there was a woman with a name like sugar
sweet to the ears
melted to the touch
she had skin of gold and a spirit from the saints themselves
she had a voice of angels playing in gardens her soft hands planted
her eyes were so brown that chocolate envied her
and cocoa mimicked her scents
there was a woman whose touch made love common
she had a rare mind
a rare soul
there was a woman
who reminded humanity that there was something strictly divine about the wounds we share
the tears we've cried
the screams left alone in dark rooms and words stifled in journals hidden behind wooden dressers
there was a woman who spread her love like nutrients from a mother's womb to a hungry child
there was a woman whose path was laced with dandelions and spikes and she she maneuvered through waves and storms
never stirring her elegance
never disturbing her grace
never teasing her character
there was a woman who lived through her pain, danced through her darkness and kissed the lips of cruel words
there was a woman
and you said hello to her, waved quickly, didn't even bother to look her in the eyes
you said goodbye as quick as you came
now you struggle seeking answers to questions
here's one to ease your wandering mind
your heaven was on earth but you got distracted like hell
and now you're looking to a God for a woman, you knew and dismissed
you will kneel tonight with your eyes closed and your hands clasped
asking for her
never realizing she's not answering you...
Thursday, March 31, 2011
custom made
i found the love that i wanted
i thought there was something called a new love but there's really no such thing
i want the man that looks at me like i'm beautiful not the one that keeps saying it
i found that love
i know that love
i've owned that love
and as frail as i am human
i let that love slip between my fingers like sands chasing cool waters
it's amazing though how love never leaves you
it never tires
it never forgets your name
and it has nothing to do with chasing ex boyfriends
nor does it have to do with living in the past
because there is no living without a love like that
there
is
no
living
without
a love like that...
a love like ours
i thought there was something called a new love but there's really no such thing
i want the man that looks at me like i'm beautiful not the one that keeps saying it
i found that love
i know that love
i've owned that love
and as frail as i am human
i let that love slip between my fingers like sands chasing cool waters
it's amazing though how love never leaves you
it never tires
it never forgets your name
and it has nothing to do with chasing ex boyfriends
nor does it have to do with living in the past
because there is no living without a love like that
there
is
no
living
without
a love like that...
a love like ours
#100factsaboutme
everything is subject to change
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tidbits of information
and another thing.
you're not the only one having a bad day.
know when to shut the f.ck up.
you'll never have to take back words you didn't say.
stop assuming.
sometimes sh.t isn't that simple.
and sometimes it isn't that complicated either.
when in doubt, stand still until something moves you.
[i've said that before but since it's always relevant, i had to repeat it]
people that f.ck you up never want to put you back together.
so just stay down until they walk away, then get back up.
don't test anyone because that means you've already failed.
now you want to see how good or bad they do.
i'm thoroughly convinced that some people don't know what the word dramatic means. that being said, given my love for flair, it seems as though when i'm NOT making a scene, it's still considered a scene, which means you're watching me like i'm a show and not an evolving human being, which makes you a fan, not a friend. decide which one you are. then act accordingly.
i keep a lot of secrets.
sometimes for my own sanity and sometimes for everyone else's.
if i say 'you got it,' take it and walk away.
if you keep pushing, i'll walk away.
and i won't come back.
who we were is not necessarily who we are.
if you surround yourself with people who cannot notice your growth, then leave them with the old you. the new you might need some new company.
i've only been in love once.
and i have all intentions of keeping it that way.
the future might have different plans but for now i'm sticking to mine.
usually i don't give advice. now, i will NOT give advice.
life is short. life is fragile.
i sat in the doctor's office today and received a vicious reminder.
and yes i'm dying.
but i've been dying since the day i was born.
we all are.
you're not the only one having a bad day.
know when to shut the f.ck up.
you'll never have to take back words you didn't say.
stop assuming.
sometimes sh.t isn't that simple.
and sometimes it isn't that complicated either.
when in doubt, stand still until something moves you.
[i've said that before but since it's always relevant, i had to repeat it]
people that f.ck you up never want to put you back together.
so just stay down until they walk away, then get back up.
don't test anyone because that means you've already failed.
now you want to see how good or bad they do.
i'm thoroughly convinced that some people don't know what the word dramatic means. that being said, given my love for flair, it seems as though when i'm NOT making a scene, it's still considered a scene, which means you're watching me like i'm a show and not an evolving human being, which makes you a fan, not a friend. decide which one you are. then act accordingly.
i keep a lot of secrets.
sometimes for my own sanity and sometimes for everyone else's.
if i say 'you got it,' take it and walk away.
if you keep pushing, i'll walk away.
and i won't come back.
who we were is not necessarily who we are.
if you surround yourself with people who cannot notice your growth, then leave them with the old you. the new you might need some new company.
i've only been in love once.
and i have all intentions of keeping it that way.
the future might have different plans but for now i'm sticking to mine.
usually i don't give advice. now, i will NOT give advice.
life is short. life is fragile.
i sat in the doctor's office today and received a vicious reminder.
and yes i'm dying.
but i've been dying since the day i was born.
we all are.
be free
i just want you to be happy
and since you're so busy reminding me how much i don't make you happy
i'll make this easy
i'll leave you alone
then you'll have more time to find someone who does
[i wholeheartedly believe that the above statement makes sense]
and since you're so busy reminding me how much i don't make you happy
i'll make this easy
i'll leave you alone
then you'll have more time to find someone who does
[i wholeheartedly believe that the above statement makes sense]
i bet you think this is about you
i don't like to argue.
whether i'm wrong or i'm right, i think it's tacky.
and to be frank, a lot of people don't even do it well.
they bypass the facts to make snide remarks or say some foul sh.t and then when it's done, well it's never done.
the point is this.
i don't like to argue.
i'd rather you think you have a victory than engage in a cause i don't believe in.
some people like to argue.
some people like to break up to make up.
some people like drama with the people closest to them.
i'm not one of those people.
i'm too busy fighting everyone else that i'd rather not fight with those whom i consider my safe haven.
but i was told i have a rare mind.
and i believe that to be true.
even in the moments i can step outside of myself to understand what someone else is trying to say to me, i RARELY, if EVER say anything negative to them.
i think that sh.t is tacky too.
so when someone says something negative in the middle of an argument i shouldn't even be having, the facts are not even up for debate anymore your character is and that's a pity.
i would rather not say anything than say something negative.
because people won't always remember what you said, but they'll never forget how you made them feel.
whether i'm wrong or i'm right, i think it's tacky.
and to be frank, a lot of people don't even do it well.
they bypass the facts to make snide remarks or say some foul sh.t and then when it's done, well it's never done.
the point is this.
i don't like to argue.
i'd rather you think you have a victory than engage in a cause i don't believe in.
some people like to argue.
some people like to break up to make up.
some people like drama with the people closest to them.
i'm not one of those people.
i'm too busy fighting everyone else that i'd rather not fight with those whom i consider my safe haven.
but i was told i have a rare mind.
and i believe that to be true.
even in the moments i can step outside of myself to understand what someone else is trying to say to me, i RARELY, if EVER say anything negative to them.
i think that sh.t is tacky too.
so when someone says something negative in the middle of an argument i shouldn't even be having, the facts are not even up for debate anymore your character is and that's a pity.
i would rather not say anything than say something negative.
because people won't always remember what you said, but they'll never forget how you made them feel.
point of it all
i've been listening to this song all day and i still haven't found the point at all.
he argues words like salt to bloody rivers
and the sun watches over them while calling the moon to interrupt
butterflies lend grace to their lips but nothing soothes the pythons raging from their tongues
humans are nature's worst beasts
making love without making sense
dancing around insecurities and egos large enough to drown the nile
they can't stand each other
not as a unifying force
not as equals
not as one man and one woman on a journey greater than themselves
one must always be insubordinate
one must always be right
and the only time that everything in their world comes together is when they come together
letting the moon and stars see a different kind of alignment
a different kind of nature
she watches him with her honey trickling from her fingertips with a sweetness he's never tasted
drawing him in like waters under a full moon, she pulls him close to her to listen to nothing but their beating hearts
words have no place here
where their feet stand is not a battleground
they are not fighting a war
they are not searching for a truce
she is trying to bring him peace from the palm of her hand onto the inside of his lips so he can speak kind words of justice
tolerant words like religion doesn't matter in the middle east
and like homosexuality doesn't matter in the west
she reaches for him with fists of silk ready to cover him in her arms
but even bulls run through capes and as he slips through her grasps
she weeps like hummingbirds on a daisy's petals
like robin eggs missing their mama
like cubs looking to be king
she weeps
slower than the earth rotates and more than it has spun
she weeps tears only to be dried by the sun and forgotten by the moon
they are animals
in a kingdom they don't own
falling from trees they forgot they climbed
drowning in waters they once denied as tears
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
someone asked
does love come before desire or does desire come before love?
