Something about the music.

Even though I was born on American soil, America was still a foreign queen to me.  I saluted her and praised her but I had no idea what it meant to be of her.  So I listened to rap, hip hop, freestyle battles - all of it - to hear what America sounded like.  I wanted to know why she made people cry, why she left some people to die and why so many were walking around hungry.  

So my relationship to music relates to my own identity, what it meant to be black and American - two things that don't fit very well together.  The music gave me a definition of self, something to cling on to when the reflection didn't seem to fit the spiritual.

Music.  It was the first to understand me and for that I owe it recognition.

Thank the worthy

melissa
you love me more than i deserve
my former self and my future self thank you in abundance for that

The Politics of Compassion

i appreciate you mira
for making it your job to remind the world that brown girls and boys have struggles that are often ignored, overlooked, abandoned, misrepresented and misunderstood
but i thank you for understanding that surviving all of those things is a community effort

The right hand

thank you tiffany
for teaching the intimacy of friendship
my soul always seems to find its way into your open arms

he's not that heavy, he's my brother.

à la teddy.
you know why the caged bird sings.
i've grown to your melody. thank you for the song in my bones.

Gracias

to the lightskinned girl named sioban.
i wish you knew what your own miracles felt like.
maybe one day, i'll write about them so you have an idea.
thank you.

But thank you.

thank you to dunni.
who believes my wisdom is as beautiful as my womanhood.
my angel with an afro for a halo.
God is her hairdresser. no one else must touch her crown.

Gratitude

thank you to my ex.
because you didn't realize my worth, you left me.
left me with enough time to calculate it for myself.

Appreciation

thank you quadir.

for being the sun i can bloom under.

for spending six years in my story.

for being a constant reminder that my evolution was indeed happening.

thank you.

Fifty Percent

press play...


I don't memorize anything but your smell so please excuse this piece of paper covering our entire relationship before me.

I stand here before you today taking 50% of the blame for us not working, for the failure of our bones rubbing into each other until they made dust, for the failure of our lips spewing more curse words than goodbye kisses, for the failure of having sperm and eggs and still unable to build a human better than ourselves.  I claim 50% of that, my love and I tax myself heavily for the charge of not loving you correctly.  Today, my hands are empty with the scent of you.  The lines across my palms are telephone wires that cannot bring us enough service to converse anymore. I stand before you with arthritis in my fingers from the cramps of writing you love letters every day.  I just wanted to make sure your baggage had reminders of good times in it. I mean, I always knew you would leave or I would leave or we'd leave each other in picture frames and text message conversations both of us would be too afraid to delete or remove.  I wanted to tell you that honestly, I wasn't that honest.  Your vagueness angered me because I knew far too well what was submerged behind smoke and mirrors.  I knew all too well what missing details meant and how we squeezed men and women into the crevices of what we called our busy lives.  I want to apologize for not apologizing enough.  

My perfume still lingers in your leather.  Strands of my hair are still tangled into the cotton thread of your pillows.  My dress lays in your closet right where you buried me and all that you felt for me.  I buried you too, into the corners of my mind where even God has learned not to disturb.  I can't even bring myself to mourn you aloud, can't bring myself to say that this kind of forever is permanent - the kind of forever that does not include you.  I look at all the energy channeled into something I could actually own, something I could look at and define as success.  I give you 50% of the profit called my womanhood.  I charge you 50% of the debt of wounds I've gathered loving, hating and missing you.  I won't bill you for the funeral I had for you, though it was condemning to rest my hopes and dreams six feet under the ground, it was freeing.  It was freeing to give you back to God.  I'm sure He needed an angel more than I needed a  marriage that would have ended in divorce anyway.  This is not to remind you that you are loved.  This is to acknowledge that you are unloved by me today, that my soul cannot wrinkle to your excuses or your memories.  My insides cannot churn into butter at the sight of skin.  My breath can no longer escape me when the sun hits your pupils like silver bullets into the flesh of men during World War II.  My steps cannot soften afraid to half step on your ego.  I cannot love you this way.  I cannot miss you tomorrow or the day after that.  I cannot love you.
I cannot.
And I wish for one thing - I wish for you to stop loving me enough that you visit me in my dreams.  You are not welcome here.  My heart is an international destination, its borders are closed off to the import of you.  This space is not US territory.  Please. Really leave me. Put on your shoes and run till your feet bleed and then keep running.  I will run the other way.  I will take 50% of the race in order for us to find separate finish lines.

Please.
Thank you.
Freed birds.
Shedding snakes.
Quiet snowfall.  
Erupting volcanoes.
Cracked sidewalks. 
Rough oceans.
Estranged lovers.
Don't worry about me calling you.  We can only call on the dead when we're ready to join them.
C'est la vie.

