The Sun Lit my Bowl of Cereal on Fire

  I was ten years old when I lost my mom.  We lived in a small house where no one knew our real names.  There were huge trees blooming with pink and red leaves.  Children would play outside, riding their bikes up and down the quiet street and I would watch them from my window.  I wasn’t ready to make friends.  Even in school, I showed up, did my work and ran back home to look after my baby sister.  She was the only person I recognized, the only person, besides Mom that I cared about.  I wanted to watch her for the rest of my life just to make sure nobody bothered her.  Even though, the kids outside sounded happy, I was sure they didn’t know how dangerous outside could be and I was finally getting comfortable with inside being safe. 

“Kay, I’m going to take the garbage to the curb, lock the door until I get back.”

I jumped up from the table to do what she asked.  I walked back accustomed to our routine.  Everything had to be locked until a password was given and passwords were changed every day. It was tiring to remember but deadly to forget.    As I sat back down ready to eat my breakfast until Mom returned from what should have been a 45 second trip, I saw the sky light up in a flash.  The boom rattled the neighborhood. My legs were shaking under the table and my heart was beating out of my chest.  I closed my eyes and waited for her knock, waited for the password.  Instead, I heard a car speed off and more cars pull up.  The lights from the sirens flashed through the kitchen window as the sun lit my bowl of cereal on fire.  I jumped up and ran to my bedroom to cradle Elle in my arms.  I knew that whatever knock we would soon hear would not be my mother’s.  There was only one other phrase besides the password of the day that would allow me to open the door.  I had only heard it in my mother’s voice so far but today, from behind the closet door where we were hiding, I heard it loud and clear in a voice I never heard before.

“It’s the police.”  Mommy always said they would find us if anything happened, what she didn’t say is that daddy would find her first.

Don't Get Swept

During the playoffs last year, I stated the following:

At this level of professionalism, NO TEAM should be getting swept.  If you made it to the playoffs, I doubt there was a time in the regular season in which you lost four games back to back.  Do NOT start now.  You didn’t get here by getting swept.  DO NOT GET SWEPT.

I’m not a sports fanatic but I love sports and I’m a girl, which should be no big deal but society still thinks girls are not paying attention.  Newsflash, some of us are.  Some of us actually do know the starting lineup, the bench and top draft picks for whichever league we’re interested in.  I happen to keep abreast of what’s going on in basketball, football and baseball.  In fact, sports topics are great analogies for relationships.  [In my opinion anyway]  Today, we’re talking about getting swept in the playoffs, which should NEVER happen.

Of course there are tons of factors that could throw a team’s game off.  Travel, injury, short resting periods, personal issues, team compatibility, weather, location, the list goes on and on.   But I don’t think there’s anything that makes me angrier than watching a team that had the ability to make it to the playoffs, get swept.  I really get angry. 

Same thing with you men and women…

You mean to tell me that you’ve been doing consistently well over the season of your relationship and when another team comes to town, you suddenly forget how to play offense and defense? GET YOUR LIFE.  Now I know some of you go by the motto, “if you can take her/him, you can keep her/him.”  In some cases, this is true.  If your partner walks away when just anybody comes along singing in their ear, then let them go.  They clearly have more issues than you need to accept.  However, let’s face the fact, some people are going to “holla” at your partner and given certain circumstances, they may be in a very good position to get closer than just anybody.  To be quite honest, their game may be so subtle that your partner doesn’t even know that the clock has started.  Here’s where the problem comes in.  Let’s call the opposing team, Mike/Mel for clarity’s sake.  Where were you when Mike/Mel was being thoughtful and picked up your partner’s favorite snack at lunch?  Where were you when Mike/Mel remembered to send a ‘Good Luck’ text on the day your partner was scheduled to take the GMAT?  Where were you your partner needed a ride home and Mike/Mel were oh so accommodating?  Please tell me where you were when Mike/Mel were actively remembering the little things and doing the thoughtful things?

