Diary of a Single Mother.

2009-02-27T20:39:00.002-05:00

My sister, Alexia, helped me to birth a baby tonight. Fancy her a new age midwife. As I recall our lengthy, beautiful conversation today, I am reminded of how necessary it was for me to have someone in the birthing room with me when I had my children. Giving birth can be such an intense, emotional, painful, traumatic experience. You need to have someone there, when during a brief moment of delirium, you feel like kicking the shit out of your doctor when a contraction hits. You need to have someone that understands the pain that you're going through and coax you through it. When I had my son at Georgetown University Hospital in Washington, D.C., my friend Corey was with me. I had a really hard time delivering Brandon. He was so big (9 lbs., 3 oz), and he kept backing up into my chest. I got to about six centimeters dilated and he just refused to budge. I had to have an emergency C-Section. Corey kept me sane throughout the whole process. I was in so much pain, I couldn't speak. I couldn't get comfortable. I was throwing up. Thank God for anesthesia. Who invented it? Where does he or she live because I have an overdue thank you card that I need to send to them. Such good dope. I mean GOOOOOODDDDD Dope. I can truly understand why people escape with drugs. Cause I was so grateful for that pain to go away. They pulled Brandon out and I didn't hear him cry. Even though I was doped up and high as hell, I did not hear my baby cry. I must have said something out loud and I remember I started to cry. I remember Corey whispering in my ear, "He's okay, Bridgette." I needed that reassurance. I needed her at that precise moment and time in the delivery process to let me know that my worst fears were unfounded and that everything would be alright.

Alexia did for me today what Corey did for me 18 years ago. At one point in our conversation, we both were boo-hoo crying. I mean a good and bad cry. A sobbing, snot dripping, deep chest cry. And it felt so good. I felt so connected with her in that moment. I felt like she had wrapped her arms around me all the way from New York City. I felt like I was at 10 centimeters dialated, tired, worn out, in pain and she came along and stood behind me, just when I thought I didn't have anything left in me. Just as I was beginning to feel like I would be pregnant forever and the pain would never stop. She picked up the phone today and her arms reached all the way from her dorm room in NYC and helped me to push through the pain that I was going through today.

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The Last Straw

2008-07-19T12:56:00.005-04:00

Been missing in action for a minute. Though my intention is to write consistently, sometimes the circumstances of my existence pull me off in so my directions, I don't do it. My grandmother has been here for the past few weeks and she is suffering from Alzheimer's Disease. I'm trying, sometimes unsuccessfully to cope with that. My youngest has decided she wants to live with her father in Washington, DC. I'm trying to digest that. The environment on my job fluctuates wildly and swings like a pendulum from day to day. Each day, mentally, I write another page in this autobiography, not really knowing how the next word, sentence or chapter will unfold. The most recent chapter in my life has been my son and daughters high school graduation. I made it through. Didn't fall out, get arrested or breakdown. I was so happy and blessed to see them march across the stage. You can't imagine the sense of pride I felt.

MY graduation.

Not just their freedom, but MINE. Now I can finally DO ME. Get a life. Get a Man, perhaps. Exhale. I sure am ready to change lanes and I felt that I had been preparing them for this moment. Teaching them how to cook, wash their clothes..'yes ma'am' and 'no sir'. I want them to be able to survive with me and withot me. But they graduated and it just don't seem like they are moving fast enough.

I get up in the morning to go to work and leave them in the bed. I come home and they are planted like trees in front of the television or the computer. Dishes in the sink. Won't take the trash out. What the ??? Who are these people??

Because I am dealing with so many different things, I have to choose my battles wisely. So instead of losing my cool, I hadn't been saying anything.

But the other day I came home and I had to pee real bad. I made a mad dash out of the car, down the side walk, through the front door and to the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me, threw my pocketbook on the floor, wiggled out my skirt and happened to turn around and look down at the toilet seat and there, slap dab in the middle of the toilet seat was a dingleberry.

Aww hell naw!!!

