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. 

Monogamy

Isn't this the cutest song?  Monogamy in music…I love.

Vocals that sound like sex

I am speechless.

My Sentiments Exactly

I can't talk about my love anymore, well I won't.  That seems to work for everyone BUT me.  However, this song has to be one of the most realistic depictions of love I've EVER heard.  I know a love like this though - an innocent type of love like puppies that scratch you when they just want your attention.  It can be such a beautiful thing in a narrow space. 


A sweet love, that only knows how to exist and not behave.  We all have to grow up eventually and outgrow the puppy loves but reminiscing happens.  It happens a lot.

A Conversation I've Had with Myself

Jill Scott Hear My Call.


The video won't play outside of YouTube so you really have to click it to enjoy.  


"Love has burned me raw"


Sometimes you just have to seek a higher source when you feel that low.  Isn't that the irony of space and time?  Life is clearly full of extremes and spectrums that require a very necessary balance.  And healing?  Well, it hurts to even admit that you're hurting so healing is a pain in itself.  Something like birth, you'll end up losing a piece of yourself only to carry the most beautiful parts of it with you afterward.

Speak your piece, I'm listening...

Sharing :)  Golden Rebirth written by ACNIMMONS


This was simply beautiful if beautiful could ever be simple.  There's so much in this poem that I'm in love with.  "The air I breathed, it was sexy to me,"  "I polish the darkened sky red,"and  "So I crawled out the rabbit hole with the grace of a spider" - DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP as hell, so deep this sounds like a sonnet good enough to tempt the devil into heaven again.  Damn. ::wipes forehead::

Black girls rock

Black girls rock.  The event aired the other night and twitter was in an uproar.  Women all over my timeline were celebrating each other!  It was exciting to see.  Now usually, women don't bash each other SO much that this was crazy but it is rare that a unified movement happens.  I will be the first to say, I'm tough on women.  I'm disgusted by hoe activities and the mistress' running around.  I told myself I wouldn't deal with someone who was already in a relationship anymore and it's been one part of my growth process that I am actually proud of.  (If and when I've slipped, disappointment sets in) Anyway, I'm not judging women that do it, because each situation is unique and emotions are unpredictable however I do want more for them and settling for anything less or inadequate just disgusts me on so many levels.  We're at an age where we can learn and apply it so as far as accepting the excuses, I won't.  Back to the the point, women were celebrating and the men were bashing us - as per usual.  Either they were saying that every other race of woman rocks, which let me just say that there is NO race of woman that wasn't birthed and raised by the BLACK WOMAN.  They were also saying that we were too busy hoeing and being basic to rock.  Now though I agree, that is happening somewhere in the world right now by a few women considered Black, the truth is, we're not ALL doing it.  


Considering Black men and women BOTH started at the bottom of the socioeconomic totem pole via slavery, Black women have made the most strides for any one race.  Black men, not so much.  Yeah their numbers in college have increased but there's more Black men in jail than there were slaves in 1850.  That's basic, that's hoeing.  Sometimes people think that their scope only includes the people they know.  That's simply not true.  We're not perfect but we're an example.  Of course I understand that they're joking but are they? I questioned their motives considering these men have Black mothers to which they brought up that their mothers were not as basic as this generation of women and managed to raise all their children on their own.  As a mother and as a woman who has a mother, that is one of the highest accomplishments there is but that does not degrade the path that we (this generation) is on.  The two generations are incomparable considering that most women in this age gap haven't even had their children yet and isn't it some kind of commendable that we are raising ourselves to be the best parent we can be for children that we will raise later?  Yes some mothers raised a large amount of children by themselves but that's a job that you sign up for.  You had them, you raise them.  It's nice when people appreciate that accomplishment but I and most mothers I know don't wake up every day seeking reward.  We made our bed and now we have to lie in it literally.  Thank you for the credit but mentally, how much credit should we get for doing what we're supposed to do?  And for the women raising these children by themselves, wouldn't that mean that Black men are missing?  So we rock, because WE ARE THE ROCK. 


This generation of women has a lot more to accomplish but we have also accomplished a lot.  We are running nearly 75% of homes, we have penetrated corporate America by holding down a significant percentage in high positions within fortune 500 companies, we have incredible rates of attending AND graduating college and the percentage of women doing something positive and lucrative is much higher than the percentage of women in videos portraying otherwise.  This is not to bash Black men, they have made their strides.  But as a Black man, choose your words carefully.  Yes, your mother did an amazing job but it's this generation of women that will be the mother of your children.  Before you criticize how we run our lives, how about joining us and being a part of them?  Before you praise another nationality of women for being exotic please ask yourselves what is more exotic than being the mother of civilization, than running kingdoms under your manicured nails and birthing mankind?  Before you go into how basic we are, please remind yourselves that freedom is a basic human right and you barely have that as many of you occupy a box that should have been a cubicle but sadly, it's not.  Before you even step to our front door with your criticisms please take note.  We have raised you, we have loved you, we have marched for you, we have raised your children in your absence, we have cried for you, we have sat on the other side of the glass waiting for the day to hold you again so how dare you think of us as anything less than queens?  You?!  Not you good brother. Not you.  And I understand, we as women have to hold ourselves to those standards, we have to believe that we are beautiful but don't forget we face a society that reminds us how imperfect we are as well.  You don't have to jump on the bandwagon.  You don't have to agree.  When we're feeling down or whether we're feeling good about ourselves, the least you could do is appreciate what we've done and believe in what we can do.