Neckties

I want to get you a necktie for Christmas.
That sounds incredibly simple and somewhat cliché
But I want to get you a necktie because neckties remind me of love
And all too often when you put a necktie on a boy, it reminds him too much of a noose
Suffocating a son not ready for love, a king not ready for his crown 
But when worn right and when the knot is tightened by loving fingers, the necktie is an adornment
A statement to the world that this morning, someone dressed you with love, even if that someone is you
The necktie rests gently next to collarbone vibrating from the power of your voice, protecting your Adam's apple because whatever you give a man, he consumes, even if it is sin
I want to give you a necktie for Christmas.
Something that will slow your morning down just a little bit so that you get it right
That you move your fingers into windsor knots and pull yourself together with the threads of my commitment
I want your office to say, "Nice tie" because neckties remind me of love
I want them to see you and indirectly say, "Beautiful love, you have there."
A beautiful piece of cloth sitting in between the nook and crannies of your ribs, to the right side of your heart drawing attention to the core of you
I want to make sure that you don't feel like there's a noose around your neck but rather a display of elegantly woven freedom
And when you take your necktie off after a long day of work, I want you to hold that love in your hand, hang it up and just be naked with me.

Smelled You in My Dreams

Being loved is a responsibility too many of us are not prepared for.  Sometimes I wish there was a license you could work for and acquire to prove that you were of age to be loved by someone, just like you are of age to buy liquor that gives you the same feeling anyway.  

He grew up on dirt roads and under scented rain, I wonder why he thought my skin was made of mansions and that I had eyes like corvettes.  Maybe he didn't realize that my brown skin was the dirt from the roads he ran over.  Maybe he didn't realize that the rain was just my tears overflowing.  Maybe he believed in me more than he believed in us and I wish I could have loved him better.  I was young back then.  I couldn't even form a complete sentence back then.  I knew the words but I had no purpose.  Having him was success enough.  Him loving me was enough of a finish line.

But I guess loving someone is not doing them a favor, it's making them responsible for being loved, requiring them to live to their own potential, demanding that they live each day without fear because they know that no matter what happens or doesn't happen, someone loves them.  

I dreamed him last night and do you remember the part in the song that says, "I smell you in my dreams?" That is true, by all the physics on Earth, it is true, even though it shouldn't be.  I smelled his neck as we embraced and I tiptoed just to get my arms around him.  It felt too familiar, felt too complete and I woke up wanting to drive to his house to wake him up to let him know that the dream we were both having is actually very real.  I wanted to bang on the door and walk over her shoes and shake him out of his sleep to tell him that she's cute, but she's not me and she was never chosen by God to love him like I do.  I wanted to tell her thank you for keeping him busy, for keeping him occupied, for taking care of him while I sewed the stitches of the wounds he left behind.  I wanted to show up and remind him that I'm not going anywhere, that even if he dies tomorrow, I will be in the front row of his funeral loving him till death do us part.  Because even if I was never good with my words, I was always good at loving him until the loyalty sprouted in my veins.  I will not be his victim or his ex but rather his Mary at the foot of his cross, never leaving his side even when they make a mockery of us.  Even when they tell me that his destiny is to die, is to be crucified, I will not leave him because this is the job that God gave me.  This is the seat God rested under me.  

I smelled him in my dreams last night.  I was too irresponsible to be loved back then.  Too wounded to be saved back then.  Too skeptical to believe that there was beauty in the fog.  Too ashamed to be transparent.  But I smelled him in my dreams last night and I know he keeps coming to visit me not because his bed is cold without me but rather because his heart is.

The Re-election

"For the immigrant daughter who studies in our schools and pledges to our flag."

 I was that child and because he thought of me in a nation of millions of unheard children, I voted twice to elect Barack Obama as the President of the United States.

And November 6, 2012, the unheard children were finally heard.

Redirection

In any relationship, whether it's friendship, work, or an intimate one, respect has to be established.  We have to interact with one another with the intention of leaving the other person in a better place than when we arrived.  It feels like too many times, we are crashing into one another with rushed experiences and no intentions.  Do you buy food with no intention of eating it?  So then why do so many of us join each other's lives without first examining our true intentions. Why do so many of us feel uncomfortable with requiring other people to take responsibility for knowing what they want or don't want to add to our lives?

It's a funny realization when you take the blame for your own misfortune, when you take responsibility for your own successes and failures.  And sometimes it's discouraging when you don't even recognize yourself anymore and people still hold on to who you once were.  It is difficult when people are still calling you a name you no longer answer to.  The worst part of that is waiting for apologies from your murderers - the people that killed you, the people that robbed you, the people who left the worst scars.  When you've been a victim for so long being a survivor is strange territory.  Stop waiting for an apology for a victim that no longer exists.  

Stop praying to a god you no longer worship.  Stop following a path to a destination you no longer want to be in.  I guess all of these once frustrated me about myself.  I was too loyal to dreams that turned into nightmares, men that turned into memories and jobs that turned into unhealthy but fiscally responsible habits.  I'm not that young and not that old and even still, time has been wasted.  Stop wasting the time and the life that you were not even guaranteed.  