So as bad as I have to pee, before I can even do that, I have to clean the toilet seat off. Somebody else's crap. I'm doing the "gotta pee dance", got pee running down my leg and I am madder then a junkyard dog. I was like, "That's it!" They have to go!!! I might be able to overlook the dishes in the sink. It may piss me off, but I can even give you a pass on the trash can overflowing.

But when I have to clean up your crap, before I can do my crap?? That is the last straw. I went off. I mean, how do you do that? My bathroom ain't that big. I mean, after you washed your hands (assuming you did so) and turned to leave, how could not notice your own mess? Didn't you see it? So...what? You just leave it there... for who? The Maid? I hate a nasty bathroom. The bathroom and the kitchen should always be clean, regardless. They know that.

After I had time to reflect on it, I realize it was bigger than doo doo stains on a toilet seat. It is more about accountability. They are so comfortable in their relationship with me, they feel like no matter what, momma's got it. To a certain degree, that is correct.

But NOT as it relates to cleaning up after them. All the more reason for me to push them out of the nest. The line has to drawn somewhere and even though it was a crude way for me to wake up and realize that I need my space, it was necessary.

I get grief from my religious friends because I frequently tell them that I "own my ****." (I love God, but I still curse sometimes.) By saying that what I mean is I am accountable for what I do or have done. No need in putting it off on someone else, or hoping someone else will own it for me. If it's mine, it's mine.

Well, here is life lesson #305 for my newly graduated young adults who are on their way out of my house: I love you. I will always be here for you and want the best for you. But the time has come for our relationship to change. But before you go, let Momma give you a few words of advice: 1. Put God first. 2. Say please and thank you. 3. Never quit one job before you have another. 4. Choose your friends like you choose your fruit. And last, but not least... OWN YOUR ****!

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Strong Roots....

2008-03-28T09:24:00.003-04:00

I went on a much needed vacation last month to Washington, DC. My primary reason for going was to visit my grandmother (top center pic, 1978.) who had a stroke in November. So even though it was wonderful to be around kindred, it was also bittersweet because it was my first time seeing my grandmother since she got sick.

You have to understand. This is the woman that raised me. I called her Mommy and my mother by her name. I can remember her getting up at 3 in the morning to go to work on her first job, and not coming home until late in the evening when she got off of her third. I know her to be strong, boisterous, loud and intimidating. But when we arrived in DC at around 4 am that Friday after our long drive, and I saw her for the first time, it broke my heart. She had lost a considerable amount of weight. Her hair was completely white and she looked frail. Her demeanor was even different. It was like something had been taken from her; like she was missing something. But I couldn't quite wrap my mind around what that something was.

The days flew by very quickly. I didn't get to see all of my friends. I didn't get chance to go up to Georgetown or take many pictures. But I did get some seafood from the Wharf. I went to Ben's Chili Bowl, bought some bad ass shoes, and I got my hair braided up. Now that I think about it, I covered an awful lot of ground in a small space of time. It took me two days to feel normal again once I got home.

The best thing that happened to me while in DC...better than hooking up and reminiscing with old friends...better than the chili dog I got at Ben's Chili Bowl...better than the 3 pairs of shoes and two pair of boots...better than the jumbo shrimp and scallops from the wharf... better than my super tight fly ass braids..was the photo album my grandmother gave me. In it, were photos long forgotten.

As I turned each page, memories flooded back. Winter, 1977 in Washington. Snowball fights in the streets. My first trip to Disney World in 1978 (bottom, right). My Uncle Jessie (center pic) who wasn't really my Uncle Jessie, but my grandmother's "special friend." My first time visiting my father (center, bottom) and his new wife.

It was like looking at someone else. I found myself feeling like I was spying on someone else's childhood. But it was the most valuable thing she could have given me.

Memories like the corners of my mind...

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Where Has All The Time Gone?

2008-03-26T14:45:00.002-04:00

In June, Brianna and Brandon will graduate from high school. I am excited/nervous/thankful/apprehensive/emotional. I keep asking myself, "Have I taught them enough?", "Will they be ready?"

I keep thinking about how far we've come. I look back and remember all the bumps in the road, the transitions, sleepless nights and even though it didn't feel good at the time, I am thankful for them all.

