THE FLOOD

(Click to Listen-The Flood)

Our relation ride waves of change like New Orleans refugees
No FEMA teams
Just injections of depression when our tide rises
And emotions flood our better judgment
We fight for our own surface
Drowning one another with the words weighted down
By the half dead bodies of our past
And those that continue to float into our present
We hurl rocks of disrespect
like prized female cleanup pitchers pitching for game-changers
fast
underhanded
and on target
we ride pieces of drift from our own ruins on the fragments of our own happiness
and grasp for security
clinging to one another for safety
only to be tossed aside to fend for ourselves
and then to again grasp for security
again only to realize that we are all we have
We scrap for position
ripping each other out of our smiles
and leaving scars that only heal in half smiles glossed in insecurity
we wrap what’s valuable in plastic to keep the water from tainting the love that we carry with us
but we poke holes in the plastic allowing small trickles of water to seep in and contaminate
we neglect the size of the storm not because we are in it
but because we create it
small rains are now hurricanes
because we failed to repair the damage done when the damage was manageable
we failed to board our feelings to brace for the coming torrential
we are damaged
being carried by a current on temporary slacks that will not sustain us
and from a distance we hear that another storm is coming
but we don’t evacuate because home where our heart is
So we stay
and drown each other in the rising flood waters of our own discontent
With no relief in sight.

The Familiar

(Click to Listen-The Familiar)

Have you ever played the game memory?  You know…the card game where you lay all 52 playing cards down on a flat surface and you flip the cards over, one at a time, remembering where you may have seen the card  that you’re holding, previously.  It’s a mental stimulation game that some believe will help ward off the signs of mental degeneration as we grow into our old age.  Or what about, have you ever placed your favorite item in a box for a few days, weeks, months and out of nowhere you get this wave of unease as though you may have left something behind…something important… something that brings about a sense of comfort, or peace, or happiness and you go seek that “item” out-vigorously…that’s the game of “Familiarity”.  Familiarity is a tricky, emotional pull, that sometimes subject the soul to unjust and unrelenting torment because if attempting to get back to a place where comfort was more than a smile and happiness was more than just a feeling, but a tangible face, a whisper in the dark, a sliding of fingertips down brown skin, you may find yourself in an emotional padded room with a reflection you barely recognize.

I awaken a few months ago feeling like I may be missing out on something that I previously put away.  Something that may be life changing.  Something that I felt that I could not live without.  This particular item was special.  It was comparable to Linus’ security blanket-seasoned, worn, warm and available at that split second when life’s boogie man threatened to impede my child-like nature.  I placed this something in a proverbial box insisting to myself that I had outgrown this item and that my mature SELF was enough to face life without the need of its warmth.   So a few months ago I awakened, cold, shivering and missing my item.  I awakened with that nagging sense of unease I mentioned earlier.  I was missing Linus’ blanket and that inner, unsettling pull beckoned me to go retrieve it from the hidden space in which I felt I remembered I left it.  I went back to my box.  That box.  In my house.  In the corner, remember.  That rustic, wooden box, passed down to me, from my grandmother, given to her by my grandfather which housed all the hand written letters from Him when writing letters, in foreign lands, of distant desires was the only thing that kept his mind at peace and closed the gap of loneliness. The one that safely kept the still photographs of ancient cousins, and uncles, and aunts; of faces I would never meet, but who I uncannily resembled, and admired, and who wore shoes I could purchase a hundred times over, but I could never fill.  The box that held the trinkets of places where I had smiled, laughed and cried; in places where emotions were freely exchanged, where tears flowed from loving eyes and created trails down blushed cheeks, and the hand that erased those trails lingered , for just a second in case another trail began.  This is the box where I placed my special something.

I pulled the box from its corner, unhinged its brass clasps and begin to dig.  I dug through the neatly, nearly, calligraphied writings on parchment paper and came up with a paper cut.  I dug further and soiled the photographs of my ancient relatives.  Further and tainted the memories of my happier times. Even further and bruised my knuckles from frantically and manically digging and scraping my bare skin against unfinished wood searching for the familiar.  I was desperately seeking the familiar-hoping that the familiar remained in this box and that it had not been moved, misplaced, set askew or modified by being placed aside in my quest to break free of its dependence.  I vigorously sought this item while flipping over my world, one item at a time, looking, but also hoping that when I found this item that we still matched.  So I continued to be battered by old trinkets and rusty nails and I cried from the pain and patched the bruises and I dug some more, being sidetracked by the similar, but not quite the familiar until finally I was knee-deep in a box which barely made room for my two hands.  It was at that point that I realized my item had been there the whole time but because I dug and dug and picked and soiled and moved and disturbed that the familiar had been modified by me to the point where I no longer recognized it and it no longer recognized me.