It's ok to change your mind.  It's not ok to work on autopilot so much that you don't use your mind.

Single Friends...

Just some inspiration..

The Journey!

Beauty

But Ms. Jill Scott is stunning....

Mr. President

Our President has a sense of humor.  I like that.

The Cruz Theory

I believe in dialogue. I value the tough conversations. I believe in breaking things/people apart to find out what put them together in the first place.  You want a difficult conversation? I went to school and majored in tough conversations. That's my thing. 

I think the human race doesn't have enough of them and in our efforts to function, we often forget to maintain.  We forget to go to the basics. We spend so much time trying to move forward or convincing ourselves that right where we are isn't too bad that we forget to GO BACK AND ANALYZE. This is the theory of sankofa which literally means "go back and get it." Go back and get what makes you, you. 

I say all that to say, this weekend was full of active, life changing, wall shaking dialogue. The kind of dialogue that causes you to look in the scariest place for answers - the mirror. Are you doing enough? Why is your success small when your dreams are so big? Are the things you want congruent to the things you need? Are the people around you your icons or just "yes men?"  Are you placing yourself in an environment to not only sustain but excel? 

I find that as of late, I've been badgering myself with these questions. If I fall asleep unexpectedly I'll get upset at the work I didn't accomplish but then I remind myself that my body is my most important project and one night of sleep might be more beneficial that I appreciate. It has also become quite apparent that what attracts me to other people has changed. Though I've always admired what I call "The Brilliant Mind," I can honestly say I've avoided falling in love with many that were born with that blessing.  If there are 100 men with brilliant minds, I know about 70 of them legitimately. Ironically by the grace of God and good genes, they are most often physically attractive as well. : fans self : BUT I always put them in the friend zone (at least emotionally anyway).  I make the male population of brilliant minds my friends, my peers, my business partners/advisors.   And trust me that's a great thing to have but considering I want to share my life with someone like that, why have I been so closed off to loving that brilliant mind in more than a platonic fashion? Why out of 70 brilliant men have I only taken the time and energy to fall in love with 1? I'll tell you why.  

BECAUSE I'M A BYSTANDER IN MY OWN LOVE LIFE.

Read that three more times. I am a bystander in my own love life. In fact, one man who I love more than pie despite NOT having the brilliant mind gene, when we split, it wasn't the broken heart that had me in tears. I was more agitated and hurt that I had compromised my own brilliant mind for that relationship. I compromised my needs for my desires.  I loved him for the man he was but I fought him for not being the kind of man that I actually need. Our minds were not aligned even though we had moved heaven and earth to try. I spent two years loving everything else besides what I needed most - his mind. Please don't get me wrong about the brilliant mind gene. It's not that he wasn't brilliant because he is but the brilliance in my theory rests more on the activation of it.  The brilliant mind is a compassionate one, an artistic one, a vulnerable one, a visionary, a person who decides to make everything around them just a little bit better. For me, a brilliant mind is God like with its mercy on mankind. And for me to acknowledge that is also the acknowledgment that maybe I've passed up sooooo many gentlemen with this gift because I have feared taking responsibility for my own. If I never said another word about changing the world or having and impact on people everyday, the ex with the not so brilliant mind wouldn't even notice. If I had a nine to five and did nothing more or less, he would be okay with that. I can't fault him for that because those nine to fivers make the world turn. They are responsible for maintaining the "ordinary" so that extraordinary can exist. But I don't want to make the world turn, I want to make it shake and I want a man who is not afraid of my earthquakes of excellence. 

Now, watch how this brings me to my next point. My homegirl who falls under the Brilliant Mind category and who is also a humanities/social sciences veteran (damn right!!) said something that changed me and HEALED me in a room of fifteen other people.

"STOP WASTING TIME ON THE THINGS YOU ARE NOT GOOD AT.  STOP WASTING TIME ON THINGS THAT WILL NEVER WORK." 

Stop the muh'f.ckin presses. Everybody put your twitter, your Instagram, your f.cking MySpace away.  Something real has been said. Gospel has been spoken.  The Holy Spirit has decided to join us.  I looked around the room and asked her to repeat it. Everybody had to shut up. 

"STOP WASTING TIME ON THE THINGS YOU ARE NOT GOOD AT.  STOP WASTING TIME ON THINGS THAT WILL NEVER WORK." 

The Cruz Theory as I like to call that goes against the cliche theory that instructs us to appreciate our strengths but work on our weaknesses. What the f.ck for? I will never be good at boiling eggs. Don't laugh. It doesn't matter what or when I try to make them, I f.ck it up somehow. I either forget that I'm boiling them so I over cook them or I'm so impatient that I take them out before the yolk hardens. I'm nearly into my third decade of life. If I don't just scramble them sh.ts and keep it moving...