in the past i've only dated men i've considered friends so the desire came AFTER the love was already established. this time around, i let desire take the lead and i'm still waiting for love to join the party. when you let love lead, the relationship feels more solid, more open and probably more forgiving. cute guys are everywhere but friends aren't so you, or at least me, tend to be more willing to work through certain things. if desire leads and something goes wrong, i don't know if the desire will be there to work it out. he'll probably just be a cute guy that f.cked up...next. i'm really not sure what works because i haven't done both...yet but regardless, there are some rough starts but sometimes that's no indication that a happy ending isn't going to follow.
in the past i've only dated men i've considered friends so the desire came AFTER the love was already established. this time around, i let desire take the lead and i'm still waiting for love to join the party. when you let love lead, the relationship feels more solid, more open and probably more forgiving. cute guys are everywhere but friends aren't so you, or at least me, tend to be more willing to work through certain things. if desire leads and something goes wrong, i don't know if the desire will be there to work it out. he'll probably just be a cute guy that f.cked up...next. i'm really not sure what works because i haven't done both...yet but regardless, there are some rough starts but sometimes that's no indication that a happy ending isn't going to follow.
speak your piece...i'm listening
the easiest way to respond to your comments is to do just that. i'll tag them under 'comments' so you can just click the link at the bottom to see and and all posts strictly for comments and questions.
how many times have you fallen in love? when and how? - your biggest fan
ONCE. it was about four or five years ago at a time when i spent more time trying to figure out what i wanted than actually figuring it out. as for how i fell in love? it was easy. he has a brilliant mind and a patient heart so it didn't take a glass slipper and a fairy godmother to make it happen. sometimes i feel like that experience is the blueprint and i'm having so much trouble imagining love any other way but love is just as unique as the people in it so anything is possible.
how many times have you fallen in love? when and how? - your biggest fan
ONCE. it was about four or five years ago at a time when i spent more time trying to figure out what i wanted than actually figuring it out. as for how i fell in love? it was easy. he has a brilliant mind and a patient heart so it didn't take a glass slipper and a fairy godmother to make it happen. sometimes i feel like that experience is the blueprint and i'm having so much trouble imagining love any other way but love is just as unique as the people in it so anything is possible.
Monday, March 28, 2011
last words
i had a dream i died last night. it had me thinking all day of what i would say/write before i died, if given the chance. i might as well write it in letter form because knowing me, i probably wouldn't speak out of fear that i would start crying once i did.
i feel like someone told me that in regards to the earth's size, 'one size fits all' and to the contrary, i've felt quite the opposite. the earth sometimes felt too big for me and then at times not big enough. whether it was walking the endless concrete of the ghetto or waving to the hurricanes from my grandmother's porch, it's always hard to find shade when you are the sun. and i only refer to myself as the sun because it is my planet, the astrological version of myself within this grand universe. but even if you don't believe in all that, i genuinely had a desire to make those around me happier people. with no ulterior motive in mind. but nobody ever seemed to notice that i only wanted to spread happiness, so some of it could reflect on my own darkness within. but that's all in the past now. and the past is a funny thing because you have to learn from it without living from it. lord knows, it's a skill i haven't mastered but i've been a slave to for far too long.
looking back, i lost a lot of my childhood when things started making sense as an adult. and there are plenty of people to blame but none of that makes it any easier when i look in the mirror and see a woman with so many childlike features. but here i am about to die trying to say something i couldn't find the strength to say when i was alive. maybe i didn't write enough books or enough blog post entries so this letter must suffice.
tell my first love this: i see you wherever i go. it's like i've carried you with me since the first day we spoke. if God made woman from the rib of a man, then he made me out of yours. from your eyes to your nose to your lips, we fit together like puzzle pieces. the only problem is neither of us can figure out what the puzzle turns out to be. so we bounce around between awkward conversations and wishful thoughts trying to find a middle ground between where we are and where we are meant to be. and like God's hands reaching for Adam's on the Sistine chapel's sky, we never quite make it, even when we are reflections of one another. needless to say, i carry you with me and i see you wherever i go...and it just occurred to me what that means. you're a ghost and maybe, quite possibly, the next lifetime is ours.
for my friends who taught me how to believe in God because they are truly angels. if i die tomorrow, it is only because they taught me how to live. you were patient with me, protective of me and loving towards me for absolutely no reason at all or at least not one that i could figure out. i wish there was a better word than 'friend' to describe how much you mean to me. you were strategically placed in my life to save my life and you've given me gifts i can't afford. in the years, months, weeks we've been friends, no act of kindness went unnoticed. you have taught me the meaning of unconditional love.
tell the man i am still trying to love this: i've noticed you are capable of taking care of those around you, but promise yourself that you will let someone take care of you. maybe i'll fall in love with you in a different language on a different continent in a different lifetime. maybe this time around was only to show me that it was possible again, to love wholeheartedly and to love purely. maybe we were only given this time to teach me that love exists whenever i'm ready to grab hold of it. i'm dying tomorrow so your lips will be the last kiss i taste and your pillow will hold the last of my sweet dreams. you will be the last man to ever make love to me under the blanket of discretion and no named relationships. i have given you all i have left and what you do with it is entirely up to you. just do me one favor. remember everything, the time we danced in the bedroom, spoke on the phone for hours and saw the sun rise in the crevices of our collarbones. remember it all because memories don't live like people do. they don't die like we do either.
and to whoever will console my daughter, tell her nothing about me until she can read it for herself. i want her to know her mother first before she hears about me. there are enough rumors that the dead cannot defeat and she, in all of her innocence, should be spared. but in case i didn't leave enough 'i love yous' to last her throughout her life, let her read this: I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE AND EVEN IN DEATH. YOU ARE LIVING PROOF THAT I AM STILL HERE. LIKE I CARRIED YOU IN MY WOMB, CARRY ME IN YOUR HEART FOREVER AND ALWAYS.
to my weeping parents, you should never know what it is like to bury your own child. but as the child, growing up and thinking you were superhuman i could never imagine either of you closing your eyes and never opening them again. so maybe in the shock of my death, it was better this way. you know how fragile i am so death makes sense and i know how strong you are so living your life, even when i'm gone, sounds just about right.
grandma, i really hope your God accepts me if for no other reason than because you always have.
i feel like someone told me that in regards to the earth's size, 'one size fits all' and to the contrary, i've felt quite the opposite. the earth sometimes felt too big for me and then at times not big enough. whether it was walking the endless concrete of the ghetto or waving to the hurricanes from my grandmother's porch, it's always hard to find shade when you are the sun. and i only refer to myself as the sun because it is my planet, the astrological version of myself within this grand universe. but even if you don't believe in all that, i genuinely had a desire to make those around me happier people. with no ulterior motive in mind. but nobody ever seemed to notice that i only wanted to spread happiness, so some of it could reflect on my own darkness within. but that's all in the past now. and the past is a funny thing because you have to learn from it without living from it. lord knows, it's a skill i haven't mastered but i've been a slave to for far too long.
looking back, i lost a lot of my childhood when things started making sense as an adult. and there are plenty of people to blame but none of that makes it any easier when i look in the mirror and see a woman with so many childlike features. but here i am about to die trying to say something i couldn't find the strength to say when i was alive. maybe i didn't write enough books or enough blog post entries so this letter must suffice.
tell my first love this: i see you wherever i go. it's like i've carried you with me since the first day we spoke. if God made woman from the rib of a man, then he made me out of yours. from your eyes to your nose to your lips, we fit together like puzzle pieces. the only problem is neither of us can figure out what the puzzle turns out to be. so we bounce around between awkward conversations and wishful thoughts trying to find a middle ground between where we are and where we are meant to be. and like God's hands reaching for Adam's on the Sistine chapel's sky, we never quite make it, even when we are reflections of one another. needless to say, i carry you with me and i see you wherever i go...and it just occurred to me what that means. you're a ghost and maybe, quite possibly, the next lifetime is ours.
for my friends who taught me how to believe in God because they are truly angels. if i die tomorrow, it is only because they taught me how to live. you were patient with me, protective of me and loving towards me for absolutely no reason at all or at least not one that i could figure out. i wish there was a better word than 'friend' to describe how much you mean to me. you were strategically placed in my life to save my life and you've given me gifts i can't afford. in the years, months, weeks we've been friends, no act of kindness went unnoticed. you have taught me the meaning of unconditional love.