I’ll tell you where you weren’t.  You weren’t with me shooting in the gym!  I hate to get ignorant but for real though. Before you say, why is Mike/Mel this close to my partner anyway, relax and think for a second.  Mike/Mel could be a coworker, a mutual friend, or in any other position where being the enemy is not so abundantly clear.  Mike/Mel could very well be chilling in the friend zone with some not so friendly thoughts.  In all actuality, Mike/Mel may not ever actually cross the line to the point where the threat is noticed by you or even your partner, but the reality is that Mike/Mel is doing something you’re not and they’re doing it consistently.   What happens next?  Mike/Mel become so consistent that they become the norm.  So now, when your partner is having a bad day and everybody goes to happy hour, guess who they’re sitting next to?  When your partner is sitting on the couch watching a funny movie, guess who pops into their mind?  When your partner actually picks up the phone to see how your day is and you don’t answer, guess who’s the next number in the outgoing calls?

Where were you?  There’s a number of factors that could have been the cause of your absence or lacking performance.  Like I said earlier - travel, injury, short resting periods, personal issues, team compatibility, weather, location, the list goes on and on. 

BUT…and this is a big BUT…you are in the playoffs/relationship for a reason.  Despite all of those factors, you are supposed to perform, every night, every game, whether there are two thousand people in the stands or just Mike/Mel watching from their vantage point.  You came here to win and maybe you won’t win the title, but when you’re playing, that’s not on your mind.  Catch a foul, slam the backboard, hit the ground hard but GET UP. As long as the clock is on, sweat, bleed, cry, scream but KEEP PLAYING.  DO NOT GET SWEPT.  NO GROWN MAN OR WOMAN SHOULD BE GETTING SWEPT AT THIS LEVEL. It is your job to win! With this kind of sex, love, investment and title on the line, you better not let anyone sweep you.  You worked for this, you deserve this, it’s yours and Mike/Mel should know what they’re up against.  Think of Mike/Mel as the wild cards, yeah sometimes they do win and we all have to catch L’s, but the most poignant fact is that you if you must leave the court/relationship empty handed, leave with dignity and grace.  Know that you played a good game and gave it your all.  Getting swept doesn’t give you that peace, nor should it.

There’s no point in getting to the playoffs if you’re not going to perform.  There’s no point in being in a relationship if you’re not going to perform.  There will be off days, weeks, months even, but that’s not an excuse.  Someone trusts you to show up and do your best and there’s always someone who is banking on the fact that you won’t show up at all.  Sometimes losing your partner isn’t a sign that they don’t love you, sometimes it just means that when they showed up to the gym to practice, the face they saw cheering them on wasn’t yours.

Good luck everyone and welcome to the championship of your lives.

Hold My Hand

I think I snapped 
Like the bones of paper airplanes
The air stuck to my skin like angry words and sex sweat
I could feel the chill of him compete with my browning
He was the most handsome man in the world to me
He had a smile of honor, eyes of seduction and the collarbone of Christ
He was everything I imagined beauty to be
And I loved him, greatly
To the core of my being
To the breath on my lips 
To an infinity that was never promised to me 
I loved him in time I did not have
I wanted him to understand this
I wanted him to know that this love was sacred
Wrapped in the scrolls of the testament 
Written in the same graphite as the Ten Commandments
I wanted him to understand this love that erupted from the pit of my soul
This was never about me
It couldn't be
I yelled
I screamed and I cried asking him 


"When was the last time you got on your knees and begged God to keep ME in YOUR life?!"
"When was the last time you humbled yourself to beg at MY feet for more time!?"
"When was the last time you had to ask me to love you?!"
"Tell me when you laid your soul at the edge of my bed to be comforted and I did not receive you"
"Tell me when was the last time you jumped up out of your sleep reaching for me!"
And then I whispered, 
"Would you even blink an eye if I got up and walked out of your life?"


I wanted to know, sh.t I needed to know 
The humility rushed through me
I was tired of being called crazy
And sick of 'not making sense'
I probably didn't make sense
I probably was crazy
Maybe I was being a brat
Maybe I didn't deserve what I had been asking for
But when the only thing that makes sense is loving you, then how wrong could I be?