Black girls rock because WE ARE THE ROCK and if you, the Black man cannot see that, you will be kicking rocks for a few more centuries.

Beauty in Gray and White

Y'all know I love her.  Y'all know I do! Go ahead Rihanna.

My friends will tell you that I make this face at least 3 times a day.

I also make this face quite often.

My Celebrity Twin

Kerry Washington

And she's from the BRONX!

Growth

Hola beautiful people!  My posts have become more conversational over the last few days.  I'm squeezing in writing whenever I get a chance and I feel like I have so much to say and not enough space.  This phase is euphoria for a writer, the things that books are made of.  And sometimes if you don't see me writing here, trust that I'm writing somewhere.  Moving right along…


I'm getting older
Wisdom creaks between my once soft bones
Seasoned with weathering love and ferocious storms
The shadows of men in the neck of my collarbone 
And the grace of women watching the view from my cleavage
Looking in the mirror and seeing my grandmother's eyes staring back at me
Watching my hands transform into my mother's not necessarily soft but necessary nonetheless
Having the urge to delete voicemails from the past
Loving me from a space and time like stars in the constellation
Their light is reaching me far too late
The residual simmer of possibility
Though it's beautiful, I want to make stars instead of remembering them, wishing on them
Banking on the hard work of someone else
Their tears twinkling and how I've convinced myself that it's faith
Older
Wiser
Knowing no man is ever kept until I lose myself somewhere
Thus me learning to close my grandmother's eyes and open my mother's hands to a love that's a compass
A love that's substantial
That nourishes without destroying
That can remain quiet without being silent
Much like the desert, once an ocean, never bitter 
Always potent
Loving in the future tense
Knowing that who I've been and who I've loved is no indication of who I will be and who I should love but rather the boxes of hopscotch 
It's not till the very end that I can stand on my own two feet
Breathing heavy from hopping
Standing firm from travel
Loving the battle
Older and wiser
Childhood games were never made for grown women
But grown women were made from childhood games

Casual Friday Editions

So, the story around town is that some jobs participate in Casual Fridays.  There can be such an advantage when you don't have to wear tie or a girdle to work.  Amen.  However see that this is the first post of this series, I'm going to lay down a few ground rules.


1.  Under no circumstances should you wear a line jacket with all of your pledge process memories to work, especially when you're pushing 45.  Why not?  Because 1. You most likely pledged in college. 2.  You are since removed from said college. 3.  That probably means that your line jacket is probably older than some of your coworkers.  I need you to chill. 


2.  Now I love me a head tie BUT wearing it AT work?  We have got to draw the line.  And not only we will NOT wear it to work, MEN…you can't wear it either! I don't care how recent you jus got your locks retwisted. No. Hell no.  No to the hell. 


3. If you cannot stand/walk in your heels, work is not the place to test that out.  Save your practice for your bedroom where no one will judge you for your leaning heels and your plastic pairs.


Last but certainly not least, no matter the dress code for your job, DRESS TO FLATTER YOURSELF.  If you wear a uniform and it looks crazy, get it tailored.  If you wear your own clothes, find something that works for your shape, your size, your complexion and your budget. Dress for the position you want, not the position you have. If you don't take yourself seriously, no one will.  


Shoutout to Ms. Fairydust for this idea.  See you next Friday!

Heaven

I used to love freely
Like birds going south
Gliding on the wings of indifference
Seeking warmth like it was the tradition of Sunday morning and biscuits in the oven
I used to love freely
Like little girls in the sandbox whose mothers talked about love with men they no longer knew
but no wedding ring is one size fits all
I used to harmonize my moans into his favorite song
the kind of song that turned nightmares into lullabies 
and bad men into doable lovers
Sometimes I find myself loving behind stained glass
Distorted by the very colors meant to put it together
But I used to love freely to men that were tied down by their own humanity
And now I love divinely 
With God using my shoulder as his throne to remind me
Heaven was never amongst the clouds
It was always in our hands

Nature's Protege

I see yellow dust flicker into the sky when you speak

Like gold flakes from your lips, the touch of King Midas on your words

Watched you carve waterfalls from the palms of your hands and heard you invite the Nile to take note