tell the man i am still trying to love this: i've noticed you are capable of taking care of those around you, but promise yourself that you will let someone take care of you. maybe i'll fall in love with you in a different language on a different continent in a different lifetime. maybe this time around was only to show me that it was possible again, to love wholeheartedly and to love purely. maybe we were only given this time to teach me that love exists whenever i'm ready to grab hold of it. i'm dying tomorrow so your lips will be the last kiss i taste and your pillow will hold the last of my sweet dreams. you will be the last man to ever make love to me under the blanket of discretion and no named relationships. i have given you all i have left and what you do with it is entirely up to you. just do me one favor. remember everything, the time we danced in the bedroom, spoke on the phone for hours and saw the sun rise in the crevices of our collarbones. remember it all because memories don't live like people do. they don't die like we do either.
and to whoever will console my daughter, tell her nothing about me until she can read it for herself. i want her to know her mother first before she hears about me. there are enough rumors that the dead cannot defeat and she, in all of her innocence, should be spared. but in case i didn't leave enough 'i love yous' to last her throughout her life, let her read this: I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE AND EVEN IN DEATH. YOU ARE LIVING PROOF THAT I AM STILL HERE. LIKE I CARRIED YOU IN MY WOMB, CARRY ME IN YOUR HEART FOREVER AND ALWAYS.
to my weeping parents, you should never know what it is like to bury your own child. but as the child, growing up and thinking you were superhuman i could never imagine either of you closing your eyes and never opening them again. so maybe in the shock of my death, it was better this way. you know how fragile i am so death makes sense and i know how strong you are so living your life, even when i'm gone, sounds just about right.
grandma, i really hope your God accepts me if for no other reason than because you always have.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
fireworks...
i am very proud of a man that can multitask...
relationships take hard work. between scheduling conflicts and compromise, it takes an insane amount of effort to keep them healthy, functioning and enjoyable.
i've learned that patience is more than a virtue. it's definitely a hidden commandment.
thou shalt not break his neck when he forgets to call me back, nor shall he break mine if and when i think he's sleeping with someone else just because he forgot to call me back. learning another human being is like climbing mount everest ... you will slip, fall or even die but you can make it if you take your time and you have the right equipment. and i've heard, there's nothing quite like the feeling you have when you reach the top. i guess it's the equivalent of falling in love, not that i would know anything about that...
although you want to keep the other person entertained and interested, relationships happen when you're doing everything but that. when you're lounging on the couch or watching a movie or he's on his laptop while you're reading a magazine, your relationship is evolving. the ability to be yourself and enjoy another person while they're being themselves is pretty amazing. to me, when the fireworks simmer down, that's when the real show begins.
relationships take hard work. between scheduling conflicts and compromise, it takes an insane amount of effort to keep them healthy, functioning and enjoyable.
i've learned that patience is more than a virtue. it's definitely a hidden commandment.
thou shalt not break his neck when he forgets to call me back, nor shall he break mine if and when i think he's sleeping with someone else just because he forgot to call me back. learning another human being is like climbing mount everest ... you will slip, fall or even die but you can make it if you take your time and you have the right equipment. and i've heard, there's nothing quite like the feeling you have when you reach the top. i guess it's the equivalent of falling in love, not that i would know anything about that...
although you want to keep the other person entertained and interested, relationships happen when you're doing everything but that. when you're lounging on the couch or watching a movie or he's on his laptop while you're reading a magazine, your relationship is evolving. the ability to be yourself and enjoy another person while they're being themselves is pretty amazing. to me, when the fireworks simmer down, that's when the real show begins.
Monday, March 21, 2011
reality bites...hard
i'm afraid to fall in love.
but then i keep thinking about 2 Timothy 1:7 which states...
For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord, or of me as a prisoner, but share with the sufferings of the gospel, according to the power of God
now. i'm not too religious but when something makes sense, it makes sense.
in that same breath, i'm still afraid, very afraid of my own humanity.
but then i keep thinking about 2 Timothy 1:7 which states...
For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony of our Lord, or of me as a prisoner, but share with the sufferings of the gospel, according to the power of God
now. i'm not too religious but when something makes sense, it makes sense.
in that same breath, i'm still afraid, very afraid of my own humanity.
world poetry day
i missed you
i heard today is world poetry day so i had to write about you
like sheet music to a melody, you kinda gave birth to this talent of mine
that's what they call it
all i'm doing is talking about you
the things we did
where we've been
and there's a nobel peace prize somewhere designated to loves like ours
this talent of mine
that muse you are
the lovers we were under distant moons
full, bright moons that pulled us in closer than tides to summer's shores
i missed you
under constellations playing connect the dots with our dreams
my kids
your white picket fence
our sides of the bed
i could look at you and see the earth move
watch it rotate in your pupils and see the sun rise over the horizon of your eyelashes
to them, you are a man
to me, you are poetry
stanzas running through my veins
haikus between my thighs
and parentheses that wrap around the very outcome of our creativity
you are bundles of words from late nights, from warm showers, from affairs we couldn't deny
you are paragraphs of insomnia
keeping me up as your fingertips once danced in my hair and your nose grazed over my cheekbones
i can still smell you in my journals
flipping pages of memories fresh from the binds of a love i've been trying to describe from a dictionary that no one has updated
i loved you in that time
i wrote from your flesh
i spoke from your tongue
i remember you
like unicorns in my dreams and rainbows in my sleep
i just want them to know how real you were
how sincere your love was to my art
how giving your kisses were to my craft
how demanding your love was of my life
i missed you
and today is world poetry day
so i decided to bring you back to life if only for the moment that a person takes to read this
to breathe this
to leave this
you are real
and today is your birth...day
i am sincerely thankful that you, no matter where you are, can be heard, can be read, can be felt by someone other than me because you are poetry
and today is your day
i am paying a humble homage to my extraordinary muse
i bow in the presence of your greatness
i heard today is world poetry day so i had to write about you
like sheet music to a melody, you kinda gave birth to this talent of mine
that's what they call it
all i'm doing is talking about you
the things we did
where we've been
and there's a nobel peace prize somewhere designated to loves like ours
this talent of mine
that muse you are
the lovers we were under distant moons
full, bright moons that pulled us in closer than tides to summer's shores
i missed you
under constellations playing connect the dots with our dreams
my kids
your white picket fence
our sides of the bed
i could look at you and see the earth move
watch it rotate in your pupils and see the sun rise over the horizon of your eyelashes
to them, you are a man
to me, you are poetry
stanzas running through my veins
haikus between my thighs
and parentheses that wrap around the very outcome of our creativity
you are bundles of words from late nights, from warm showers, from affairs we couldn't deny
you are paragraphs of insomnia
keeping me up as your fingertips once danced in my hair and your nose grazed over my cheekbones
i can still smell you in my journals
flipping pages of memories fresh from the binds of a love i've been trying to describe from a dictionary that no one has updated
i loved you in that time
i wrote from your flesh
i spoke from your tongue
i remember you
like unicorns in my dreams and rainbows in my sleep
i just want them to know how real you were
how sincere your love was to my art
how giving your kisses were to my craft
how demanding your love was of my life
i missed you
and today is world poetry day
so i decided to bring you back to life if only for the moment that a person takes to read this
to breathe this
to leave this
you are real
and today is your birth...day
i am sincerely thankful that you, no matter where you are, can be heard, can be read, can be felt by someone other than me because you are poetry
and today is your day
i am paying a humble homage to my extraordinary muse
i bow in the presence of your greatness
Thursday, March 17, 2011
this was written years ago
I can't sleep. It's 4am and I can't sleep. This insomnia won't escape me. I've heard that lying next to someone can make it hard to sleep. But I personally believe that attempting to sleep alone is what's keeping me up. I'm tossing and turning beating up the wall with my knees. My head is pounding and there's throbbing behind my eyes. Even my jaws hurt. Everything above my neck hurts and my body is telling me that I'm in withdrawal.
I miss love.
I miss being in love.
I miss making love.
Loneliness is literally killing me. I've been single for months now and it's finally catching up to me. I am yearning human physical contact. The basic composition of my humanity is on the hunt for closeness. A few nights of sex and conversation is not enough to get me high like real love does. It's like chewing gum when you really need a cigarette. And at this point, I'm starting to think that I need the patch.
I am addicted to love. 12 step programs don't help me. There is no rehab for my natural instinct. I was designed to be a part of another human being, physically, emotionally and spiritually. Without my other half, I am incomplete and in a dead heat. I crave the flesh of another human being and I crave the scent of a man. My bedsheets smell like Tide instead of his cologne. My tossing and turning is in vain because this is a solo performance, with no audience in sight.