SHE

(Click to Listen-She)

She has a smile that is unmatched
Not even by the light of the sun
A smile that could melt the Arctic Glaciers of the Bering Straits
that wraps like silk from the banks of the Nile around her round face
She is light
She is light in a thief’s shadow of unwavering pity
Confident and Self-Assured
Yet she awakes to a world that has no room for her to blossom into her
Carnations’ petals of purple
And pink
Perfection
If purple
And pink
And perfect is what she desires to be
or maybe green and brown hues of a strong cypress
deep in its roots and tough skin
She Awakes
Black Girl
In all her imperfections never told by her own reflections
in her own mirror
in her own home
but imperfection heard by a world
that secretly stands to read her book, and drinks from her cups
without so much as leaving a nickel for the tip that has been stolen
yet curses the natural way her clothes has maintained its close and personal relationship
to her hips
close
unbashful and unapologetic
hugging
every curve and dimple
that smooths into a muscle
that flows into a picture
perfect
pose of passionate
and purposeful stride
She Walks.

She walks the dead concrete roads of her own Oz
where the yellow brick
has been stained and treated with the grey grit
of the wayward strolls
of the dead souls
who have walked and strolled this road before her
there is no fucking skipping in her Oz
there are no linked arms
or white girls smiling
cowardly lions crying
farms of a hay stuffed arm scare crows
or indigo skies that beseech eyes of a perfect tomorrow
this is not
was not
and never has been
her Oz
and there is no goddamn Toto
there is just the whistles and cat-calls of the wizards of the ghetto
where the stains not only show but glow to a world
who believes you can’t grow from
to move out of grey grit hell holes
this world won’t plant the seed in she
but will taint the soil to kill her Cypress tree
to kill her Cypress tree

But yet and still she walks

She walks
To find love in a man who doesn’t deserve her as a woman
To use and be used
To wipe her love away as if it has stained the side of his face
By lingering too long to be beneficial
to breathe the air of a woman who loves to be loved
To give love from a place where only few have visited
Yet he decorates with arrogance and vile
Disease of deceit and indiscretion
Poisoned tipped lies that resurrects with no confession
Words spoken and hoarded like black roses
Kept fresh through cracked vases and osmosis
on display for the world to see
To speak about the love of she as if it never existed
Through persistence love grows distant
But persists is the only way she exists in a world with few exits
So she loves hard and with no direction
Dead ending on a familiar street as if that’s the only route her love knows how to go
Never growing in love
Just growing from it
Never staying in love
Just visiting
She seeks warmth in her own words when his has grown so cold
Never too old to play the fool
And never too young to learn
She walks back into the fire as if she’s never felt the burn

Yet and still she walks

…and she keeps walking and she keeps walking and she keeps walking
Until the world not only recognizes Jesus footprints, but recognizes hers too

Through it All (pt 1-From my Soul)

(Click to Listen-Through it All-Soul)

I loved him from my soul
A soul so old that stories have been told
That it channeled those through underground railroads
And boat loads of passengers through middle passages
That it kept the spirits of shackled men
and nursed the bellies of hungry babies
and was known as Mamie from children whose eyes were as blue as the ocean
but who had no depth like the ocean
whose lips spoke words of love and hatred through the years
until they realized that my tears flowed from brown eyes and trickled down black skin when I cried
until they realized my body was somewhat a commodity on auction blocks to be sold to the highest bidder goes
but not my soul
see my soul persevered the move from the big house to the out house
from physical lacerations and verbal degradation
to being spit on by white men in the morning to be being licked on by white men at night
to hiding in plain sight the emotional scars of being locked in a caged field with no bars
and praying nightly and worshipping daily that death
death be the key to comes to set my soul free tomorrow
but see death never came to me and my soul still grows old
and this
this is the soul that I loved him with
and If my soul survived this what make him think that my soul wouldn’t survive our split

 