Anyway...I will never be good at loving a man without a brilliant mind. My identity simply isn't built like that and unfortunately we don't get credit for wasting time. You can have 100 credits at Temple university but if your major calls for 121, you're not a Temple university graduate. PERIOD.  There is no reward without an outcome. Do I still love him? Of course. But that's not a good enough reason to waste precious moments he could be spending with a nine to fiver he relates to.  I wasn't good at being his partner and I probably never will be. So instead of attempting to strengthen that weakness to a level of mediocrity (at best), why not challenge myself to love a man of equal stature? Why not provoke opportunities of being my best self by being with someone who requires that of me? Why not hold myself accountable for the responsibility of loving a brilliant mind instead of just admiring one? Why don't I just stop wasting time at something or being someone I'm simply not good at? It doesn't make me a lesser woman if when I prioritize my strengths and my weaknesses, I choose to focus on the strengths. 

So in terms of the Cruz theory, I leave you with this.  If you judge a fish on his ability to climb a tree, you'll never consider him a genius. Why be ok with something or someone when you can be the best at something else or with someone else?

If you constantly focus on your weaknesses, aren't your strengths weakened?

Message!

Last Known Address

does your girlfriend know you live here?

Monday's Rain

"Do not go with her."

That's what I wanted to say.  I wanted to stand in the rain and debate why conquering her was not the same thing as loving her.

You still love me.  I saw it in when you locked eyes with me, inches away from my face.  I wanted to be petty.  I wanted to scream that I was prettier than her.  I wanted to put my hand on your chest and command your heart to beat for me.  

"Take me instead." 

That's what I wanted to say.  I wanted to bleed out my forfeit on the dark sidewalk.  I wanted the rain to drown out our conversation.  I wanted to move the mountain of your ashes off my chest and dust you into the corners of my memory.  

How could a ghost be so handsome?  Every time I look at you, I see tornados in your flesh, natural disasters in the creases of your hands.  I see tsunamis in the whites of your eyes.

You kill me every time.  Every time I get back on my two feet and breathe air into my lungs, you kill me.  I want to know why I keep forgiving you for that, especially when you haven't attended any of my funerals.  

How much prayer keeps the devil out?

So I stood there and stared back at you, memorizing the face I had tried so hard to forget.  Still I had never seen a fallen angel as handsome as you.

You died with him.  I buried you.  And your ghost visits me more than his.  You don't pay rent here.  There is nothing here for you.  There is no one here for you.  And she cannot love you because that's not her destiny.  It was mine and though I walked away from my own fate makes me no less an owner of it.  

Love does not change.  We do.

Kisses...

There may be dark things here but there's light in my soul.  Never confuse a popular topic for a popular personality.

Hi Christie!

Another Feature!!!

Recently, I was invited to write an article for CLE MAGAZINE and I had a great time doing it!!!  Check it out here.  

Please enjoy and surf the site for more goodies!  Thank you for all the support!! I love y'all!

Her Voice...

Oh and Emeli Sande ...all I know about her is that she is brilliant.  And if she writes her songs, then she is my newest inspiration.  Enjoy

Featured!!

One of the most exciting days in my little writing career was my premiere on @ConcreteCakes.  Garron did such a phenomenal job.  I will never forget this day.  It's like seeing my name in lights for the 2nd most important thing in my life.  

Thank you Garron for loving the writer in me!

Just a few stills from the video.  Go google it!  =)

The Tragedy

I was supposed to break this year but my father taught me better than that.

I have changed and I have no desire to disclose in what ways to anyone who is not allowed or unable to see the difference.

My intuition for the last year has stepped in to guide me and I'm finally listening.  I'm starting to feel like my ancestors are hanging out in my head reminding me that my bloodline does not consist of weak minds nor mediocre behavior.  

I spent the year completing mandatory tasks and no, I do not want praise for that.  I want more of that.  I want more purpose, more responsibility because then I can limit myself to cohabiting with people of that nature only.  I can promise myself to love the responsible men, the classy women and their beautiful babies.

Though I can understand, sympathize and empathize with those who are NOT like that, it is to be understood that emotionally we are not the same species.  We do not drink from the same watering hole and they do not grow the necessary fruits to nourish me.  I can stop feeling sorry for not being so nice and start feeling good about being genuine.  

It is nice to be nice to others but I would rather be an example that loving one's self is the first example of how to love others.

Trust no one that trusts everyone.  Smiles are free, but they should not be guaranteed.  We are who we love and if we let everyone into this tiny space we call a soul, then we are only filled of favors instead of substance.

Some things are sacred, of those things is YOU.

The depth

Let's get one thing straight.  I am not bitter, I am not hurt, I am not a wounded bird unable to fly.  

I have been bitter, I have been hurt, I have been wounded.  That's my past.  And it has become all too clear that young women were not told of these dangers when they learned fairytales in the shadows of their night lights.  

This is not my diary.  