I finally get out of bed and walk around. I look at my pedicured toes as they sink into my carpet. He picked out this carpet, paid for it and laid it down. Now, every step I take feels like him. My body appreciates the soft texture but my spirit remembers the rigid relationship, so for every step I take, I find myself taking two steps back. And that's why 12 step programs don't help me. It's more like a tug of war than a steady stream of progress. I walk one way and he pulls me another. I am the weaker one. I always have been.
The thoughts in my head are running faster than I can walk around my apartment. I can barely hear them over the constant throbbing. I walk into the kitchen and turn the kettle on. Hot tea cures everything - that's what my mother told me when I was younger and I still believe it as I get older. I wait for the water to boil and plug my Ipod into my speakers. The notes dance over the silence in my apartment and yet I find no comfort. No love song can replace love itself. I want to dance but my body betrays me. Instead I lie down on our carpet, counting down the minutes till the kettle boils.
4 minutes - He's probably sleeping soundly, drooling and sh.t. What I would give to be dreaming right now.
3 minutes and 30 seconds - What if I never got up off this floor? My boss would probably call me and interrupt this new ritual of self pity. Selfish wench. She wouldn't even let me grieve in peace, although grieving is anything but peaceful. Wait, can you take time off for a broken heart? No. You can only get time off for a death. Is heartbreak not a death in itself? Never mind. Corporate America would never understand.
1 minute and 42 seconds - He has a lot of flaws, Lord knows, he's always late, he can't spell and he is terrible at cooking. But he did a really good job with this carpet. I guess God gives everyone a talent.
Whistle! Time's up for my thoughts. My kettle is so demanding. I have to get up from the floor slowly. No need to rush for something that won't even be ready to enjoy when I get there. Ha. ha. Same is true for men, I suppose. Maybe this insomnia has the answers to all my relationship questions. Who am I kidding, relationships don't have questions. Questions only come in hindsight, when you've lost it all and you're wondering when, where and how did it all happen. To think of it, when we were together, I had no damn questions. Maybe if I asked one or two, I would have known his true whereabouts when he said he was working or I would have know about the other woman he was sleeping with. But like I said, this is all in hindsight. This is long after my dreams of marriage, children and happily ever after found themselves scattered in the ashes of his clothes that I burned in the tub. Thank you, Angela Bassett.
Chamomile or peppermint? Chamomile.
I reach for a mug in the cupboard and as if God is playing a sick joke on me, I pull his favorite mug out.
I should have burned this sh.t too.
I just don't get it. Even when a person moves out, there are so many things that get left behind. Mugs, toothbrushes, socks and memories. Give me a break. As a matter fact, don't. Heartbreak was a break enough. The word itself doesn't even describe the damage done in the wake of a battlefield that was once our relationship. Your heart is only the first thing to break with your spirit and your confidence following, then your hopes, your dreams and your beliefs for a happy ending. So many things break and even when you attempt to pick up the pieces, the shards cut deeper. And in my experience, it's always better to cry than bleed.
Janet Jackson - I Get So Lonely booms through the speakers. You are damn right, Janet. When I was younger, I fell in love with the choreography of the song, never understanding the depth of her lyrics. Now, even though the choreography is still fresh in my mind, I understand the words more than the dance moves. My, my how we grow up. Never did I imagine, that Ms. Janet Jackson and I could possible share the same story. But icon or not, humanity is more common than fame.
I bring my tea to the carpet and I sit down with my legs stretched out in front of me. I count the childhood scars that followed me into adulthood.
Dark circle on my shin - My friend jumped on the bed to surprise me and fractured my bone.Straight line on my left knee cap - Riding my bike down a flight of stairs.Dark spot on my right knee - Riding...him. That's relatively new.
I wonder if people could see the scars that I acquired outside of childhood. Would there ever be a scar that would tell the world that someone broke my heart? Would there ever be a Neosporin to prevent the scar infidelity bears? If only breaking up was like getting a skinned knee. If only I could just get a band aid and a lollipop and be okay. But childhood scars are so much simpler than the wounds we bear as we get older.
Heartbreak runs deep to the white meat. You know when you get a cut so deep, you don't even bleed right away? That's what heartbreak is like. You're in shock at first. I was in shock. And once you see the blood, you know it's real and you start to cry? Yeah, my insomnia is me crying.
Every moment that my eyes refuse to close, they're crying without tears. I'm beginning to think that's because I have no tears left. When we broke up, I cried until I had nothing left inside of me - no joy, no faith and no more tears. I cried while washing the dishes. I cried in the shower. I cried doing laundry. I cried in my sleep - when I used to sleep. I cried at work. I cried doing my hair. I cried brushing my teeth. I cried putting on my clothes. I just cried and it would make sense that I finally ran out of tears. There's not enough tears in the world to fill the hole that heartbreak leaves, so eventually I entered the second phase of heartbreak and I call it insomnia.
I mean, I can't be too mad. What's the point of sleeping if I only have nightmares? What is the point of sleeping in a huge bed by myself? What is the point of having two pillows when there's only one of us left? What is the point of sleeping on the right side? It only means that he still has a side, even though he's sleeping somewhere else. So instead of trying to sleep, I'm going to let this tea heal me and replenish some of the tears that I've lost.
Chamomile was a good choice. Even though he wasn't.
The sun and I meet again. Its rays never let me down. They always show up on time attempting to brighten my day. This insomnia has made best friends of the sun and I.
Dear Sun,
I couldn't sleep last night but of course, you already knew that. Is there a woman on the other side of the world that you have this conversation with too? Is she as lonely as I am? If you see her, tell her I have a cup of tea for her too. Sidebar, can you peak into his room and tell me what he's doing. I want you to shine so bright through his window that he has to pull the covers over his head to avoid your glare. Pretty please. Wake his ass up. He should suffer like I am. He had a backup plan. Who's going to love me with these bags under my eyes? I have no backup! I apologize. I didn't mean to take that tone with you. I'm just venting. Anyway. Thank you for visiting. I'm gonna go get ready for work. See you in a bit.
Sincerely,
The Night's Mistress
I miss love.
I miss being in love.
I miss making love.
Loneliness is literally killing me. I've been single for months now and it's finally catching up to me. I am yearning human physical contact. The basic composition of my humanity is on the hunt for closeness. A few nights of sex and conversation is not enough to get me high like real love does. It's like chewing gum when you really need a cigarette. And at this point, I'm starting to think that I need the patch.
I am addicted to love. 12 step programs don't help me. There is no rehab for my natural instinct. I was designed to be a part of another human being, physically, emotionally and spiritually. Without my other half, I am incomplete and in a dead heat. I crave the flesh of another human being and I crave the scent of a man. My bedsheets smell like Tide instead of his cologne. My tossing and turning is in vain because this is a solo performance, with no audience in sight.
I finally get out of bed and walk around. I look at my pedicured toes as they sink into my carpet. He picked out this carpet, paid for it and laid it down. Now, every step I take feels like him. My body appreciates the soft texture but my spirit remembers the rigid relationship, so for every step I take, I find myself taking two steps back. And that's why 12 step programs don't help me. It's more like a tug of war than a steady stream of progress. I walk one way and he pulls me another. I am the weaker one. I always have been.
The thoughts in my head are running faster than I can walk around my apartment. I can barely hear them over the constant throbbing. I walk into the kitchen and turn the kettle on. Hot tea cures everything - that's what my mother told me when I was younger and I still believe it as I get older. I wait for the water to boil and plug my Ipod into my speakers. The notes dance over the silence in my apartment and yet I find no comfort. No love song can replace love itself. I want to dance but my body betrays me. Instead I lie down on our carpet, counting down the minutes till the kettle boils.
4 minutes - He's probably sleeping soundly, drooling and sh.t. What I would give to be dreaming right now.
3 minutes and 30 seconds - What if I never got up off this floor? My boss would probably call me and interrupt this new ritual of self pity. Selfish wench. She wouldn't even let me grieve in peace, although grieving is anything but peaceful. Wait, can you take time off for a broken heart? No. You can only get time off for a death. Is heartbreak not a death in itself? Never mind. Corporate America would never understand.
1 minute and 42 seconds - He has a lot of flaws, Lord knows, he's always late, he can't spell and he is terrible at cooking. But he did a really good job with this carpet. I guess God gives everyone a talent.
Whistle! Time's up for my thoughts. My kettle is so demanding. I have to get up from the floor slowly. No need to rush for something that won't even be ready to enjoy when I get there. Ha. ha. Same is true for men, I suppose. Maybe this insomnia has the answers to all my relationship questions. Who am I kidding, relationships don't have questions. Questions only come in hindsight, when you've lost it all and you're wondering when, where and how did it all happen. To think of it, when we were together, I had no damn questions. Maybe if I asked one or two, I would have known his true whereabouts when he said he was working or I would have know about the other woman he was sleeping with. But like I said, this is all in hindsight. This is long after my dreams of marriage, children and happily ever after found themselves scattered in the ashes of his clothes that I burned in the tub. Thank you, Angela Bassett.