It makes me appreciate this time even more. As they get ready for prom, their senior trip. I just remember what it was like for me and I get excited for them. What I wouldn't do to be able to press rewind and go back for just a little while.

There is a rule that during the graduation ceremony you are not allowed to clap or shout for your loved ones as their names are being called. I think this is the craziest, most absurd thing I have ever heard of.

Whatchu mean I can't shout????

Child please. I am gonna be all over that audiotorium jumping and shouting. All up and down the aisles. As much hell as we've been through????? As many times as I have had to fast, pray and cry? You think I am going to be quiet??

God had brought us to far. He has been way too good.

Though far from perfect, my kids are the exception to the rule. They didn't drop out, inspite of. They haven't ever been arrested, in spite of. They going to college, in spite of.

Oh yeah...it's on.

They will probably have to carry me out of there. In fact, I am certain of it. I have no intent on being quiet. Graduation is a few months away, but when I think about it now, it makes me well up. So I know by the time that day comes, I won't be any good.

It is hard to believe, but life for all of us is about to change.

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Hope is Contagious.

2008-03-25T09:01:00.001-04:00

"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend's voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope!

- Senator Barack Obama

Hope

Hope is contagious

It doesn’t discriminate

Or care about circumstances

Out of control

It spreads

From black to white

To yellow and to brown

Up and downtown

Over rivers and through woods

It transcends and leaps tall buildings

Just to touch you

It is persistent

And relentless in it’s

Pursuit of you

Hope is determined

Hope says

"Yes, we can."

When it seems improbable

Hope says

"Yes, we can."

When worries seem insurmountable

Hope stands in the face

Of adversity and remains poised

Because it knows

The Secret

Hope has made its way into

Broken homes

It's spreading like an epidemic into lost marriages

And moving into lonely hearts

All across America

How dare hope

Penetrate me

Break down my defenses

The very audacity

Of hope to lead me to believe

That there is some pie left for me

Some blue sky left for me

The unmitigated gall of hope

Who does hope think he is

to inspire me to

Move my feet and my heart

And my mind

To a higher place

And a higher state

How dare hope make me

Dream impossible dreams

Of making ways out of no ways

Of an end to suffering and cloudy days

Hope has been gone too long.

You can’t find it like you used to

It used to be in the church

Each and every Sunday morning

Auntie's and grandmas and

Momma's and daddies

Passed hope around at the dinner

Table with mashed potatoes and peas

Hope used to sit in the back of the classroom

And oversee the education of children

But somewhere between Martin and Malcolm

The World Trade Center and Hurricane Katrina

George W. Bush and the recession

Hope vanished like a vapor

And now it ain’t just the lowly downtrodden

Who ain’t got no hope and

It’s not just the homeless mother of three

Who’s living in a shelter with no hope

It’s not just that brother who lost his job

And has 5 mouths to feed with no hope

You see

U got people

Making millions of dollars a year

With all the luxuries of the world

Every material gift you could possibly

Think of

But they have no hope

And If hope walked in the door right now

And wanted to reach out and touch me

I would knock Jesus down

To get to him

If hope showed up and said

"Come, on let’s go."

I’d leave without my pocket book

And my keys

cause it's ride or

die

If hope tells me

“Yes, I can.”

Then be it unto me

Just as

hope

has said.

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Coochie Talks

2008-03-16T16:53:00.002-04:00

Coochie Talks
Current mood: amused

Why y’all ain’t let a sista know that the price of coochie was going up? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Gas prices are through the roof. Stock market done crashed a couple times. Milk is $4.00 a gallon. Seems the only natural thing. Ho’s got to eat too. I watched in awe, with my mouth hung open at the drama that unfolded for New York’s Governor. Maybe not for the same reasons as the rest of the world. It wasn’t because he got caught in a prostitution ring. Or because he was exposed as a hypocrite for his actions. None of those things came as a shock. Powerful men have always paid for sex. I just couldn’t believe that old girl got $4300.00 for one freaking hour.