This is my salvation, my freedom, my testimony that women are not reflections of weaker men but rather mountains sometimes covered by dancing clouds.  All too often, I see women being doormats because not being loved by the right person often leaves us to seek being loved by just anyone.  

This writing is the decision to NOT be anyone's mattress anymore.
The decision to love unconditionally ONLY to men and women who work for it like a second job.
The decision to not only forgive ex-boyfriends but to forgive myself for not knowing how sometimes.
The decision to take responsibility for MY PART.  
The decision to open my legs only when my heart is open.
The decision to do better because I've done too much of the 'worse.'
The decision to surround myself with my own joy.
The decision to be thankful, but in order to be thankful for the healing, I have to admit that there are wounds here, there are scars here.
So yes, it may sound like I'm in pain.  That's the point, there is pain in this world and I want for you, more than anything, to know that through whatever pain you come across, you will get through it.  Someone has been through it before you.  Someone has survived.  Someone has lived through swollen eyes, a broken heart and an empty bed.  
Pain happens and we don't talk about it enough.
Too many of us are running around pretending to be happy, living a facade of ecstasy.  Stop pretending.  Stop being empty.  Stop accepting the temporary. 

Demand the unconditional. 

Require the permanent.  

Live for the better.

So, yes if it sounds like I'm still living through my own circus of pain, that's the point.  
I'm a writer.  I bring things to life and if you felt nothing when you came here, then I am no better than your false lovers, I am no better than the men who left you broken, I am no better than the women who have lied to you while resting on your chest.

If I didn't tell you the truth then you would forget that it exists.  This is not my story, this is OUR story.

Speak your piece/peace, I'm listening

I was trying to catch up and finally got to this post knowing within an instant that I wanted to read it but alas, I'm in a rush so I cannot. I accidentally scrolled to the bottom and read, "For he who breaks a girl is not stronger than the man who rebuilds a woman." Tell it!!!! I will be back to finish but I wanted to take a minute to say, that in a time where there are more people who watch backwards television than read books, I am glad there is you to lead us all back toward true words & fantastic writing. Not only do I believe in your talents, I believe in you. Keep up the good work :) - MP on You and I are Not In Vain

Thank you!!!  This comment means the world to me.  "True words and fantastic writing," is such a powerful statement that I can't believe you're talking to me.  Thank you for believing in me.  This post is so special to me.  It ties two moments together and it's definitely the bridge to the second book.  I'm not even done with the first one but this post reassures me that there's more.  Thank you for taking time out of your life to read about mine.  That's beautiful!

Speak your piece/peace, I'm listening...

Your Amazing...Love your writing and this blog. I was away for little but I'm back and ready to feed my mind - Styles4u on Heads Up...

Welcome back and thank you my love!  There's a lot of life here so let's feed that mind.  Oh, how we women tend to starve ourselves! Rest here. Get your nourishment here and then return to the world with a full mind and belly.  Love you.

Speak your piece/peace, I'm listening...

Heart wrenching. You're bold enough to say out loud what so many of us question. You are definitely not alone. - Anonymous on Where Are You God?

Heart wrenching is the perfect way to describe that post.  It took a lot out of me and I felt so many emotions at once, emotions that I was embarrassed and even ashamed to share.  However, this gift (the writing) is where God is, so I needed to ask right here.  And maybe i could have written this down on paper and kept it in a notebook to never see the light of day, but what could it do there.  That would be like burying a prayer.  I had to share it, I had to show it.  I had to get it out and connect because that's where I was feeling most alone.  And thank you for the reminder that I am not alone.  You will always be remembered for that.

Speak your piece/peace, I'm listening...

Has the spark changed since I was 20? My spark was no drama! He showed up, the butterflies fluttered down my arms in full view, my heart hammered in my chest, my toes curled, my back arched like a cat ready to pounce. He stroked my back, I purred contentedly. He held my hand as he drove and with all the buzz around us there were only the two of us. He would have given me the world but that would have made me unhappy. Instead, we walked along the ocean's edge at sundown. Earlier that day he drove for two hours so that I could have pancakes. I'm truly blessed. I got the spark, I got the nice guy. Thank God, I was too foolish to know, so, I enjoyed the ride. My fairytale, my reality. Thank you for the reminder - Anonymous on Looking for the Spark

Can I just tell you that I sat in the car for about ten minutes reading this to the very person who inspired this post?  Your story, your life is well written and I'm in awe of your journey and the fact that you even shared it with me & the rest of VirginFingertips.  My favorite line is "I was too foolish to know, so I enjoyed the ride." I've been trying to enjoy the ride for at least ten years now and you make me want to get it right.  I thank you.  I appreciate you.  And I am ever so grateful to the universe that you got your nice guy but more importantly that your nice guy got you! 