Chamomile or peppermint? Chamomile.
I reach for a mug in the cupboard and as if God is playing a sick joke on me, I pull his favorite mug out.
I should have burned this sh.t too.
I just don't get it. Even when a person moves out, there are so many things that get left behind. Mugs, toothbrushes, socks and memories. Give me a break. As a matter fact, don't. Heartbreak was a break enough. The word itself doesn't even describe the damage done in the wake of a battlefield that was once our relationship. Your heart is only the first thing to break with your spirit and your confidence following, then your hopes, your dreams and your beliefs for a happy ending. So many things break and even when you attempt to pick up the pieces, the shards cut deeper. And in my experience, it's always better to cry than bleed.
Janet Jackson - I Get So Lonely booms through the speakers. You are damn right, Janet. When I was younger, I fell in love with the choreography of the song, never understanding the depth of her lyrics. Now, even though the choreography is still fresh in my mind, I understand the words more than the dance moves. My, my how we grow up. Never did I imagine, that Ms. Janet Jackson and I could possible share the same story. But icon or not, humanity is more common than fame.
I bring my tea to the carpet and I sit down with my legs stretched out in front of me. I count the childhood scars that followed me into adulthood.
Dark circle on my shin - My friend jumped on the bed to surprise me and fractured my bone.Straight line on my left knee cap - Riding my bike down a flight of stairs.Dark spot on my right knee - Riding...him. That's relatively new.
I wonder if people could see the scars that I acquired outside of childhood. Would there ever be a scar that would tell the world that someone broke my heart? Would there ever be a Neosporin to prevent the scar infidelity bears? If only breaking up was like getting a skinned knee. If only I could just get a band aid and a lollipop and be okay. But childhood scars are so much simpler than the wounds we bear as we get older.
Heartbreak runs deep to the white meat. You know when you get a cut so deep, you don't even bleed right away? That's what heartbreak is like. You're in shock at first. I was in shock. And once you see the blood, you know it's real and you start to cry? Yeah, my insomnia is me crying.
Every moment that my eyes refuse to close, they're crying without tears. I'm beginning to think that's because I have no tears left. When we broke up, I cried until I had nothing left inside of me - no joy, no faith and no more tears. I cried while washing the dishes. I cried in the shower. I cried doing laundry. I cried in my sleep - when I used to sleep. I cried at work. I cried doing my hair. I cried brushing my teeth. I cried putting on my clothes. I just cried and it would make sense that I finally ran out of tears. There's not enough tears in the world to fill the hole that heartbreak leaves, so eventually I entered the second phase of heartbreak and I call it insomnia.
I mean, I can't be too mad. What's the point of sleeping if I only have nightmares? What is the point of sleeping in a huge bed by myself? What is the point of having two pillows when there's only one of us left? What is the point of sleeping on the right side? It only means that he still has a side, even though he's sleeping somewhere else. So instead of trying to sleep, I'm going to let this tea heal me and replenish some of the tears that I've lost.
Chamomile was a good choice. Even though he wasn't.
The sun and I meet again. Its rays never let me down. They always show up on time attempting to brighten my day. This insomnia has made best friends of the sun and I.
Dear Sun,
I couldn't sleep last night but of course, you already knew that. Is there a woman on the other side of the world that you have this conversation with too? Is she as lonely as I am? If you see her, tell her I have a cup of tea for her too. Sidebar, can you peak into his room and tell me what he's doing. I want you to shine so bright through his window that he has to pull the covers over his head to avoid your glare. Pretty please. Wake his ass up. He should suffer like I am. He had a backup plan. Who's going to love me with these bags under my eyes? I have no backup! I apologize. I didn't mean to take that tone with you. I'm just venting. Anyway. Thank you for visiting. I'm gonna go get ready for work. See you in a bit.
Sincerely,
The Night's Mistress
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
work to be done
i started this miniseries 'Letters to My Daughter.' i think she's gonna need it, with a personality like hers and a mother like me, guidance is required.
february 26. 2011.
today i drove to work sad because they changed my schedule and i was supposed to take you to a party. i never wanted to hear screaming children and eat cotton candy more than today but work had to be done. so i put on my clothes and tried not to cry as i watched you cry when i told you we weren't going. as soon as i got out the door, i called your aunt to ask if she could take you. i was so happy she said yes but i still wanted to cry because i could not join you. i wouldn't be able to watch you get your face painted or laugh with other children. if you scraped your knee, i wouldn't be the one to lift you up and tell you how strong you are and how scars will be great stories to tell when you're old enough to share them with your own kids. i just really wanted to be there. but there was work to be done. i drove on the highway tuning my own sadness out with loud music, music that i can't listen to when you're in the car. yes mommy listens to misogynistic music that requires me to shake my ass for some cash but i'm only living vicariously through the melody. in reality, i would shake my ass for your college tuition. needless to say, i saw three terrible car accidents on my way to work. big trucks flipped over, ambulances rushing away, people crying and i called home just to hear your voice. you were too busy getting ready for the party to talk to me but that was fine because i still got to hear your voice squealing about what outfit you would wear. i rushed home from work hoping that i could stop by the party but i didn't want to spoil your fun. i was exhausted and i didn't bring any extra clothes to look like a mother you would be proud of so i actually stopped in front of where the party was held, imagined you were having your fun and drove home to wait for you. i must have fell asleep waiting because when i jumped up, it was 11 o'clock and my house was still quiet. there were no little feet running up and down the hallway and you weren't lying in bed with your stuffed animals clutched to you like you were afraid someone was going to steal them in your sleep. my heart started pounding. surely the party had to be over. so i called your aunt. then i called the mother who was throwing the party - both of her numbers. nobody picked up. then i called him. he reassured me that you were probably dancing your life away and everybody was probably too busy chasing children to pick up the phone. he asked if i was crying and i was. my breathing was short, my chest was heavy, i wondered where my child was. i prayed that you weren't in one of those car accidents with twisted metal lying there like you didn't have a mother to save you. i started getting dressed ready to drive the route i know your aunt would take just to make sure her car wasn't flipped upside down and that you were all okay. right as i was about to leave my house, the phone rang. your aunt was helping clean up and you would be home soon. still, i paced the house until she called to say you were downstairs. i looked at you like it was the first time i was seeing you and i remember because you were so tiny back then wrapped up in a blanket waiting for someone to love you. now here you were, hopping out the car telling me all the details of the party and i could just stare at you in awe. you were getting tall but you were still my baby. my precious child. when you got upstairs and finally in your bed, i stared at you while you slept, exhausted from all the sugar and running around. i stared and i cried knowing that even when i'm with you or away from you, there will always be work to be done, but my first job, my most important job is to be your mother.
i love you.
i'm having a moment
I'm not gonna play you but I'm certainly not gonna play myself.
I want what I want when I want it and when I don't, I want someone who understands that...even if that means I don't want you anymore.
The thing w/ love is that u end up loving someone else's reflection more than your own. But I just wanna wake up & recognize myself.
Monogamy is sometimes 2 close 2 monotonous which is 2 damn close to mediocre for me. There's something superior about versatility.
I've loved with the best of them but I need to evoke more feelings than that - inspiration, motivation, passion, even anger.
I don't wanna just feel someone, I want to feel SOMETHING, a lot of things.
At the end of the day, a n.gga is always gonna be a n.gga. Fine. But is it so bad to wake up & want to be different, to be better?