She must have the bomb digga. I mean it must do tricks. It probably has it’s own carrying case. I mean, after all, coochie that expensive should be carefully packaged. Don’t want to damage it in the transition of travel. I wonder if it is insured?

Whatever. I ain’t mad at the ho. (It is ok to call her that if that’s what she is, right?) In fact, I’m standing up right now and giving her and her high-priced nook a standing ovation. Because women from DC to Miami, California to Maine are on their backs nightly and ain’t getting a damn thing but excuses and promises. Do your thing Lil Mamma!!! Make that Money.

Ho’s all over the nation ought to be on notice. Stop under cutting the coochie. Raise your "price." Better yet, raise your standards cause only quality men can even be in the same room with quality coochie. Oh yeah. I’m re-thinking this thing. Hell, if she getting $4300.00 to use it, then my meter begins to run the moment I show up with it. That’s right. I feel like if I show up, and she’s with me, the meter is already running. My mom used to say it was powerful. But I had no idea.

Funny thing is…they had an "expert ho" on the Today Show this morning speaking on the behalf of other high priced ho’s. Shaking my head. How do you get to be an expert in such things?

Anyway….the expert says that the price is not just for the sex itself, but for the conversation, etc. Ok. So was he talking with her or her coochie? Cause it was worth that much if it talks. I mean, really. Imagine the idea. I’m sure men all over America would pay for a real one that could speak.

Wonder what it would be like if Coochie could Talk…

This just in...

in an amazing turn of events

Coochie all over America has begun to speak up for itself"I’m tired of not getting what I’m worth. You just don’t know how I feel." - Coochie Woods, Reston VA

"I ain’t never been so undervalued in all my life. I feel so cheap and worthless." –

Coochie Brown, Jacksonville, FL.

"Anybody know where I can find a good attorney? I feel violated." – Coochie Washington, Newburgh, NY.

In a seperate, but somewhat connected incident, a young woman in Buffalo, NY suffered a heart attack in her gynecologists office when, while being examined, her coochie unexpectedly began to speak to the doctor, causing him to pass out, hit his head and fall into a coma.

No one knows as of yet, what Coochie had to say.

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i love u...(for d.)

2008-02-13T13:10:00.000-05:00

I love u so sweet

like honeydrippers on hot sunny days

with cloudy skies

misty blue

I love u so strong

like deep African roots

reaching into thick

rich soil

I love u so complicated

like algebraic equations

or calculus for elementary school

children

I love u so simple

like the music the wind makes

and the melodies

the trees make

I love u so profound

like educated scholars

with their big words

and puffed out chests

I love u so ghetto

like I be

we be

you be blowing my mind

I love u so passionate

like porn stars hard at work

making films

that would make their momma blush

I love u so warm

like hugs from loved

ones you been missing and ain’t seen in

quite a while

I love u so long

like forever and ever

and before

and before before

I love u so sweet

and so strong

and so complicated

and so simple

and so profound

and so ghetto

and so passionate

and so warm

and so long

I just love u

So…

I figured

I would

let

you

know.

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Yoga...the Erotic.

2008-02-12T10:48:00.000-05:00

We have come to a point in my routine where Keith is switching it up some. More power walking, cause for some reason, he thinks he will have me running soon. That is pretty funny. Me? Running. I can’t say I won’t but, er..uh..um…I just don’t see it.

Anyhoo….

We’re doing more weight training so that I don’t sag as I lose weight and gain muscle.. My goal is to be toned. Have body definition. I don’t want to be buff. Never that. Just toned and tight. That is why I can appreciate the corner that we have turned on this journey to Get Sculpted. In between the chilly morning power walks, the weight training, and stomach crunches, there is yoga. I love, love, love the yoga. It is so damn sexy. That’s right. I said it. SEXY. The poses. The arching of your back. (anybody know about the “happy cat” pose?) Reaching to the sky, head lifted, arms extended. It is downright erotic. Now, I do have to admit, it is not the easiest thing to do. But it’s not like I haven’t been stretched before. Never quite like this, I might add. But it’s still a good stretch.