I wished that he could love me an ounce of what I loved him with 
Then maybe he would be scratching at my door
Maybe he would bring me lunch because the thought of me not eating would make HIM sick
Maybe we wouldn't be here right now


I sobbed 
Stuck in my own tragedy 
Confused by the morbid sound which was my voice


"I wake up every day loving you. I wish I didn't.  I want to love someone else.  I wish I could love the men who love me, but every morning my heart decides not to.  And I go back to loving you.  Wondering if you're cold, if you're hungry, if you remembered to turn off your bathroom light before you left the house.  I do not wish to love you, I wish that you could love me back."


He stared at me in silence
Possibly shaken still by my shattering words
I did not wonder what was going through his mind
I was more concerned with his heart
Wondering if it was still beating and if it was thinking of me 


"You ask me why I want to see you and every time I have an answer.  I think, you think that one day you will stump me and I will run out of things to say.  You won't.  I have a million things to say.  Sometimes I just want to see you smile.  Sometimes I want to borrow your strength and pretend that I'm as strong as you.  Sometimes, I just want you to hold my hand.  Nobody holds my hand.  
I 
forgot
what 
your 
hand 
feels 
like 
and nobody holds my hand."


My body shook at its own revelations
I had been crying for months
Silently 
Afraid that my yelling would make him run
I kept quiet
Not trying to stir the little serenity I had found in his dimples
But I snapped 
Finally understanding that loving him helped me realize how he didn't love me


I swear, I had hummingbirds in my throat and I cried nectar from my eyes
My heart melted right through my chest and my panties were wet with just the memory
I now had lilies for bones, my limbs bending out of their way to reach the sun
Even the back of my knees remembered his name


I felt God in my ear
My bottom lip trembled like feathers in flight
Sitting there, glued to the leather of my chair 
So busy being afraid that I would lose him that I didn't notice he didn't want to be found
I struggled under the listening sky
Wondering how did I grow to love this much
Tried to figure out when my pain got this deep
When did I get so dark
So fragile
So manic
I tried to remember if when we were making love, if he helped at all…


I couldn't even bring myself to look him in the eye in fear of them being empty yet still not having enough room for me
We had a lot of time between us but we also had too much space
I cried wishing he could love me back


And then 


I felt his hand on mine
No one had ever held my hand before

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

An entirely new dimension has been added by your reading of the poem. I felt it so much more as your words cut through my being. Amazing! on Ice --Aisha H.

Ahhhhhhhhhh! Thank you. It's so rare that I "perform" anything.  Some people think I just simply don't perform or that I can't.  It's really neither of those things.  I  really have to be in a deep, deep, deep place to let someone hear the vulnerability in my voice.  I'm just not that open.  Shoutout to everyone who is though.  But this piece in particular was screaming itself out of me.  I just kept hearing it recited in my head over and over so I decided to post it.  I think it definitely adds a new dimension to not only the words but to who I am.  I like to give readers the free will to interpret, which is why I hardly "perform."  I don't really like when my voice tells you how to feel or tells you which direction to go in BUT this piece was non negotiable.  I was in some pain, girl and I had to get it out of my own head!  Thanks my love!

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

IN LOVE WITH THIS POST!!! on My house -- ShanitaB.

Thank you!  This piece means so much to me.  It was actually a conversation that turned into an epiphany.  I still use it when I feel myself taking things/people for granted.  It's hard (for me anyway) to just love without fear or anxiety, but when I openly appreciate someone or something, my love flows naturally.  I think it's especially important that we find the best recipe for our own love.  We don't all require the same things, we don't give the same things so when we find what brings our love to its greatest potential, we have to hold on to it.  All in all, I'm glad you're in love with this post because this post taught me how to be in love.

Thank you!! 