I don't want to make you MY world, I want to give you the world but first I have to acquire it. Let me.
this concludes my twitter rant for the morning. while this has nothing to do with someone i'm dealing with, it has a lot to say about the people i can't deal with. i'm just confused. it's like some of us want relationships so bad that we just accept ANY kind. and of course i understand that relationships have their highs and lows but DAMN. being stalemate can make me resentful. if it doesn't feel good, then what is the point? for instance, one of my besties recently broke up with her fiance and i can't tell you how proud i am of her. do you know how brave that seems to me? that's like saying, i would rather NOT use my heart than let you break it. that's damn near a declaration stating, "i found happiness with you and i'm pretty sure i can find some more of it elsewhere." who knew thugs could maneuver love that well?
i'm just saying, i don't think love should make room for stalemates and pauses depending on history to carry it into tomorrow. i want to love you every day in a renewed form. and honestly waking up to the same person every day sounds insane to me so when you wake up next to me, i want you to see a better version of me every single time. i want you to keep finding reasons for falling in love with me. i don't want to be the girl that says, "of course i love him. back in 96 we went on our first vacation and in 2002, we had our first child. oh yeah in 2006, he took care of me when i had the flu." but what about today? am i talking about a man i loved versus the man i love? is this love current or is it a memory that is so familiar that i just keep replaying it because i ran out of new material a long time ago? i think i've learned a very crucial lesson this morning. someone you loved and someone you love are not always the same person. do i understand that sometimes i have to love you with my reserve tank? absolutely. for instance. sometimes you're going to be busy and he's going to be busy and you're not going to have the time you would like to spend together (time necessary to renew your love). in times like that, go to your reserve tank. if you both decided to be faithful, then be that. stick it out because you said you would, even when sometimes you might not feel like it. go the extra mile and do little things that let the person know that this love is still here even when you/he can't be. but let's not forget...RESERVE TANKS ONLY GET YOU SO FAR. THEY ONLY CARRY YOU TO THE REST STOP TO REFILL, RECOUP AND GET BACK ON THE ROAD. some of you (and i have once upon a time) are running your reserve tanks dry without even making it to the rest stop.
if he/she is not the person (or a better version of the person) you loved in 96 anymore then you can do two things: 1. find the person you loved in 96 or 2. realize that it's 2011 and find someone you can love now.
if i knew then what i know now.
So today on Twitter I read something about a few people collecting advice for young women ages 12-18. I'll be honest, I didn't research further into the project because I was doing too much but it did give me something to think about on my drive to work. Naturally, I have a deep interest in female empowerment (blame it on the fact that I have six sisters) so I'm a little sad that I didn't get to participate. But since we're here and this website is the home of female greatness I thought hard about what I wish someone would have told me when I was a teenybopper struggling with puberty, boys and stuffing my bra.
1. Be mad but under no circumstance should you be destructive. (Someone should have told me that when I was playing Angela Bassett in my very own episode of "He's Cheating On Me and She Ain't Even White."
2. Never talk in absolutes, you'll always be wrong. (Ironic but true)
3. You don't get OVER bad things that happen to you, you get THROUGH them. You have to learn to live through the pain.
4. Time does NOT heal all wounds. It's what you do in that time that can help you heal. Furthermore, if what you do in that time is not productive to your problem, then you are not being productive enough
5. Happiness takes practice. (I gave myself the task of eliminating what I want to appreciate what I already have, but that's just me)
6. Scraped knees leave scars but that doesn't mean you have to stop wearing skirts. Broken hearts leave scars too but that doesn't mean you have to stop loving. In both cases, just find a better method.
7. Your ex boyfriend doesn't have to be your LAST boyfriend.
8. Some women can have sex without emotion. Someone women can't. Find out which one you are as soon as possible. You might have to have sex to do it though.
9. Your mother is sometimes just that. Sometimes she won't be able to be your friend but just remember she has a job to do. Besides, you can have tons of friends but you only have one mother.
10. Not every girl wants a man like her daddy. Some of our daddies aren't men to begin with.
11. You know how you like compliments? Other people do too. Give them freely. They're the cheapest gifts on the planet!
12. Ask your GYN all the questions you ask your silly homegirls. I guarantee she will have the RIGHT answer. As for the homegirls, that's always up in the air because they're learning just like you.
13. Smile. (That's it)
14. You should be the first one to experiment with your own body. Don't you dare be somebody's test dummy. That's what cadavers are for.
15. Read and check your own damn spelling.
 |
| my teenybopper days |
17. Love yourself more than anybody else. You are your biggest investment. Once you realize that, other people will too.
18. Learn how to do your own hair and manicure. If you have to cancel a date because your hairdresser is out of town, you're going to miss out on something special. Besides, free dinners are hard to come by.
20. Speaking of dinner, always carry enough money to pay for the whole bill plus tip. Nothing screams independent more than the ability to hold your own weight AND carry someone else's. I'm not telling you to do it, I'm just telling you that it's good to know that you can if you have to.
21. Showing your ass is unacceptable. Literally and figuratively.
22. In your purse, always have a pen, a piece of paper, lip gloss, Tylenol/Advil, a tampon/pad and clear nail polish. You will thank me later.
23. Fall in love. You're not supposed to find someone to catch you. You're supposed to find someone who will lay right there with you, where you fell that is.
24. Stretchmarks are not cancer. They will not kill you. Granted nobody likes them but they can still like YOU.
25. If you dress up to go to the club, dress up to go to church. You're going to dress up for a man who may or may not buy you a drink but you won't dress up for the one who died for you? Let's be serious.
26. For some reason, our society associates femininty and weakness so much so that it seems like they're synonyms. They're NOT. (For instance, if somebody's weak or emotional, they're called p***y, but there's nothing weak about the vagina. Birthing mankind is not an easy task)
27. You cannot control how you feel but you can control how you behave so please do.
28. It's ok to only paint the two toes that show in your peep toe shoes but under no circumstances can you take those shoes off unless you are in the privacy of your own home.
29. No expectations, no disappointments is bullsh.t. Pardon my language. Expect to be disappointed and when it comes, be disappointed. That's ok. That's a part of life. You know why? Because you're going to disappoint someone too. Just accept the cycle.
30. Last but not least. Do your homework. I just found out that there are more smart people than hardworking people. You decide which competition you have better odds with.
One more thing before I go!
To all the women with UNIQUE names, don't let ANYONE forget it. Whether it's my boss or the customer service representative on the phone, my name is what it is and you WILL call me as such.
Now, go be great because I know you can be.
Bonus: Never lose your character for someone who doesn't have any.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
what dreams are really made of
what are dreams made of?
they are made of the throbbing veins in your wrist
the shudder in your voice when you tell the truth to someone who wishes you were lying
the moment your heart skips a beat in the symphony you call magic
dreams exist there
between hovering bed sheets with night lights making shadows on embossed walls
where nightmares are not welcome
this is where dreams are manufactured
hand made and threaded by the finest silk
spoken in languages handed down by God himself where rhythms roll off the tongue in place of syllables
your eyelashes flapping like the wings of butterflies whispering to your pupils that they're going to witness a transformation
dreams are made out of the sound from a little girl's laughter and a little boy's sobs
made out of the sound of rushing water against the arms of a woman learning to stay afloat in rising waters
out of the sound a man makes when he sees the woman he loves waiting at the end of the altar for him
the sweet exhale of forever...
that's what dreams are made of
they are made out of the wax candles that warm an entire room
out of the smell of a woman's hair and the perfume of her delicate wrist
dreams are made of moving parts that reflect history, that are impressions of greatness and monuments of potential
dreams are made out of a beauty that hasn't been defined in the languages we've acknowledged so far
i tell you
dreams are a funny thing
because the only time i've been dreaming is when i've been wide awake
walking down city streets with my shoes clicking like the pulse of my stride
smiling at strangers who don't feel like strangers anymore once they brush their fingertips against my collarbone or place their palm in the small of my back
dreams are made of moments that transform reality to the point that we realize it can be changed
dreams are waiting on the wings we need to fly
so do your dreams a favor and soar.
they are made of the throbbing veins in your wrist
the shudder in your voice when you tell the truth to someone who wishes you were lying
the moment your heart skips a beat in the symphony you call magic
dreams exist there
between hovering bed sheets with night lights making shadows on embossed walls
where nightmares are not welcome
this is where dreams are manufactured
hand made and threaded by the finest silk
spoken in languages handed down by God himself where rhythms roll off the tongue in place of syllables
your eyelashes flapping like the wings of butterflies whispering to your pupils that they're going to witness a transformation
dreams are made out of the sound from a little girl's laughter and a little boy's sobs
made out of the sound of rushing water against the arms of a woman learning to stay afloat in rising waters
out of the sound a man makes when he sees the woman he loves waiting at the end of the altar for him
the sweet exhale of forever...
that's what dreams are made of
they are made out of the wax candles that warm an entire room
out of the smell of a woman's hair and the perfume of her delicate wrist
dreams are made of moving parts that reflect history, that are impressions of greatness and monuments of potential
dreams are made out of a beauty that hasn't been defined in the languages we've acknowledged so far
i tell you
dreams are a funny thing
because the only time i've been dreaming is when i've been wide awake
walking down city streets with my shoes clicking like the pulse of my stride
smiling at strangers who don't feel like strangers anymore once they brush their fingertips against my collarbone or place their palm in the small of my back
dreams are made of moments that transform reality to the point that we realize it can be changed
dreams are waiting on the wings we need to fly
so do your dreams a favor and soar.
this is...umm...well...
"my man" sounds way too possessive
"my boyfriend" sounds elementary
"my boo" sounds like a line out of an R&B song
"significant other" sounds like an option on my tax form
i posed the question, is there any term to describe the 'him' in a woman's life that doesn't sound overbearing, possessive, immature and/or detached?
