In Memory of Lafayette the King.

Thursday, August 25, 2005 12:57p.m.

You bring to life that which was
Dead
Every time you exhale
I take a deep breath of your presence
Fill my lungs with your essence
So strong I may choke
It makes me high
Higher than the mountain of potential
That stands between us
You give life to dreams that haven’t been
Dreamed
I close my eyes and remember
Soft touches in the darkness
Familiar
Looking deep into your universe
And even though it’s pitch black power
I can still see your light
It guides me
Calms me while the storm subsides within me
You speak life to me with words I never
Heard spoken the way they are spoken
When they are spoken from you
You give me cipher
Make me hyper
Excite me with your lyricism
Spellbind me with a wicked tongue
I come
Close to elation as you riddle me
With artful syncopation
Captivated for the duration of your speech
You thrill me
And I smile until the next time
I get the chance
To have a slice
Of your
Life.



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My Groove...

My groove
Friday, 1:05pm August 12, 2005

I slipped out of my groove
And can't find my way back in
It's been dislocated and like an elbow
That can't bend
I'm in pain until I find my groove again
My groove slipped through my fingers
Out of my reach
It tiptoed slowly down the street
Left me with nothing
But the memory of it's beat
Maybe it just wasn't
The right groove for me
Maybe it didn't suit me
Wasn't in my key
I need a groove that can move me
Make chills run up my spine
Connect me with the divine
I need a groove that can lift me
On the days when I'm too heavy
A groove that can support me
When I'm off balance
And not too steady
I need a groove that can transport me
To places I've never been
A groove that will give me the comfort
Of my closest, personal friend
I need a groove that can recreate me
Without making me over
A need a groove with a strong back
And a waterproof shoulder
I need a groove that can sustain me
Fill me up in places unseen
I need a groove that fills in my blanks
And all my places in between
I need a groove that will embrace me
Wrap me up warm
I need a groove that will encase me
Bring me shelter from the storm
I'm looking for a groove
I'm longing for a groove
I'm searching for a groove
I'm incomplete
Without
my
Groove


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Don't Make Me Over

For half a day I was excited to know that a part of my past was now living in Jacksonville. We found each other by accident online and after 14 years, I was a bit nervous about seeing him again. I can't lie, my mind ventured off into memory land and I thought about the nights we used to spend together. The things he taught me have blessed a few brothers. He introduced me to orgasm, ecstacy and elation. I knew nothing about sex until I met him. Suffice it to say, at one time,he had my nose wide open. We talked for three hours initially and caught up with one another's lives. In some ways, more than I cared to admit, he was still the same. Had he always been so shallow and self-absorbed? I noticed that I couldn't really get a word in edgewise as he rambled on and on about his favorite person, himself. I was barely 21 when I met him and I hate to even admit that I was so naive. The Bridgette he knew was wild and untamed, had no direction in life and lived in and for the club. That's where we met and honestly, it was my short skirts, coke bottle shape and my big butt and a smile that caught his attention. Not my intelligence. Not my inner being. I can't fault him. That's not what I showed him. But as I sat with him yesterday for lunch, it hit me like a ton of bricks just how much I have evolved and grown in the 14 years since we parted company. A body builder fulltime, he is fit, even for his 39 years. He rambled on endlessly about his competitions, awards and blah, blah, blah. And I guess he thought he was doing me a favor by reminding me of how fine I WAS. EXCUSE ME???? "I'm still fine," I told him. "I could be your personal trainer," he said. No, thank you. I'm straight. I have no desire for someone to make me over. I am alright with me. Too bad for him that he still can't see the real me. He dropped me off at work after our lunch and asked me to come see him later. I wouldn't dare. It was clear to me that yeah, he could sculpt me into his image of perfect. But as soon as he got me there, he would find something else that needed to be fixed. I thought I'd share my email to him.