With yoga, I feel my peace rushing in. As I extend myself, it is almost as if I am reaching for my goals, dreams, and wishes. Stretching myself to believe impossible things. Touching the heavens with my hearts desires.

I really can’t believe that I have come this far. I can’t claim all the credit. Keith and BJ have been and are an inspiration for me and to me.

But I give God all the glory because it is him that gives me the energy and power to continue to push and press for my personal best.

****Note – I am deliberately being vague and not posting any pics. I said I would. But I’m not. LOL. Even on my myspace page…I’m not posting any pics of me during the process. But stay tuned. ****

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Still Going

2008-01-18T09:03:00.000-05:00

I’m three weeks into my routine and…I’m still going. In fact, I feel my momentum picking up. Now, I have to tell you…Keith ain’t no joke. There were some mornings I woke up throughout the last three weeks and tried to come up with every excuse in the book not to show up for my sessions. But my bed couldn’t hold me.

Last week he added cowbells to my workout. BJ, his wife, said, “Girl, you are going to be sore after this.” To myself, I thought, how much more SORE could I be?

Why did I ask that?

I woke up the next day feeling like someone had run me over. It hurt to do everything. Sit down. Stand up. Move. Blink. Needless to say, I came up with some….nice…names for Mr. Keith after that workout.

But the fact of the matter is, it is a good hurt. It means I’m getting there. And that feels fabulous. I have to admit that my walk has changed a little. I got my little strut going. Twisting a little bit more. You know how it is. And, most importantly, this week, I put on a skirt that I hadn’t worn since I started working out three weeks ago and I had some wiggle room! I can not describe for you the high that I had for the day.

It was the energy I needed to keep pushing. One thing that exercise does for me is it helps me to make wise choices about what I put into my body. When I think of how much passion and energy I am putting into getting sculpted, I can’t possibly offset my progress by eating junk or missing a workout.

I think exercise is my new drug. I just might be a junkie. It has definitely been a stress reliever. Keith will tell you…there are times I show up in the morning and I am in the zone the whole time. My grandmother is very ill, things on my job are strained, the release of my book is looming…it has been a challenging time. But I am pressing because I am going somewhere and when I get there…..

I am going to be fine as HELL!

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As Long As the Nile...

2008-01-08T10:59:00.000-05:00

I was wondering
if I ever crossed ur mind
from time to time
but rather than impose
I just prayed for u
Hoped u were happy
Watched and wondered
Remembered and refrained
Do ur ears itch often
Cause I always speak ur name
Think ur name
I miss my friend
But I hope ur happy
And I wish u well
No malice
No hard feelings
Just love

Thank you...I needed that.

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Reminisce Over You...

2008-01-03T11:32:00.000-05:00

I have a good memory. Surprisingly. (I smoked ALOT of weed. lol) I have memories of events that took place when I was as young as six years old. I remember the licking my grandmother gave me when I was about 7 for setting my Aunt Cookie's bed on fire. I remember THAT just like it was yesterday. VIVID. I remember the first time I went fishing with my father at about 8. I wanted to cast the line out by myself even though I had no idea what I was doing. I ended up getting the hook with the worm still attached to it caught in his afro. He never took me fishing again. I remember the first time I kissed a boy. Byron Morgan; outside of the auditorium at Lincoln Middle School. He wrote me a very sweet letter with red heart stickies all over it thanking me for the kiss and I kept it. Unfortunately, my mother found it and I surely remember the beating I got for "being fast."

But there are three days that stand out for me.

September 15, 1989 - After 14 hours of labor, and a tedious, medication-free delivery, Brittany, the Blessed One, came here weighing in at a mere 6lbs 3oz.

December 16, 1990 - After 16 hours of labor, and an emergency C-section, Brandon, the Intellectual, entered this world weighing in at a whopping 9lbs 3oz.

February 5, 1992 - After a mad dash to the hospital in Washington DC rush hour traffic, one bottle of castor oil and 9 hours of labor, the Unique One, Britorria showed up weighing in at 7lbs 12oz.