The Lenten Promise

Hi beautiful people,

Lent arrived in the nick of time.  As a woman, sometimes we get so sidetracked with taking care of everyone but ourselves and I was at that point.  I started searching for God everywhere.  I woke up looking around like someone left me in bed alone. I drove my car staring at the sky wondering if and when God was going to jump out and steer for me.  I thought God was hiding from me, so when Lent came around, I set out to find the Most High wherever I could.

I spent days trying to figure out what I could give up for Lent.  Most people around me were giving up caffeine, meat and carbs.  Lent or not, I need all the carbs, meat and caffeine I can get.  Besides, I thought Lent was supposed to be a diet for your soul, not your waistline.  So, I went back to square one to discover the meaning of Lent and hoped that it would bring me to what I could give up.

Jesus spent 40 days in the desert praying before he was to go up on the cross.  Those 40 days of fasting, praying and fasting some more, in his solitude, was his personal attempt to get closer to his father.  I wondered to myself, maybe if I started at the beginning, I would have a better chance of succeeding so I thought of my own father.  How could I possibly get closer to this man?  Not only are we exactly alike but I'm with him or talking to him almost every day, which is the closest we've ever been since I was holding his hand to cross the street.  But then I realized that physical proximity and emotional proximity sometimes have nothing to do with one another.  I work with hundreds of people day in and day out but I'm only emotionally connected to very few.  In my mind, I had to make a list of my emotional priorities, a realistic list.  In fact, there were two lists, what I wanted as priority and what was actually in order of priority.  I was ashamed of my damn self.

Now, if you want to call him my boyfriend for the sake of this conversation, that's absolutely fine as long as you use the word loosely.  Between my "boyfriend" and some "friends," [I only list them first because those are optional relationships therefore not an instinctual behavior but rather, an extraordinary effort to uphold] my emotional availability was zilch!  Then once I added in being a mother, what emotions did I have left for my father besides obedience?  Did I love my father because he was father or did I genuinely love the man he is?  Did I love Daddy because he took care of me or was I willing to take care of him?  My biggest and most heart wrenching question was this, had I done my part in building my relationship with my father that I was willing to die on a cross for him?

I hesitated.  It was easy to say yes but I had to know so I put my own cross in front of me and told myself that at the end of these 40 days, I would be able to plaster myself on it and die for Daddy if he wanted me to.  My Lenten promise became this…Free myself by freeing others.  It was an emotional forfeit for 40 days.  Yes I could spend time with these people if I had any but they were no longer allowed to make me upset, they were not allowed to change my mood for the worst and whatever they did or didn't do would have no effect on my mental being so much so that my good behavior was compromised.  I had to free others to free myself to be completely available for my father.

Relinquishing the power of my emotions is no easy feat.  I'm an emotional person, sometimes, even emotionally driven.  Though I still interact with the "boyfriend" and the "friends," I have to say that I've been much happier now that I've chosen not to be bothered.  And now that I am freeing myself, there is more room to be consumed by my father.  Now, when I sit and ponder about our relationship, I feel emotions I never expected to feel - the biggest one being shame.  Knowing that I spent many a night crying over men I once loved instead of smiling with the first and only man to love me for an eternity was an eye opener.  When did I let myself become consumed by the creations instead of the creator?  I called "the "boyfriend" to tell him my plan.

"I'm letting you go."

"Huh, what does that mean?"

"I'm starting at the beginning again.  I'm putting the love I have for you to the side and I'm only going to participate in the fundamentals - respect, kindness and compassion.  If you don't call/text me back when and how I want, that's fine.  If you do, that's fine too.  There's absolutely nothing you can or cannot do that is going to have me in a frenzy.  I'm taking back the power I gave you.  I feel like I'm wasting the tears and some of the smiles I should be spending on my father on you, so I'm going to be happy, whether or not you make me that way."

"Wow, this doesn't even sound like you."

"Well, it's not supposed to.  I hope that I'm not me when I'm through with this."