Grew envious of the angels bathing in your creation

Their wings dripping with your artistry, their mascara smeared with your sweat

I believed you could make the world in eight days, just because you’re too Christian to upstage God

But seeing as you were created in his likeness, Michelangelo illustrated the greatness of your palms on the concrete clouds of the Sistine chapel

And so your majesty is eternally laced in the cracks where people’s prayers creep into on their journey to heaven

I might have recognized your brilliance sooner had impostors not shackled my faith like milk cartons to light posts where dreams only lasted as long as aggressive three pointers

Swoosh

Nothing but net

And the rebound is always calculated and necessary

Bouncing back from being swallowed whole

I watch you and see the glory of heaven tattooed on your chest

The portrait of saints sculpted from the very dust of your ribs

Innocent children playing tic tac toe on the blocks of your rearranged spine

Lord

I can see our language reflect through the smoke of your skin

You are a craved piece of perfection

Idle to the threats of successors and indifferent to whatever the history books will say about you later

I know you now and you are love

Like syrup from the barks of maple trees

and honey from bees with only one life to live

You tug at my clothes like the wind

Carrying me into the vision of the elements

Appreciating my own participation in the storyline of nature

You breathed air into me and watched my chest rise

Birth is divine

But living is entirely human

The Resurrection

I kept referring to him as the love of my life until I realized I hadn't lived long enough.  I was tying myself down to a single experience, a single moment in time.  I had locked myself into the face of a dime when I had a full life of spare change left.  I held on to that time, locking myself in my own little snow globe, only to be shaken by the hands of somebody else, yet for the majority of time, collecting dust.  It was almost as if I just wanted to sit there, undisturbed, trapped in a cold memory, looking beautiful but never feeling that way.  I handed the responsibility of my love over to someone else and never asked took it back.  I was afraid to use my own love, like I hadn't bought and paid for it!  I almost felt guilty like I couldn't use the same love for another person.  But love is like DNA.  No two loves are the same.  They're not even reminiscent of one another.  Each journey into the depths of another soul has fingerprints like kisses, butterflies like hurricanes and clouds that New Yorkers could only see in Japan.  


I thought that I was demeaning my first love by attempting to have a second one, by learning to love subsequently, to love separately.  Who was I to love another man?  Who was I to love myself enough to deserve the love of more than one beating heart?  I was beating myself up, pulling my muscles into a coma, unused, atrophic with fear, crippled with the possibility of judgement.  I lived presently in the past tense knowing myself as the girl that loved instead of the girl that insisted on loving.  With all the verbiage on "true" love, I almost believed that loving again would be false, a counterfeit of currency that I had spent all in one place once upon a time.  I was torturing myself by letting my wounds stay wounds and not become stories.  How could I?  How could I let these scars remain marks of stretched time?  Why had I not let these caterpillars of my flesh become butterflies in the stomach of a man I have known, I have kissed, a man I have held?  It is my destiny to bloom, to transform, to evolve, to love wholeheartedly and a part of loving in that way is to love in the present tense, to keep loving.  I had denied myself the true in true love.  


The aching.
The fighting.
The sadness.
The lost time.
The time lost in waves of misdirection and angst.  I had loved myself, but not enough to love another again.  
Soul bare like my womb.  With the name of the buried etched in the corners of my veins and obituaries tattooed on the inside of my lips, speaking of the dead to scare off the living.
Overworked my own heart by not using it.  Overworked my own heart but clutching it so tight that it had to bleed through my fingertips. 
Left myself in a coma.  Men looking at me like I will never wake up again.
Any day now, they kept saying.  Any day now.


I woke up today, opened my heart like I opened my eyes.  
Let my heart beat between my breasts.
Let my butterflies sit in the palm of my hands to get their rest only to fly right onto his lips and be swallowed to flutter when he speaks my name.
Let my second love be as true as the first.  If not more beautiful, if not more succinct, if not more deliberate, if not more conscious and alive.
Let my second love resurrect me from beginning, play in the middle and end up at the end.
Whether in his arms or at the alter, I would find my way home only by first leaving it.
I am to love again.
I am to fall in love again.
I am to breathe again, to fall into the scent of another, to make memories on pillows that smell like angels, to make love from scratch with a set of ingredients no one has ever put together before. 
I am to live again by first understanding that a death in love is never eternal.  
Only the body can be so shallow but the soul is resilient.  
The soul is wanting.
The soul has always belonged to another, not to be deferred by a wrong turn, a lustful kiss or incapacitating sex.
I am to love again.
I am to fall again and find myself on the floor looking up at an angel reaching for my hand to carry me into the truest form of love there is for me - the resurrection.

Beautiful skin

Quite easily one of my favorite pictures in life
Will & Jada Pinkett Smith

courtesy of @toniichilds...