Speak your piece/peace...I'm listening

let me find out?? Tassy from one writer 2 another..u are beyond talented!! love ur work. Meet you at da top ma - Sean Brownlowe on You and I Are Not in Vain


Hi there!  Thank you soooooooo much.  I'm ecstatic that you enjoy your time here, especially on this post.  I fell in love with the title when someone said it to me and I like that it has that effect on other people.  Oh! Save me a seat at the top!  Much love!

Cherry Wine

Y'all know I love Amy. I love Nas.  And this right here is a symphony of that very love.

Sneak Peek!!!

I hope you enjoy my journey.  I thank you for being here.  Here's something I'm working on praying that God flows through me to complete this book by November.  Hold me accountable.  I love you.

It is a shameful thing to be a woman, to have curves men have put their noses to or to have lips that not enough prayers floated from.  There is a shame that comes with being a woman, that comes with a vagina, that comes with breasts too often times, not nourishing enough to our own offspring.  I find that, I am too ashamed to cry sometimes, too ashamed to show someone the wounds sometimes.  Like slavery is two dollars in my back pocket, not enough currency to buy me anything but just enough to let me know that it exists out there.  Sometimes being a woman is very shameful.  We lose ourselves all the time.  Every month, our blood rushes out of us like secrets between children on a playground and we hide that.  No, I'm not PMSing, but maybe I will say I am if that means you don't blame me for being emotional.

I'll tell you this, I wore shame like blush.  Wore men's cologne so much that I became unfamiliar to my own skin's scent.  I answered phone calls like they were from Jesus himself when it was just the devil knocking on my walls.  And I forgave him each time, telling myself that he was an angel once.  Isn't that how we describe the bad men in our lives? - "Oh girl, at the beginning he was so good to me."  And now you see, that God is still at war, ages later with the same devil that bowed at his throne once.  

Looking for the Spark

I have a lot of female friends and I am a female and we’re all looking for the spark.  It happens all the time.  A nice guy comes along, buys flowers, cupcakes, remembers our birthdays and never forgets to send a text message but instead of JUST appreciating him, we add the clause, “But there’s no spark!”  

-_-

I am a woman who has watched my friends grow into amazing women themselves.  They are goal oriented, ambitious, compassionate, gorgeous, hilarious and well rounded individuals.  They deserve all the great things nice guys have to offer but they and even me often overlook his efforts in search of the infamous ‘spark’.  Don’t act like you don’t know what the spark is.  You know the butterflies, the excitement, the chase, the anxiety – basically whatever makes your blood pressure go up.  You have convinced yourself (and I blame you, because I know he didn’t bring up anything about a damn spark) that those feelings represent a chemistry between you and him and without that, there can be no you and him.  

Ladies, if you ever take anything from me, take this – YOU ARE THE SPARK.  That’s why he’s interested in you.  That’s why he takes time out of his day to improve the quality of yours.  That’s why he remembers the little details about your personality like the fact that you want your water room temperature and not ice cold.  That’s the reason he’ll spend a half hour sitting with you to wait for your train rather than not seeing you at all that day.  That’s why he’s being the nice guy, because YOU ARE THE SPARK and he’s a moth to a flame.  As women and adults, how long are we going to be controlled by our own lust?  Is it really more important that you start getting butterflies than getting inspired?  Think about it.  What’s the sexiest thing you can find in a man?  

When I was 20, I used to be starstruck over this one guy.  Let’s call him Brandon. (To date, there’s only been two guys that have accomplished taking my breath away, I’m not that easy to impress)  When Brandon walked into a room, I just used to stare.  It did not even make sense to me why God made that man so beautiful.  When he was just breathing, it looked like he was shooting an editorial.  His looks were effortless.  Because I was in such awe of him, I often prayed he wouldn’t even notice me.  I could not take the pressure.  The sexiest thing about him was just him – no effort, no work, no nothing.  Standing there was all he needed to do.  All that spark and we made no progress.  Absolutely none. Fast forward a few years later – I’ve gotten over Brandon taking my breath away.  He’s still very handsome but I do not feel butterflies.  I'm not that 20 year old girl with an elementary school crush anymore.  Looking good is not enough.  What’s the sexiest thing about Brandon now?  His ambition!  The way he goes to sleep late after working on his resume and then wakes up early just to get back to it after already having an established career and a prominent side hustle.  I’m fanning myself just thinking about it.  No longer is it enough for him to just stand in front of me like Adonis.  Maybe my blood pressure doesn’t go up but my chances at stability sure do.  How important or shallow is your definition of ‘spark?’  When he puts work into his own life and the life we seemingly share with one another day by day, I feel like I am the spark.  I feel special when I’m treated as such and that’s what sets my heart on fire.  

The spark that we describe is really just drama, the up and down of not knowing but YET we all scream that we want stability.  Stability does not rest on a flame that might burn your whole house down.  Why is it that when someone treats you good, you find another reason to make him and his efforts insufficient?  Are we too skeptical?  Are we so damaged that when someone makes us feel good, it feels like a setup?  Have we been so wired to watch fairytales that we forget to live out our own?  