Since that conversation in a dark room and a peaceful place, I'm able to enjoy more.  I feel free.  Though my father and I are working through things that require all of my energy, emotions and my reserve tank of understanding, I finally have all of that to devote to him.  It's funny because as a child, I always wondered, how can we repay the debt we owe our parents for loving us and being there?  The true answer is that we never will, but we can always try.  These 40 days are my attempt to find in myself whatever I need to walk with my father's cross as he needs me to.  He raised me, he loved me, he put me through school and if any man deserves my attention, my care, my concern and my sacrifice, it is the one who gave me my first last name.

All in all, this is not as much about religion as it is about the spiritual warfare I see many women engaged in.  We find ways to love a lot of men who don't deserve that magic and we sometimes forget that even magic is still an illusion.  Like I said, I started this journey trying to get closer to my father so that maybe somewhere along the line I could find God and then an amazing thing happened - I ended up finding the God in me.

Maybe, in order to be immersed by others without drowning, we must first become immersed in ourselves.  Maybe going without some things will bring you everything.

Speak your piece/peace…Im listening

Beautiful... I missed the days when you just wrote like this...honestly I love you more now, because I feel your struggle, your honesty, your truth in this piece. It doesn’t matter whether you are in love or not, or that you feel we cannot relate. This piece makes us relate It is the way you put words on paper, that causes people to listen. I feel the love in this poem and I want you to be happy. [written in response to Hiding]
--- Your Biggest Fan

Oh my.  You don’t know how good this makes me feel.  I’ve missed myself lately.  And word on the street is that a few people are worried about the things my writings are describing.  Well, I didn’t share this with you folks yet, but I gave up giving a f.ck for Lent.  I know that sounds crazy but hear me out.  I spent a lot of my time handing my emotions out like they were flyers to a club.  Now, even with that, I don’t show or even entertain my emotions as most as other folks I know, but still, it was a lot for me.  I was unhappy with myself, with my gift, with my career (or lack thereof), with my parenting and with my close relationships.  I should explain that better, so let me get comfortable.  I was unhappy with myself for feelings things I thought I wasn’t allowed to feel.  I was loving someone I didn’t think I was good enough for.  I had too much baggage for him.  I was too flirtatious for his liking.  I was too accessible to be considered his girlfriend.  I was too angry to be kind sometimes, too aloof to be conscious.  So I was mad at myself for deliberately asking for a specific type of man and then not knowing what to do with him when he showed up on my doorstep.  Then I was mad with my writing.  It’s such a vast sea to swim in.  There’s so many thoughts, secrets and lives writing affects.  Here I was, finally willing to share all the things that I had learned and then I had to worry about violating someone else’s privacy, I had to consider someone else’s feelings.  I had to dig deep into the skill of writing to create enough imagery that people wouldn’t be attracted to the gossip, but rather engulfed by the message.  I had to consider the feelings of the very men and women who had no regard for mine.  My writing was legitimately calling on a higher power.  Then I was especially pissed at my career.  How can I manage to merge my life, my education and my bills to create a career that I love and also loves me back.  There was responsible and there was crazy.  Being a writer requires a lot of both.  What else was I mad at?  Oh my parenting.  My kid is amazing and no I’m not saying that because she’s mine.  She is truly an amazing spirit.  People always stop me and say, it’s like she’s been here before and I know this to be true.  My little girl has wisdom for blood, but she eats entirely too much sugar, she’s usually late for her bedtime and I don’t get to spend as much time with her as I like.  These things wear on a parent’s soul.  Things like that sometimes make us feel insufficient, incompetent and just overall not good enough.  It’s not every day but even if these thoughts float through your brain one day a month, it’s enough to beat yourself up for.  Last but certainly not least, my close relationships were trying me.  I had to call on God because I was sure to send some of these people back to their maker.  Then I felt like God wasn’t hearing me so I looked to Buddhism.  I was searching outside of myself for things that were too “mine” to have come from anyone else.  And when it comes to close relationships, it’s hard to get a third party opinion to help you with them.  People are biased, people love you too hard, some people don’t love you enough and, above all, you can’t betray the other person’s journey by betraying the privacy of it.  There are so many rules to being righteous.  Even with the best intent, we know the road to hell is paved with good intentions.  So let’s just say, there’s a few reasons I strayed from my usual genre of writing and leaned more towards the inner turmoil.  This is not to say that I don’t feel happiness and sadness simultaneously sometimes.  I feel extreme sadness when I can’t share my happiness with you.  It’s almost like I’m cheating you from some great lessons that your journey will offer you. But I believe there will come a day, when I can tell you everything and be loved anyway, it’s just no time soon.