I may forget alot of things, people and events. But I will never forget the days my kids came into the world. No matter the circumstance, or how long or hard the deliveries were, nothing can replace the feeling of looking into your childs' face for the first time. Their faces have filled out considerably since those days, but when I look at them, I still see them like I did when I saw them for the first time. Sometimes I eish I could still cuddle and kiss them like I did when they were little. There are fleeting moments when I wish I'd had a video camera to document, first words and first steps.

But I guess I will have to rely on my memory...as long as it doesn't fail me...when I want to reminisce over them.

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I Think I Can...I Think I Can...

2008-01-02T08:17:00.000-05:00

I got up with a little less enthusiasm this morning. Just a little. I am still focused on the end result. Begin with the end in mind. I am going somewhere with this workout thing. It isn't a fad or passing fancy. This is not fly-by-night. I am committed to perfecting my self image. Mind right, body tight. So, I spent New Year's Day lounging and relaxing with my kids. I ate sensibly, but I didn't exercise. Well, unless you count the 6 or 7 times I went up and down the steps inside my home. I went to bed early and got up without hitting the snooze button. Because I already had my clothes and everything laid out, I was up and out of the house in no time. On my way out the door, I wondered what my kids were thinking about all this? I do want them to be proud of me. The morning chill stalled me a little bit. I hate to be cold. But nevertheless, I arrived at Keith and BJ's at 6:30 on the nose. I have become quite the stickler about time. It absolutely pisses me off when I am late at someone elses expense or when I have to wait on someone.

Today we worked out inside. Hallelujah. I was so glad. At first. That is, before the 75 crunches and situps. Before the leg lifts that took me back to high school PE. By the time we got to them, it was all I could do but focus on the track lighting hanging over my head and pray for the strength to hold out.

I think I can .... I think I can...

Everytime I wanted to quit, I thought about where I am going and how good it is going to feel when I get there. How much confidence I will have in myself and my art. How easy it will be to convey my message and give my testimony when I am 100% comfortable in my skin. I am a living witness, my body a sanctuary, a temple.

Keith and BJ have committed to show me how to become a masterpiece. And I have committed to the concept of change. No matter how difficult.

I think I can..I think I can...I think I can....

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I Owe You An Apology....

2007-12-31T15:34:00.000-05:00

Today I began a workout regimen with a personal trainer. I rose early. Four-fifteen to be exact. I hardly slept, excited about this new beginning. Excited about the new clothes that I will be “forced” to buy for my new body. I am so appreciative of the blessing that my trainer, Keith Castillo and his wife, B.J. have afforded me. In addition to working this body out, they are committed to assisting me with making lifelong lifestyle changes. (Check them out at www.whereyoubecometheart.com.) As usual, I will document my progress in words and in pictures. I would rather wait until I’ve gotten through the first month before posting a pic. Vanity. But, I won’t compromise, so expect my “before” photo after my Wednesday session. This regimen is an outward expression of the spiritual conditioning I have been going through. Mind must match the body; body must match the mind.

However, I had to apologize to my body this morning. Right after I got out of the shower, I looked at myself in the fogged up mirror, still able to see all of my wobbly bits, and said it. “I’m sorry.” I told my body I was sorry for every foul thing I’ve ever said about it, put in it, and taken it through. I didn’t mean it. Really I didn’t. I asked my body to forgive me. I have been putting my body off for far too long. Each ripple, curve and wobbly-bit received personal attention from me this morning. While I lovingly rubbed body butter into my arms, I apologized to them for sometimes taking on too much. I massaged my shoulders and told them I loved them and thanked them for being so strong sometimes. I liberally covered each and every inch of me with the Victoria’s Secret Strawberries and Cream, slowing down over my hips, back and thighs. I apologized to my hips and thighs. I told my back I was sorry for the stress and strain and for not sitting up straight. I apologized to my belly for all the excess weight. I apologized to my body for neglecting it; for sometimes not protecting it. I promised my body I would do better if it would just give me a second chance. A second wind. An opportunity to learn how to love it all over again. I took special time with my feet. They have been so very good to me. They deserve special attention. Honorable mentions. They have held me up on weary days in cheap shoes. They’ve refused to let me fall, stumble or slip. When I can, I am going to buy my feet some beautiful, expensive shoes that show off my toes. Feet need to know that they are appreciated. I apologized to my stretch marks for not honoring them. For being ashamed of them and for trying to forget them. No matter what, they are mine. I earned them by bringing three bright and wonderful children into this world. No shame in that. Not anymore. I apologized to my lungs for the years I abused them by smoking. I owed my liver a long overdue apology for the club years, the hard liquor years, the Long Island Ice Tea and Rum and Coke years. I told my heart I was sorry for giving it away to all the people that didn’t deserve it, abused it and then left it broken.