And why don’t we celebrate what the nice guys do?  I think we’ve become so conditioned to playing the background that appreciating a good man almost feels like we’re bragging.  We were raised to be humble and I believe that’s a big part of the reason that we don’t credit ourselves often, much less our men.  Do we say, “Mark got me a dozen roses after I had a bad week, I’m so glad to have him in my life” more than we say, “Let me tell you what this fool did now?”  Do we unite through heartbreak instead of rejoice?  And when a man does something nice for us, why do we find something wrong with him instead of realizing that something is wrong with us?  Do you NOT think you are worthy of being celebrated?

Instead of looking for the spark, realize that he's already found the spark and that's why he's courting you.  Believe that in the same way, you are ready to put your King on a pedestal, there is a man out there that sees in you a Queen and is willing to do the same.  The spark is not a set of butterflies, ladies.  The spark is success.

Eating out...

Her tiny frame stood over the large stove with sweat dripping down her brow.  Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun and her chestnut skin was fresh faced.  It was a busy night for her new restaurant's location.  She had opened up three so far all named after greek gods.  Athena, Zeus and Poseidon were in West Hollywood, South Beach and D.C. respectively.  She saved Adonis for her favorite place in the world, Brooklyn.  Though she had a slew of world-renowned chefs working underneath her, the perfectionist in Sophia would not let her leave.  She had barely glanced at the line outside the door waiting to try her creative dishes or even at the bar where celebrities, politicians and businessmen were laughing over cocktails.  She had worked extremely hard and even resting for five minutes just to take it all in didn't seem right. 

While putting the finishing touches on her acclaimed seafood dish with its grilled pawns, fresh asparagus and cherry tomatoes and a scoop of jasmine rice topped with diced sautéed peppers, Sophia decided to surprise this particular guest.  According to the waitress, the guest was dining alone as he/she only ordered one entree.  She poured a glass of red wine to accompany her creation and headed through the crowd with the plate covered waiting to be unveiled.  As she walked to the table and saw her patron, she slowed her stride.  He was quite possibly the most handsome man she had ever seen.  He sat there with perfect posture, the shoulders of his suit filled with his broadness.  The knot in his tie was still in tact at 8pm as if he had just tied it resting on his crisp gray button up.  The dark navy suit looked sharp on his figure and his dark brown skin only brought out how dark his hair and goatee was.  Sophia wondered why she was even nervous.  She had not been with a man since she started her culinary entrepreneurship nearly two and a half years ago.  There was brief dating in those years but no intimacy.  She had decided after her last relationship that she would no longer engage in anything empty or anyone that could not fulfill her.  Her work, her art had become the love of her life and until she met a man as rewarding as such, she was single, in mind, body and spirit. 

Good evening, my name is Sophia and I am your chef for the night.  
His eyes followed her voice from his iPhone to her smile.  Jason was pleasantly surprised by the distraction that took him away from his consulting firm's constant emails. Her face was stunning.  Her cheekbones stood out underneath her piercing, dark eyes.  Her thick eyebrows outlined her small face and her button nose stood in the middle of her facial symmetry.  Her light brown hair was swept up into a neat bun and under the pressure of having a restaurant in one of the most popular cities in the world, she seemed unfazed.
Jason, please join me.
Join you?  No, I can't.  Sophia let out a nervous laughter.
Why not?
I have a kitchen to run.
If you're kitchen can't run without you, then you weren't really running it.
Jason had stumped her there.  He was right.  Her staff had been begging her to relax and actually enjoy her success so maybe the time had finally come.  She unveiled his plate and sat across from him.
Ok Jason, now that you have me sitting here, I'm going to give you 30 seconds to convince me to stay.
He bit into his first piece of shrimp slowly, his lips sucking the sauce off of it.  She watched his lips like a silent motion picture.  When he was done chewing, he put his fork down, sat back and looked at her directly in her eyes.  She did not break his stare.
Fair enough, come home with me.
A look of confusion flashed across Sophia's eyes. 
Excuse me? she said, wondering what kind of woman he thought she was.
I would like my food to go and I would like you to go as well.
They engaged in a silent negotiation while Sophia contemplated his offer.
What could she have to lose?  He wouldn't kill her or anything like that.  He knew people would look for her.  She hadn't been adventurous in a long time so she deserved to have some fun.  She got up from the table and walked back to the kitchen.  Jason remained at the table eating calmly.  He thought to himself that she would be back and then he shook his head.  He hoped that she would come back.
Ten minutes later, Sophia emerged from the kitchen doors dressed in all black, with wide legged slacks, black platform pumps, a chiffon top and a black Birkin bag on her arm.  In her hand was a plastic bag and a styrofoam box.  She was ready to go and when he saw her, so was he.

