Saturday, September 22, 2012

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.  

Friday, September 21, 2012

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.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

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.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

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

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.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Been Under a Rock

Took some time off.  Still not ready to come back to the world.  

A few updates...

I know what unconditional love is.  I loved through unbearable pain.  I want no mockery of it in my life.  Keep the fakes, the frauds, the generic brands of it as far away from me as possible.
It's ok to be sad.  One day, I will be ready to turn the pain into performance.
I value my privacy, sometimes more than friendships.  I simply don't like people telling my story for me.  I'm a writer, I think I have it covered.
I speak ill of no man I've loved.  Speaking the facts is not bashing.  Behave better if you want to be a better character when the story is told.
I do not and must not SEEK attention, it comes naturally and I shall deal with it accordingly.


You can be emotional AND logical.  I am equally each and that is for no one to know or validate.  I can feel without acting but maturity is to resist acting without feeling.



I am a lot of things.  I had to grow into those things and learn how to use those things to enhance my own life and the lives of the people around me.  I must not get angry at someone else for not having yet grown into their own powers.  Their journey is set to its own time. I have learned to respect that.
I can choose to accept an apology or I can decline it.  If I accept, I promise to myself and the other person to move on.
I have the right to demand and expect better because I AM BETTER.
Self sabotage is unnecessary.  If it's not meant to be, it will not be, no matter what I do or don't do.  I, nor you have to work overtime for the devil.
Being honest is vulnerable.  Being a liar is weak.  Get it?
There are things more intimate than kisses.  I value those things now.
I have not even begun to tap into my greatness.  Have you?


A few people decided to celebrate my life when I was starting to forget that I still had one.