And then…

I had to apologize for the pain I was about to take it through in getting it back in shape, I asked it not to give out on me, to hang in there with me. I apologized to my knees and ankles upfront because I knew they would have a hard time adjusting to the shock of walkingrunningjogging after having been idle.

I promised to do better.

I will do better.

Just watch and see.

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The Letter.

2007-12-20T12:47:00.000-05:00

This is a letter that my mother wrote to my father back in 1975. It is amazing that he kept it, even more amazing that after all this time it ended up in my hands. It is nothing but the grace of God in action. Reading it now, gives me insight into how she felt about me. It comforts me in a way that no one could possibly understand. Isn't it just like God to cause a thing to happen at one time, so that it can bring about a new feeling or emotion at another? She had no idea that I would read this at the time she wrote it.

It makes me fully comprehend the power of the pen. Makes me want to watch what I write and who I write it to. You never know where your words will end up and who will be reading them.

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Thank God for My Mordecai.

2007-11-23T19:12:00.000-05:00

Every chance I get to love on my Aunt Clytie, I take it; enjoy it, appreciate it. I realize that because she is 92, I may not have forever to show her how much I appreciate her, so I take advantage of the time I have right now. She has always been there for me. I can remember growing up with my mom and times were always hard. My mom was single, trying to work and go to college. School time would come around and it would be time to get my clothes and Auntie wouldn’t think twice. It didn’t matter if my dad was there to buy clothes or not. My mom, Auntie and myself would go to Belk’s or JCPenney’s and get my school clothes. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t around. Not just giving her money to help and assist, but also pouring into me words of wisdom and encouragement. She would pray for me if I had even the slightest headache, point any and every situation back to the Lord and tell me when I was right or wrong and why. God is good because even when there wasn’t a daddy, there was an Auntie. There isn’t a momma anymore, but there is still an Auntie. I don’t think she knows the significance that she has in my life and the lives of my children. There isn’t anything within reason that she wouldn’t do for us, and it is much the same with me regarding her.

I gave her a pedicure today. Simple things please her. But while I was doing it, I was reminded of a sermon I heard Joel Osteen preach not long ago. He was talking about Esther, the peasant girl in the bible that ended up winning the heart of the King. Esther was an orphan. She didn’t have a mother or father. She was poor and didn’t have much. But she did have a Mordecai. Mordecai was a relative of Esther’s. He poured into her. Despite her situation, he told her who she could be regardless of her circumstance. When the time came to choose a queen, the King chose Esther over all the other candidates and I believe that it wasn’t just because of her physical beauty, but because of what she had within her.
Auntie is my Mordecai. She is who God sent to me to continuously pour into me, give me the strength I need, when I need it. We had a chance over this Thanksgiving holiday to spend time alone, away from the kids, just talking, laughing and drinking coffee. I’m older now, wiser now so I understand the weight and power of her words. As a child, when she would say, ‘You have great purpose in life’, I didn’t understand it. But now when she speaks, her words penetrate me in such a way that I wish I could bottle them up and hold onto them forever.

Thank God for my Mordecai.

“How much I owe you, baby?” she asked after I’d soaked and massaged her feet and painted her toes. “Not a thing, Auntie.”

It’s the least I can do.

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Time Keeps On Slippin', Slippin', Slippin'...

2007-11-08T00:34:00.001-05:00

I will not grumble, mumble, murmur and complain. I will not grumble, mumble, murmur and complain. I will not grumble, mumble, murmur and complain.