It’s not exactly that I don’t feel you all can’t relate to happiness because I see many of you falling in love, liking people, dating, finding your own path, etc.  In fact, I can see that some of you are happy to be righthere [which I’m forever indebted to you for].  I see happiness in a lot of you but even that makes me question if my gift is still as poignant and resounding when it’s coming from a happy place.  Look at Adele – a classic record and six grammys (what is the plural version of that word? Does anybody know?) out of heartbreak.  I’m writing a book inspired by the heartbreak.  But I’m slowly learning that the inspiration and the ending don’t necessarily have to be the same thing.  And that’s what I’ve gotten from Lent this year, taking on the responsibility of not giving a f.ck has given me the ability to feel monumental things.  I literally removed anger out of my life.  I heard things that made me ‘feel’ angry but I learned to ‘feel’ that and move through it in the same breath.  I left anger at the foot of the cross.  I did not react in anger.  I was able to make more room for happiness and more room for love.  I was able to experience a momentous love, a “bone crushing, forgive all things, get angry for you” type of love.  I found enough space to be empty and enough room to die just to let someone resurrect me again.  Funny how that happened during Lent.  Either way, I’m on my way back to you, ready to relate, ready to love, and ready to be open to happiness.  And whether I fall in love or not, I’ve always been in love with the likes of you.  That is why, no matter what I say or how I say it, we relate anyway.  I love you.  Thank you for missing me.  Sometimes, I don’t notice when I’ve left.

Hiding

What if I told you I was happy?  What if I told you that I found the man of my dreams and my fear of disappointing y’all led me to disappointing him far more often?  :taps computer screen: Yes I’m talking to you.  I’ll be honest, I’m not typically a happy person.  I have a happy personality such that I’m smiling 98% of the time but true happiness, the kind that comes your favorite dish waiting for you when you get home, is not something I exhale naturally.  I don’t often tell people what truly makes me happy. 

Did you know that dogs bury what’s most important to them?  Without realizing of course, that buried items often die and wither away with time, losing their color and the shine reaching for the sun beneath the dirt.  That’s what happened to my relationship.  I kept it hidden in the deepest parts of me like it was a secret among my ribs.  I almost felt guilty for loving someone that much.  I felt guilty for even being loved.  I felt like I was cheating on all of the heartbreak, the disappointment and the betrayal that I had written to you.  But I don’t blame you because it’s hard to tell when I’m smiling from the inside when I’m usually always smiling.  It’s hard to tell when I fall in love because I never tell what happens in between.  It’s like we talk, he’s cool, I love him.  I don’t generally disclose the secret hideaways and the breakfasts in bed.  I don’t talk about the forehead kisses or the interlocked fingers, the dinners made with love and the showers where two shadows collide.  I don’t naturally talk about the back breaking, the loud laughter, the swollen breasts, the broad back and the messy hair.  I don’t often preach the interlude of my own love.  But for most people, the moment between two songs where one ends and the other begins, feels like the music has been stopped.  How come no one ever told you that breath is music? The pause is the breath, the inhale, the exhale, the ‘let me take a moment just so you jot this down into your flesh, appropriately marked with “I was here.”’  I cherish the pauses.  I keep the secrets. I bury the happiness sometimes just so I know where to look for it when I need to go back there.  When the music stops, it doesn’t stop at all, it’s just demanding that you listen closer that you stop moving and hear the pulse, that you respect when the heart beats and you don’t mark it dead when it takes a moment to gather itself.