Therapy at Target

Today was a relatively somber day in Atlanta-drastically contradicting the days of yester-weeks which were bright, hot, and attractive to my skin.  Today was muggy and dark and gloomy which coincidentally described my sub-conscience although I had not realized that until I had a need to go to Target for a few toiletries and some pineapple juice to make my pineapple upside down cake martini-a great nightcap to my already long and sober day.  That’s all I wanted: body wash, lotion and pineapple juice.   I parked my car in Target’s relatively empty and wet parking lot and made my way to the door when I saw this handicapped gentleman slowly making his way to the electronic doors by way of a walker.  He was young and his journey did not seem painstaking.  His feet were turned outward as to suggest he had been born with a disability which he had grown to accept and therefore his demeanor read,” when I make it to the door, with only the use of this walker and no one else, I will make it to the door so please don’t rush my journey”.  Because this young man looked so comfortable with his lifelong situation there was no need for me to be saddened by his plight (as we all are crippled in this world one way or another-some unseen) so I gave no hand to help him along or no exhalation as to suggest he was holding up my day, but rather I smiled and said “hello” to him as I used the manual doors to walk into Target instead of the automatic doors I normally use when entering the store, without interrupting either of our day with our respective disabilities.  The young man stopped slightly and his face lit up as he smiled brightly and said hello back to me which was the most genuine reaction I had seen from my smile and my hello in a very long time.  I gave a smile back to him and continued to walk through the second set of doors, turned a corner and began to cry.  I don’t know if my hello made this man’s day, but I can definitely say that his reaction absolutely made mine.  It was the purity without expectation that came across his face when he reciprocated my greeting that touched my heart and made me realize how absolutely sad I really was in that moment.  In that moment I felt like I let go of my own selfishness in trying to find my own happiness to make someone else smile and God granted me a moment to heal just a little.  I shed a tear through every aisle I walked in Target and at every keystroke of this message because that man showed me how to smile through my circumstance.  Although I have heard the song a half a dozen times from Kirk Franklin you can never know how to smile through it all until smiling is your only option because although things may seem bad for you they are rarely unbearable.  I saw the young man again as I was wiping silent tears and making my way to the checkout and this time I said nothing as I walked by, but if he had asked me if I had everything I needed from my trip to Target today I would have turned to him and told him I could definitely use a hug.

Diagnosing Insecurity

Contrary to popular beliefs, fueled by testosterone, women are not born insecure.  There is no trait, passed by the mother to the daughter, through DNA, that produces an insecure little girl and years later an insecure woman.   This means there is no evidence of  genome mapping that traces back to a particular gene on any chromosomes that’s indicative of an insecure abnormality, like Breast Cancer or Down Syndrome, that can be explained, through medical science, on how one’s life will possibly unfold.   Also contrary to popular beliefs, fueled by popular music and over-rehearsed reality television, some women do not carry baggage from one relationship to another.  Most women do, however, notice signs much sooner, realize what they will and will not deal with much faster, and play their hand much wiser, having dealt with all kinds of men in their past-it’s the nature of growing up and into one’s self.  How can I honestly know if I like chocolate if I have never tried chocolate?  That’s the nature of knowing what’s best-having sampled many options.  Now, although I will not say that insecurity can be genetically explained through medical science, I will however, say that insecurity can best be compared to a symptom of a much bigger disease.  Insecurity can only be caught when having dealt with someone who is not “secure” in being honest, “secure” in communicating, “secure” in their present relationship or even “secure with themselves.  Lies, or even the perception of a lie, are spread and insecurity is caught. 

I remember back in a past relationship where things were going great between me and my then “love interest”.  We were the BEST of friends-inseparable really.  We were two of the most delicious peas in a perfect pod-I was smitten.  Our relationship progressed out of a great friendship.  Nothing was rushed.  We had great communication…or so I thought.  In the beginning of every budding relationship there is an excitement with marathon conversations where two people can’t help but indulge in the glow of one another’s life, feelings, thoughts, and desires…it’s the newness, the unknown and the discovery that keeps one drinking from the cup of information and the other keeping the glass full.  I was DRUNK and happy and at every chance that I had to belly up to the bar I wanted to be hit again…that is until I was cut off.  I thought I could ask this person any and everything without fear or consequence.  I mean this person was open with sharing himself to me until the most simple questions were received with speculative answers and speculative answers were now turning into innuendos of me dreaming up something in my head and for the longest time I thought maybe it is me.  To make a what-can-turn-into-a-long-story really short there was a communication breakdown.  I asked questions, initially, not coming from a place of blame, but really coming from a place of hurt.  He was my best friend and now I am being shunned…”what’s happening”, “let’s talk about it”, and “what can I do to help”? with the answer always being nothing, no, and everything is fine and of course you know everything is not fine.  What once was a trusting and loving relationship with open communication was turning into an environment of wall building and secret keeping and the worst place for any woman to be when a man builds walls is trapped on the outside of that wall and on the inside of her own head.  I was in disbelief and denial about what was truly happening in my life and unfortunately there was only one way I could get resolution to my escalating problem…I had to go get it myself.