@bhargette referred me to chrisette michele's song love is you, which states "love is quite simple, he's just my guy."
enough said.
"my boyfriend" sounds elementary
"my boo" sounds like a line out of an R&B song
"significant other" sounds like an option on my tax form
i posed the question, is there any term to describe the 'him' in a woman's life that doesn't sound overbearing, possessive, immature and/or detached?
@bhargette referred me to chrisette michele's song love is you, which states "love is quite simple, he's just my guy."
enough said.
tragedies.
i have a wedding to go to and i'm hoping that it restores, rather gives me some faith in love and relationships. the last few days have been a blur. my head was probably throbbing in place of my heart. in a space where i feel i should be candid, i'm only acquiring more secrets. life has a funny way of making me feel so dead inside.
i believe in tragedies
people burned at the stake
children offered up for sacrifices
and rapes that are so terrible that we call it bad sex instead of forced sex just so we can sleep at night
yeah
i believe in tragedies
true accounts of blood and tears shed in the wake of wars we don't know we're fighting
where fairy godmothers are replaced by nonchalant stepmothers who turn their eye to what daddies do in the dark
i believe in tragedies that haunt generations of goodness
stain premature panties
and liplock with locked lips
secrets kept under pink tongues and in the crevices of ivory teeth
i know tragedies
where brothers are slaves to their whoring mothers and false idols to their adoring sisters
where mothers love men more than their children
and children love men more than their mothers
i know tragedies
tragedies so dark not even god shines light on them
not allah
not yahweh
not even hay-soos (jesus) running the bodega on the corner even bothers to look outside his window for
forty days and forty nights of tragedies
one. papa you broke mama's heart
two. mama you let him
three. how come you never told me you loved me?
four. i sought the same love that you poisoned her with
five. i'm just a whore following your example
six. i prayed for you and now i see you're the devil himself
seven. those weren't bad dreams, they are bad memories
eight. that's how old i was when i realized how young i would never be
nine. saw you shoot cocaine and watched it shoot you back
ten. fingers. ten. toes. still not made whole.
eleven. how many years until your secret expired
twelve. the price we pay for having you around is one we can't afford
thirteen. of us.
fourteen. my body became a woman without me
fifteen. school is more important than kissing on corners but you don't give me credit for that
sixteen. wasn't so sweet at all. puberty can be so bitter.
seventeen. in state meant in house and that wasn't good enough for me
eighteen. yet and still, i came back with more luggage than what i'd left with
nineteen. your whore gave birth to an angel
twenty. and my name isn't magdalene and her name ain't jesus
twenty one. i value the days of scraped knees instead of broken hearts
twenty two. two stepped until midnight and woke up in the dress from the night before.
twenty three. the moonlight dances on my eyelids. his hands are warmed by my thighs. my breast press up against his tattoos. we're not in love but we're in love grinding to the baseline of our hormones. stacked against pedicured toes on ceramic walls, the mirror takes pictures of a night we can never forget and i stain his lips with my kiss. he makes my eyes roll so far in the back of my head i can see what i was thinking yesterday right into today...
twenty four. hours in a day. years in a life
i believe in tragedies
i believe that tragedies put make up on and call it couture
i believe that tragedies dress up like whores but are only misdirected virgins
i believe that tragedies are scars dressed up as beauty marks in private places
i believe in tragedies
harmful, deadly, sickening tragedies
that we stuff in suitcases dragging behind us until our heels bleed and our souls scream for some salvation
life goes on but tragedies?
they don't move an inch.
i believe in tragedies
people burned at the stake
children offered up for sacrifices
and rapes that are so terrible that we call it bad sex instead of forced sex just so we can sleep at night
yeah
i believe in tragedies
true accounts of blood and tears shed in the wake of wars we don't know we're fighting
where fairy godmothers are replaced by nonchalant stepmothers who turn their eye to what daddies do in the dark
i believe in tragedies that haunt generations of goodness
stain premature panties
and liplock with locked lips
secrets kept under pink tongues and in the crevices of ivory teeth
i know tragedies
where brothers are slaves to their whoring mothers and false idols to their adoring sisters
where mothers love men more than their children
and children love men more than their mothers
i know tragedies
tragedies so dark not even god shines light on them
not allah
not yahweh
not even hay-soos (jesus) running the bodega on the corner even bothers to look outside his window for
forty days and forty nights of tragedies
one. papa you broke mama's heart
two. mama you let him
three. how come you never told me you loved me?
four. i sought the same love that you poisoned her with
five. i'm just a whore following your example
six. i prayed for you and now i see you're the devil himself
seven. those weren't bad dreams, they are bad memories
eight. that's how old i was when i realized how young i would never be
nine. saw you shoot cocaine and watched it shoot you back
ten. fingers. ten. toes. still not made whole.
eleven. how many years until your secret expired
twelve. the price we pay for having you around is one we can't afford
thirteen. of us.
fourteen. my body became a woman without me
fifteen. school is more important than kissing on corners but you don't give me credit for that
sixteen. wasn't so sweet at all. puberty can be so bitter.
seventeen. in state meant in house and that wasn't good enough for me
eighteen. yet and still, i came back with more luggage than what i'd left with
nineteen. your whore gave birth to an angel
twenty. and my name isn't magdalene and her name ain't jesus
twenty one. i value the days of scraped knees instead of broken hearts
twenty two. two stepped until midnight and woke up in the dress from the night before.
twenty three. the moonlight dances on my eyelids. his hands are warmed by my thighs. my breast press up against his tattoos. we're not in love but we're in love grinding to the baseline of our hormones. stacked against pedicured toes on ceramic walls, the mirror takes pictures of a night we can never forget and i stain his lips with my kiss. he makes my eyes roll so far in the back of my head i can see what i was thinking yesterday right into today...
twenty four. hours in a day. years in a life
i believe in tragedies
i believe that tragedies put make up on and call it couture
i believe that tragedies dress up like whores but are only misdirected virgins
i believe that tragedies are scars dressed up as beauty marks in private places
i believe in tragedies
harmful, deadly, sickening tragedies
that we stuff in suitcases dragging behind us until our heels bleed and our souls scream for some salvation
life goes on but tragedies?
they don't move an inch.
a combination of experiences
i know there have been pauses in my writing.
i have to live this life before i write it all down.
and as much as i want to, ican't won't apologize for that.
i have to live this life before i write it all down.
and as much as i want to, i
water your plants
@redotnofeather tweeted "when you can't find your roots, you lose faith in trees."
please tug at the very roots of me
and shine your sun so deep into my soil that the moon reflects off my branches
and call them holy
stand on the dirt and sink your feet into my nerves
feel the blood rush through the nile of my veins and give you the very life you breathe from
bathe in still waters that make mud pies from malnourished fingers
be the skinny that forgives the fat
and be the fat that does not envy the thin
be righteous in where you stand and in what you give
what honor does shape hold if its direction is not humble enough to worship the sun?
we are all seeds planted
from the hands of farmers who were once liars, sadists, republicans, slaves, slaveowners
some of us grew up on plains with grass for miles
other cramped in sidewalk cracks
but we are all seeds
tiny in a universe so dense
yet filled with the potential to be commanding
to be different
to be the tallest tree in the land we own
but let us never forget
that even the tallest tree bends its head back
with its branches outstretched
facing the sun
thanking the sun
honoring the sun
asking the sun to rise one more time to inspire its leaves to bloom
who are we if our feet are not planted firmly
if our bark is not tough enough to face a thousand bitter winters
and forgiving enough to welcome a thousand more sweltering summers?
who are we if we are not planted?
if we are not seeds, who are we to grow?
just putting this out there
i met my soulmate, if there's ever such a thing, in 2004. it's 2011 and i still don't know what that means.
the little things
i'm not engaged.
the sound of lauryn hill's voice gives me goosebumps. even when she's just speaking and especially when she's singing.
i'm wearing white panties and white leggings. i'm breaking all the rules, but i'm not leaving the house so the fashion police can't catch me!
i had a blueberry waffle and six ritz crackers for breakfast. living on the edge.
i don't have a headache.
i don't have a headache.
i don't have a headache.
for all these things, i am thankful.
the sound of lauryn hill's voice gives me goosebumps. even when she's just speaking and especially when she's singing.
i'm wearing white panties and white leggings. i'm breaking all the rules, but i'm not leaving the house so the fashion police can't catch me!
i had a blueberry waffle and six ritz crackers for breakfast. living on the edge.
i don't have a headache.
i don't have a headache.
i don't have a headache.
