unspoken and unrequited love, never crossing the line, never getting too close.  Brave enough to share the same space without making note of the closeness. I mean, I would never judge.  Pretending that I can stand in the vicinity of a once lover and not smell his skin would be the greatest lie ever told.  Not great in the sense of the best, but great in the sense of grandeur.


I just wonder if while they're up there with the space of the entire world, do they need more of it or none of it?  And the sun?  I wonder if the sun is the most absentee negotiation in all the world.  Only rising to remind them that the only thing about time that is guaranteed is the fact that it's limited….


I don't wish on stars and I don't fear full moons, I just always wanted to know if they wish on us and if they do, do we fail them like moonlight to tiny children in fear of darkness.  I've never heard a star talk but I imagine it to have a voice like yours - reaching my ears like overdue light.  And I think the moon has a raspy voice like children with a cold - innocent and wounded.  What a beautiful conversation the night sky has over us and I can't figure out if they are mimicking us or are we mimicking them.  Searching and holding on to the only light they can in a world full of darkness.