What many people fell to realize when dealing with someone who may seem a little insecure about what is happening in their present relationship, is that you really need to let go of your own ego and examine what you may be doing to irritate the situation.  There are a number of people who do not enter into a brand new relationship insecure, but within the course of that relationship begin to show signs of insecurity.  If you really care for your mate, you would care about what they are feeling and possibly slow down on the actions which may be causing the insecurity to begin with or at least having open and honest dialog about it.  If not, if you are so unwilling to check your own actions, you should not be mad when the insecure party is left with no choice but to find their own answers which may be in some cases snooping. 

Its 2011 and the world is changing daily.  Every day in the news you hear about spouses of unfaithful partners being killed, children kidnapped, and other unspeakable crimes taking place on the heel of infidelity.  Shows like Snapped, Wicked Attraction, and Unsolved Mysteries are E-Classrooms for the twisted and deranged.  Now I understand how my mentioning these shows can seem a little farfetched of a reason for one to be proactive in discovering the truth within their own relationship, but unfortunately shows like the ones mentioned would not be in existence if situations that are synonymous with these shows were not occurring everywhere.  These particular shows highlight the gruesomeness of what people are capable of when they feel like they have been misled or that they cannot live without the person who is fueling their happiness, while shows like Maury and Springer glorify what some would consider the lighter side of infidelity such as catty fighting, bitter living, and the spread of communicable diseases-all of which may not be so easy to rid yourself of and none of which I ever wanted in my happy existence.  So I became proactive about my happiness and I snooped finding exactly what I expected to find and although what I found brought an end to what I thought and hoped was a great existence with a long future it paved a way for my peace of mind and cured me of my insecurity.

About THE PITIFUL AFTERMATH (via SEX & THE PITY)

Page 3 of 3 of the “About” pages.

I can't think I can’t think or eat I can’t think or eat or sleep And not amount of sheep That enters my head Will get me to bed When there’s still that space that you left cold I hold back the tears While I hold on to the fact And unfurl the fears That I’m alone in this world With no one left to lean on You were my rock My bone And this song that keeps playing In my mind its saying That I should hold on and be strong But I’ve been strong for too … Read More

via SEX & THE PITY

About LOVE (via SEX & THE PITY)

2 of 3 of my “About” pages!! Stop by and read the rest of the blog!

Love is the door you walk through not knowing what lies on the other side. You hide Your foolish pride And push back the fear inside To open that door And explore The possibilities That something, Something Is this love? Has in store for you Sometimes the clouds are blue And the sun is shining But sometimes Love Takes some defining And relying on your other half to make you laugh or make you whole and sometimes Love Yes love! Makes you gasp And l … Read More

via SEX & THE PITY

Catching “Honey” with Vinegar

(Click to Listen-Catching Honey with Vinegar)

Everyone has heard the old adage that you can “catch more flies with honey than with vinegar” which when simply put means you can always get further when being nicer, but does that saying really apply to life? What about to relationships? I ask these questions because I am also familiar with the adage of “Good Guys finishing Last”. Is everything that I have been taught on how to govern myself as well as other people in direct competition and contradiction with one another? Why hell yes it is!

First Love

Since I was a little girl on the playground I have seen boys pull hair, punch, push, kick and degrade the girls of their adolescent desire. These sorts of behaviors would lead to bruised arms as well as bruised egos; hurt feelings and hurt heads; dirt stained clothes and tainted ideals of love because no sooner than the tear traces create a damp path down some victimized little girl’s now dingy face, then the cycle of physical and psychological abuse begins again. Little Sally, with her tear-and-snot stained dress sleeve and scraped knee, will limp as hard as she can back to Johnny to vie for his love with even more tears and her damselesque manipulation so that she can feel secure in knowing that she has gotten the prize of a bad boy. But why? Is it because if you’re sleeping with enemy you are secure in knowing at least who the enemy is? Hmm? Perhaps, but believe it or not, the one thing that men and women have in common is the thrill of the chase-albeit for women the chase is really the chase for attention from a man who is hard-pressed to give it… but it’s a chase nonetheless.