for all these things, i am thankful.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
little women
little boys play with us like barbie dolls on sunday afternoons with sleeping parents in the next room
silicone breasts and disproportionate thighs get mishandled through the sunshine of project windows
the dusk falls over our shoulders like an invitation for monsters to come out of the closet
but we don't know fear
the darkest of actions happen in the light of day
so monsters couldn't scare us unless they looked like us
unless they had our eyes and mimicked our tiny hands
no one was afraid of what we didn't know
whatever had us clutch rosary beads
and count enough hail mary's to find God in her was right in front of us
right between us
hand prints on our inner thighs grasping the very life of us
the immortality of a sacred womb, a pure womb
the womb, not with a child but within a child
we were barbie dolls playing house of horrors with sleeping parents in the next room
torn princess panties and stained undershirts
g.i. joe was in the business of saving lives, not virginities
and so we played quietly into our own destinies
not knowing that childhood games would turn into adult issues
and dares would turn into truths we would never speak of
we imagined ourselves to be in the likeness of snow white and cinderella
but an evil stepmother is better than a wicked brother or an uncle who gives you poison in the shape of apples and tells you it's good for you
we were young but more importantly we were fragile
we were shards of experiences bundled under the stench of similac in between stinging double dutch ropes
bouncing off the pavement straight into the land of nightmares
we peed the bed just so no one would sleep in it with us
because no one did any sleeping
tossing our bodies instead of turning the pages in coloring books
little boys played with us like barbie dolls
until games were not just songs anymore
until sleepless nightmares turned into therapy sessions
until girls decided to kill themselves and let women take over
we were not born barbie dolls
we will not die barbie dolls
but we never had the chance to be little girls instead
silicone breasts and disproportionate thighs get mishandled through the sunshine of project windows
the dusk falls over our shoulders like an invitation for monsters to come out of the closet
but we don't know fear
the darkest of actions happen in the light of day
so monsters couldn't scare us unless they looked like us
unless they had our eyes and mimicked our tiny hands
no one was afraid of what we didn't know
whatever had us clutch rosary beads
and count enough hail mary's to find God in her was right in front of us
right between us
hand prints on our inner thighs grasping the very life of us
the immortality of a sacred womb, a pure womb
the womb, not with a child but within a child
we were barbie dolls playing house of horrors with sleeping parents in the next room
torn princess panties and stained undershirts
g.i. joe was in the business of saving lives, not virginities
and so we played quietly into our own destinies
not knowing that childhood games would turn into adult issues
and dares would turn into truths we would never speak of
we imagined ourselves to be in the likeness of snow white and cinderella
but an evil stepmother is better than a wicked brother or an uncle who gives you poison in the shape of apples and tells you it's good for you
we were young but more importantly we were fragile
we were shards of experiences bundled under the stench of similac in between stinging double dutch ropes
bouncing off the pavement straight into the land of nightmares
we peed the bed just so no one would sleep in it with us
because no one did any sleeping
tossing our bodies instead of turning the pages in coloring books
little boys played with us like barbie dolls
until games were not just songs anymore
until sleepless nightmares turned into therapy sessions
until girls decided to kill themselves and let women take over
we were not born barbie dolls
we will not die barbie dolls
but we never had the chance to be little girls instead
sugarcane
for the man who can't seem to understand that my greatest expression of love is in his mirror
for the man who can't fathom that real love is so rare, it seems like a cubic zirconia in the company of diamonds
for the him who never noticed that 'man' was embedded in 'woman' long before we met and since meeting, it's more than accurate
for the him that believes in showing love before admitting you've found it
this is my compromise
the sun breathed down my neck
had me sweating maple syrup from my pores
i palmed your heart as it beat its pulse into the lines that made my fingerprints
so everything i touched, i gave life to
making everything so precious, so fragile that i placed bones over that heart not to bury it but to protect it
i made ribs out of you
i sawed
and i clawed
until the dust from the shape of your soul piled up next to me
and i called them ashes as your spirit took flight into the wind
i made smoke out of you
swirling smoke
that signaled that somewhere i was burning inside
as the sun breathed down my neck
had me sweating maple syrup from my pores
you called me sweet
and made sugar out of me so good i had to taste it right off your lips
that's why we kiss
i made love out of you
i made love out of you
i walked for miles on that love
my pedicure begged me to stop, to slow down, to catch a ride even
but i walked for miles determined to bring you home
i dug you out of the ground where she buried you
where she left you under a tombstone like death had become acquaintances with your voice
i made sound out of you
moaning, skin slapping, hands clapping
even tears spoke with the sound i made from your soul
i took my time and i molded you out of gratitude, out of compassion, out of a sex so good i even told my mother about it
i sculpted you into broad shoulders and piercing eyes
a curved spine and perfect teeth
i built you with the very hands that she buried you with
i dug into the dirt not to find you but to lay there with you until you found a way to borrow my heartbeat and make. your. own. heart. beat.
i breathed my life into you
i let you climb on top of me in that dirt, in that earth
and let you spin and rotate your axis into my universe
i made planets from your sperm
children of the sky that all revolve around you
look like you
smell like you
that look to you from wherever they are just to make sure that you're still moving
you are the son of my craft
but i am the sun of your life
and while everyone thinks you are just a revolving planet that uses my light to make your own eyes sparkle
i know better because you are my star to a woman whose never known a dark night with you
i bleed you
i made wounds out of you
dark, bruised wounds where tragedies can only tell stories
and salt is only a condiment
i made history out of you
with a name so legendary that the presence cannot possess it
now you tower over me like pyramids in egypt
shaking your bricks under your maker
sweating under your skin while the whole world comes to stare at you because they don't know how you got here
i built 'here' for you
laid the land flat so you could grow from it
made rain out of my tears so you could drink it
made milk from my breasts just for you to know that your children would never grow hungry
i made life out of you
pulses from our throbbing
breath from our touch
heartbeats from the beat of your heart on top of mine
i made life out of you
precious
beautiful
life out of you
the sun breathed down my neck
had me sweating maple syrup from my pores
i fed our babies that sugar and named them cane
how sweet it is.
for the man who can't fathom that real love is so rare, it seems like a cubic zirconia in the company of diamonds
for the him who never noticed that 'man' was embedded in 'woman' long before we met and since meeting, it's more than accurate
for the him that believes in showing love before admitting you've found it
this is my compromise
the sun breathed down my neck
had me sweating maple syrup from my pores
i palmed your heart as it beat its pulse into the lines that made my fingerprints
so everything i touched, i gave life to
making everything so precious, so fragile that i placed bones over that heart not to bury it but to protect it
i made ribs out of you
i sawed
and i clawed
until the dust from the shape of your soul piled up next to me
and i called them ashes as your spirit took flight into the wind
i made smoke out of you
swirling smoke
that signaled that somewhere i was burning inside
as the sun breathed down my neck
had me sweating maple syrup from my pores
you called me sweet
and made sugar out of me so good i had to taste it right off your lips
that's why we kiss
i made love out of you
i made love out of you
i walked for miles on that love
my pedicure begged me to stop, to slow down, to catch a ride even
but i walked for miles determined to bring you home
i dug you out of the ground where she buried you
where she left you under a tombstone like death had become acquaintances with your voice
i made sound out of you
moaning, skin slapping, hands clapping
even tears spoke with the sound i made from your soul
i took my time and i molded you out of gratitude, out of compassion, out of a sex so good i even told my mother about it
i sculpted you into broad shoulders and piercing eyes
a curved spine and perfect teeth
i built you with the very hands that she buried you with
i dug into the dirt not to find you but to lay there with you until you found a way to borrow my heartbeat and make. your. own. heart. beat.
i breathed my life into you
i let you climb on top of me in that dirt, in that earth
and let you spin and rotate your axis into my universe
i made planets from your sperm
children of the sky that all revolve around you
look like you
smell like you
that look to you from wherever they are just to make sure that you're still moving
you are the son of my craft
but i am the sun of your life
and while everyone thinks you are just a revolving planet that uses my light to make your own eyes sparkle
i know better because you are my star to a woman whose never known a dark night with you
i bleed you
i made wounds out of you
dark, bruised wounds where tragedies can only tell stories
and salt is only a condiment
i made history out of you
with a name so legendary that the presence cannot possess it
now you tower over me like pyramids in egypt
shaking your bricks under your maker
sweating under your skin while the whole world comes to stare at you because they don't know how you got here
i built 'here' for you
laid the land flat so you could grow from it
made rain out of my tears so you could drink it
made milk from my breasts just for you to know that your children would never grow hungry
i made life out of you
pulses from our throbbing
breath from our touch
heartbeats from the beat of your heart on top of mine
i made life out of you
precious
beautiful
life out of you
the sun breathed down my neck
had me sweating maple syrup from my pores
i fed our babies that sugar and named them cane
how sweet it is.
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