-----Original Message-----
From: Bridgette Hogan [mailto:bhogan@cppcjax.org]
Sent: Tuesday, August 02, 2005 2:34 PM
To: XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Subject: Today



XXXX,

It was nice sharing a meal with you today and catching up with you.
Right now I am experiencing a wide range of emotions. A bit of
nostalgia, if you will. You remind me of a time when I was lost and
had no direction. You make me remember how very little I thought of
myself. And how despite the fact that my body was tight, my mind was in
disarray. I like me much better now. No, my stomach is not as flat
and I have gained a couple of pounds, but I am much happier with who I am
and I don't like feeling like you made me feel today. Like right now,
this very minute, I'm not okay. We are different. Our thought patterns are
the same, but what we place value on differs drastically. It has taken
me a long time to learn how to like myself. I spent so many years
feeling like I wasn't pretty or valuable. Like the only way I could
receive validation was through the stamp of approval of others. Living
that way left me wounded and it took me years to heal. I am not there
anymore and even though I recognize that I could make some changes here
and there; I am so alright with me. I guess I am writing this to you
because I got in your truck feeling glad to be me, proud of who I am,
happy to have connected to a part of my past. But I got out feeling as
if I weren't good enough and I like I needed to re-evaluate and re-do
me. I guess that’s why I told you I wouldn't be coming to visit you.
You want me to be like I was, but I can't. Even if I lost 20 pounds, I
will never be her again. Who needs to be reminded of a past you want
to forget? You like reliving those moments. But I don't. Because even
though I was fine, I wasn't fine. I allowed men to walk all over me
and all they were drawn to was a small waist and a big ass and I didn't
have sense enough to stand up for myself and say "hey, there is more to me
than that." I am just venting here. I needed to let you know how I
felt. Thanks for lunch today.

Bridgette Hogan
Administrative Assistant
The Community Partnership for
the Protection of Children



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Big Shoes on Little Feet

I love engaging in conversation with my tight girlfriends. There is nothing like it. My circle is wide, but we all have kids and jobs and hobbies and men in our lives that keep us from connecting as often as we used to. But on Sunday I had a long talk with Sharon. A new mother for the first time at 31, she is the last of the crew to experience motherhood and it is a joy to watch her fall in love with Jana Nicole. We talked about me: who I'm seeing, is it working. We talked about her: what's going on with baby daddy, when she goes back to work. And somewhere in between, we began to ponder the false expectations we as women so often have and the ways of escape we make for the men we want so much from. I've seen her go through so many relationships and she has seen me through all kinds of situations. It was quite funny. Because we have known each other for so long, we actually KNOW each other. No hiding from those who know all your hiding places and have no trouble finding you. Might as well keep it real. In her tiny, high pitched voice she said to me, "we have to stop making excuses for men." I agreed. I am guilty of such a crime. A repeat offender even. Then she said something to me that resonated within my soul. In that same tiny, high pitched voice that some times drives me crazy, she rang like a bell when she said "we've been walking in their shoes for too long, and their shoes don't fit us." I was stuck. Instantly, I got a visual of me and my size 6.5's clomping down the street in shoes twice my size. Just imagine. I'm stumbling, can't run, people looking at me crazy and they ain't matchin' nothing I got on. That is the way I feel about my life as a single mother. I have arms that can't reach and shoes too big on my feet and ain't no need in trying to disquise it or take them off because I have no choice. In order for me to get where I have to go, these big shoes are a requirement. They come along with the uniform, and the many hats that I have to wear. But I can't lie. I am so ready to take these bad boys off and slip my tired feet into some that fit me. Unless you have walked a mile in them, you can't know how it feels to try and wear big shoes on little feet. In some ways I feel less than human. A second class citizen that has been reclassified and labeled as an oddity. There are other women out there just like me who slipped out of their burning beds and put their feet right into shoes that weren't made for them. And the nigga they belonged to ran off barefoot. Ain't even bother to come get his shoes back because coming back to get his shoes would mean coming back to face the responsibility of the bed that he had helped to make. I'm shaking my damn head now as I write this because reality is a mother. No pun intended.


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