What if I told y’all I was happy?  And that heartbreak, betrayal and disappointment were foreign things that I never found in his bed.  What if I told you that happiness is not always just a smile?  That maybe my happiness was getting out of bed in the morning or maybe it was showing up to a job I hated because I knew that once I got off, I was headed to his house?  What if my happiness was the little things that you take for granted every day, so much so that even when you read my day to day life, you miss it anyway? 

What if I was happy and I gave it all up just to relate to you more, to love with you again, to cry with you in peace, to hold you in the dark?  What if I sacrificed my happiness with my angel to be amongst humans again?

Bye...

It sounds like I miss you when my sheets rub against each other

Interrupting the conversation between my bare legs wondering what's missing between them…

Wondering when brown became so void, so vague, so empty

I couldn't think of another word that began with "v" except for virgin 

which is still technically the same thing as empty

considering you can have something to 'lose' while still not ever 'having' something

Either way, my legs miss you 

and maybe that's why I keep walking back to you 

Hoping you'll have something for me 

Something that looks like love but feels like a deported cousin

that feels like you're sad that they're gone but at least they get to be back home

I have stop feeling like there's home in your bones

I have to stop feeling like you got away with murder without realizing I'm the one who died

I have to stop feeling like, love, and madness for you

I had hoped that by the time I reached this door, it would be the front door to our house

with a white picket fence and a dishwasher like I had always hoped

But instead it is just a door that I've been crying behind hoping you never reached for the handle because it's burning there

because there's a fire here

There's smoke here

and there's ashes that sit where I have crumbled

I wish I could stop loving you

Stop missing you 

Stop kissing you 

But muscle memory is real and every time I see your teeth, my tongue just wants to say hello

I should know better to know that I know nothing at all

And some things just aren't you, but when those things aren't for me, then there's no us

I wish my brown legs wouldn't need you as a place to rest

I burned many a calorie with you in between them

Lost everything but weight though

Lost years but not inches

And fooled myself into believing that my wetness had nothing to do with my tears

Even my vagina was crying

Like women often do when intruders are near

And you kept telling me that my flesh was pink

Baby, I'm brown, she was just blushing when you were near

the blood was just rushing when you were near

the flood was just gushing when you were near

How dare I drown in my own waters?

Loving you moved me, sometimes into dizziness

But leaving you kept me still...

Mailbox full

I left a message for God last night

On the wings of a dove with feathers so white, my blackness wore itself like a scarlet letter

It read, dear God,

I see him wherever I go

In music notes of songs written in the charcoal veins of Etta James

In mirrors along my bedroom walls

In the bottom of my morning coffee

And in the footprints of staggering children on their way to school

I wonder, why you would bring me to love and leave me there

Weeping at the foot of its cross?

Wondering whose wings I can borrow to take me away from here

Why guardian angels don’t grace the battlefield called love

And why he can’t stand the very sight of me but lying down, he seemed to enjoy it

God, tell me something

Why is it that you loved Mary enough to breed your son and yet you caused her the most pain?

Why would you give her something and then take it away from her in pieces of parables and miracles as if the legacy was enough to console her?

As if memories where strong enough or wide enough to hold her?

As if the trinity wasn’t supposed to include her?

I feel washed away Lord

Like rubble underneath his feet

Like a valentine’s day card from kindergarten collecting dust on his mother’s fridge

Like meaningless phrases such as ‘boys will be boys’ but what about the men boys were intended to be?

I feel like he quit on me Lord

As if the devil made a better offer

But who listens to anyone who left heaven just to win an argument?

Clearly, their wings were never made of gold

Their breath never smelled of myrrh

And their hair didn’t curl like the lips of the moon

I feel like he quit on me Lord when he walked past me this morning

And I ain’t never ask a man to be righteous without respect

Can I say I’m perfect?

No, I’m more of the Magdalene than the Mary but I try

I pray with his name coming from my lips like smoke to let you know there’s a fire here

There’s virtue here

And whatever doubt I fostered, I attempt to bury it with the dirt of my own skin and the fingers of my own sacrifice

It’s not my love I want a favor for

It’s my humility

I just want to know Lord, if I leave myself in your mailbox, will you check me?