Most women get their adrenaline pumping when we feel like a man will take us to the edge and threaten to push us over. It’s exciting when a man is masculine, bruting, not easily bendable or intimidated. We cannot get enough of the rush and excitement that some men deliver even if he’s delivering a dozen stems of bullshit. All and all it’s the attention we crave and some of us will sell our better judgment to get it. From adolescence to adulthood the game only changes slightly for most women-we meet a guy, we fall for a guy, the guy rejects us, and then our soul is up on the auction block until we get him back or we get over him; only failing to realize one thing- some love is lost in the breakup and makeup cycle where the fairy tale that once was will never play out to “happily ever after” because one party will never change enough in the time span that the other’s patience will run thin, because unfortunately these things cannot be sped up and someone will always attempt to rush the clock (women).

Kanye

But where is the boy who was picking flowers and sharing cookies? Most likely this boy is kicking rocks on the playground and answering all the questions in the classroom. This is the guy that most girls rejected, made fun of, or made into their strictly “platonic” male friend throughout grade school. He was the guy whose parents raised him up the right way: to be chivalrous, respectful, kind, compassionate, considerate, complementary, and hard-working. This is the guy who is on every woman’s “list”, and who no woman really wants? Is it because he doesn’t have Jay Z‘s “swag” or is a complete asshole like Kanye? Or is it because he doesn’t grab you by your hair or refer to you as “Bitch” every once in a while-even in bed? Is it because his life isn’t exciting enough and he doesn’t aspire to be infamously connected to the music industry or chase the limelight of individuals who bring drama to his life? Or is it because he doesn’t drive an automobile that screams “Success” to most diggers and possible “Drug Dealer” to most police? As women we don’t always know what we want, because if we did there would be fewer broken promises and even fewer broken hearts. There would be more men really wanting to aspire to be the nice guy and fewer nice guys aspiring to be the bad ass or chameleons of who he thinks women really want. Most of us are Hollywood glamorized by the idea of WHAT a man should be…”what” he drives, “what” he wears and “what” he brings to table as opposed to WHO a man should be and those adjectives are endless. The moment we begin chasing the “what” is the moment we begin falling down all over again and scraping our knees trying to run and keep up with the persona. I’ve tasted vinegar and it was bitter.

The Truth of the Matter

Through it all Loving one another

(Click to Listen-The Truth of the Matter)

The truth of the matter is that it was never supposed to be you
In my face
In this place
You, standing here
Receiving me
Drinking from my cup
So much such and such
Brought us to this moment
Where I am able to have you do more than drink up
But so what
Because its you
And you’re here
And the truth of the matter is
You touched a piece of my soul and stole the other half of my heart
And even though we’re worlds apart
The idea of you doesn’t seem foreign to me
But the thought of you not being here is skeevish and peevish to my prosperity
The siblings of your future generation wouldn’t look like me
Wouldn’t smile like me
Or have the same Texas twine when I whine your name…so uniquely… to give it to me
The siblings of your future generation wouldn’t know me
Wouldn’t see me
Or be about me
Their eyes in mine couldn’t see we
So I rebel
and occasionally I do me
Just to see how much latitude you give me
And even when my inner diva breaks free
You never hang me with the same rope you gave me…
you give me…me
and the truth of the matter is
when I hurt you
I hurt me
I cry tears so profusely when thinking of the walls I have built instead of relationships
Where casual encounters may have led to spending sprees and shopping trips
down to Cancun but never trips down the aisle
But those things take a while
So I settled for the drug of a good time over a long time and fed my addition like a child…
But for you
For you
I’ll crawl an inch in sobriety just so one day together we can run a mile
And knowing all the while it was never supposed to be you
But the truth of the matter is it is you
You are the voice that I hear when I hear love speak
a language only shared between you and me
the melodic sounds of a monotonous tick in your Mississippi, North Carolina, Afro centric Swahili
you are the Honey in mine and E. Badu’s tea
a short sip after a long trip keeps my free spirit under lock and key
and even on the days I may not know how to love you
you show me how to love me…
and even on the days I resist the idea of you completing me
I know without half of you
There is no whole me…
And for that reason
The truth of the matter is
Its you…the way its suppose to be