On the short car ride to his house, they were silent.  She held his food in her lap and asked herself the same question a million times.  What was she doing here?  They pulled up into a cup de sac in front of an architecturally beautiful home.  The stained glass was set into a dark oak door and the exposed brick made her think of the countryside even though they were still in Brooklyn.  He unlocked the door and allowed her to walk in first.  In front of her were two winding staircases meeting at a large chandelier in the middle.  
This is a beauti....and before she could even get the words out of her mouth, Jason covers it with his.  Their lips touch and his food slips from her fingers and onto the floor.  He leans his body into hers and she feels his chest against hers.  She was lost in a sea of kisses, in a moment that probably didn't belong to her and as her knees buckled with the weight of her anxiety, Sophia kissed a man for the first time in two and a half years.

Stay tuned for what happens next.

Naked

I guess it was something cryptic, loving a man who could hurt you so bad.  I stepped outside onto the warm grass, the blood still running down my face.  This hit had to be the last.  I could hide a broken spirt or a shattered soul but I couldn't hide anything that required stitches.  I took the hem of my flowy skirt and wiped my face.  The sun was beaming and I could hear him thinking about a new apology.  But I was done with those.  I had no more room for his apologies.  I had no more room to forgive and forget.  My soul was packed with bruises.  My spirit was overflowing with his deceit.  There were boxes of bullsh.t I needed to stop tripping over.


I needed a break, rather a breakthrough.  Something to make my spirit move into the simple abyss of having sense.  Wasn't I too beautiful to endure such ugly things?  Wasn't I too smart to be with a man so dumb?  Wasn't I anything more than a curvaceous punching bag?  Wasn't I more than that?  And I wondered where were the rainbows after our storms.  I had bruises like they were freckles and nightmares like they were feature films in my head.  Tired of staining clothes with my own blood or staining my life with his memory.  What would be my final straw?  

I tried.
Wore my strength like it was too small for my growing hips. I let someone shred into me like tornadoes through corn fields.  When did my relationship become my cross to bear?  When did love become war? 

I wanted to know when being a woman became being a doormat and why couldn't I understand how much of my fault it was.  I prayed on it, asked God to teach me to love myself enough to walk away.  And when I got off my knees, there he was standing over me with another apology in his hands.  I began to unravel myself.  Slipped off my skirt, pulled my shirt over my head, unsnapped my bra and slid out of my panties.

"You can have everything except me."
And I walked away, naked like the day I was born because I was finally taking back what God had given me in the first place.

Reality

I'm not ready to be happy for you. 

A Whole Lot More...

I guzzle you into my gut
My stomach growls waiting for you to enter
and I often type like I'm still playing the piano
Tapping my feet to my heartbeat
to the drums of the woman you left behind
I wish my intuition didn't know you so well
I wish Bob Marley was my neighbor 
So I could ring his doorbell in nothing but my bathing suit
and get high off the thought of you
Write a platinum album and that way
I would have more to thank you for than just good ....s.....e....  
conversation. good conversation.
That's what I want to say
I watched our home videos tonight
You don't even look the same
I must have forgotten to videotape your funeral
Because all I have left are dead roses or rather stale perfume
I also have a bottle of liqueur you left me
Still deciding if I want to get drunk off your mercy or your memory
Still
I 
Want 
to 
Cry but tears cost a lot these days
I don't even remember how to do it anymore
Stale inside
Sour lips
Am I bitter at the thought of you
Am I crazy because I listen to my soul who tells me that there is nothing to worry about
She is not me
You are not gone
And silence speaks volumes
Run 
Run
Run from the sight of me on the cross
You still find your way into my dreams
And I am stronger when I wake up having felt your touch in the peace of my subconscious
Any woman that a man cannot face, he feels
Wear me on your skin like your goosebumps, like your cologne, like the last hug your mother gave you
And speaking of your mother, she didn't hug you because she was cold
She didn't hug you because YOU were cold

Potty Mouth

don't judge me if I curse.

I use all the pretty language, the versatile language, the sh.t so deep you probably had to google it language, here.  So if I curse, trust me, I deserve it.

FUCK!

At the altar...

But wait a minute.
If a man even plays this song around me, I will take it as a proposal and just start screaming...

YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! 

Just me talking to you!

What I also forgot to mention is that the book will most likely be the end of Virgin Fingertips.  You'll be able to join my journey elsewhere but I think it will complete this blog as an entire being.  It will be a sad day but a joyous one as well in the fact, that I will be changing and opening new doors for myself as a writer and as a woman.  

Thank you for your support as always.  Love you all!

Secrets

Isn't that what love is? Falling for your best friend.



And...



Maybe, maybe in another life/I could be the girl who walks up to the guy/And tells him, tells him how she feels inside/But not tonight, no not tonight

Who would I be to make my feelings known/I need a little audacity, but it's not in my bones/I'm standing here, terrified, Broken hearted, I could die

I know the feeling of looking into someone else's eyes searching for validation, for acceptance, for love.