I have to say that to myself on those days when I want to shake my fist at the air, scream at the top of my lungs or grab my purse and walk out of the front door, destination unknown, never to return again. Believe me, I have many of those days. But lately I have been paying closer attention to the news and what is going on in the community and the world as a whole. Killing, robbing, teenage pregnancies. The more I hear or read about what's going on in other peoples' houses, the more I realize how blessed I am.

I know where my kids are every night. They may not be as neat as I'd like them to be. My youngest daughter talks on the phone more than I feel the law should allow and my son can be the most disagreeable young man you've ever met. BUT...they don't run the streets, have never been in any real trouble and I know where they are each and every night.

I am reminded of a prayer that I prayed right after my mother died. I was feeling like we would get swallowed up by circumstance so I asked my God to help me make my kids the exception to the rule. I just didn't want to believe that because they come from a single parent home, that they had to end up pregnant or wouldn't go to college or would end up in prison. So on the days when I want to grumble, mumble, murmur and complain, I am reminded of how faithful God is to his word. He has done and is doing exactly what I asked him to do.

And though at times I feel at the brink of insanity, I quickly come back to my senses when I realize that it could always be worse and yet, it continues to get better.

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Countdown...

2007-08-24T12:06:00.000-04:00

Dear Diary,

Can I just be honest for a minute? I mean brutally frank? Sometimes I can't wait until the day I can be grown in my own damn house! All the things I can do during the summer when my kids are away: walk around the house naked, drink until I'm staggering, smoke a joint, or have a one night stand with someone anonymous and sexy, come to a screeching halt once they are home. Now, I may not actually do any of those things while they are away, but if I wanted to, I would have to wait until their roving eyes were either closed, or far, far away. I think I am a little resentful, though I don't know why and feel guilty for feeling such rotten, unmotherly feelings. But damn. I can't find balance anywhere and that troubles me. I feel like I am not really myself, but pretending to be, acting as this Leave-It-To-Beaver ass mom that solves all problems, cooks homecooked meals, frowns at any and all indiscretions and stands diligently at my kids bedside while they say their prayers. The problem with that is, that persona directly conflicts with the me that will curse, wants to drink, get high or do something to relieve the pressure and anxiety that this life presents to me on a daily basis. I know if I did those things, my kids wouldn't respect me. Hell, I don't feel like they respect me now. They respect me as in they won't do or say certain things, but they don't respect my hustle or my sacrifices. They don't understand them yet, I know. But I'm a little salty today because my flesh is acting up. I don't want to be celibate anymore. I didn't choose to be celibate in the first place. It just kind of happened. Somewhere in between me getting my groove on and watching my kids grow, I realized I wanted them to have better relationships. Marriages as opposed to booty calls. Real love as opposed to lust. Commitment vs. Involvement.

So here I am. Counting down the days until I can be grown again. Walk naked and feel free to be me.

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First Day of School

2007-08-20T09:57:00.001-04:00

Dear Diary,

Today I got up early so I could fix my kids breakfast before their first day of school. It is a nothing short of a miracle when I realize that I have 2 that are seniors this year and my baby girl is a sophomore. Normally, I have to pull them out of bed in the morning. Threaten at least twice before they actually get up and get moving. But not today. Today there was a different energy; almost an excitement, in the air. Before I could even finish cooking breakfast, my son was downstairs, fresh pressed, smelling all good. He is one that genuinely takes pride in his appearance. “Thank you, Mommy,” he said, as he fixed his plate and proceeded to eat it standing up in the kitchen. My pleasure, I thought to myself. Baby girl drifts down the stairs next. Most comfortable in jeans and tennis shoes, she reminds me of myself at her age. Not quite girly, but unable to be classified as a tomboy, I realize they are all slipping away from me very quickly. I can remember when she wouldn’t do more than pull her hair back into a sloppy ponytail and this morning she sports shiny lipgloss and has applied mascara that makes her beautiful almond shaped eyes almost jump out at me. The oldest makes her way down finally and once they have all eaten, they take pictures of one another; posing and showing of new clothes and new shoes. I decide then and there that we will document this year as much as possible in photos. Life as we all know it will change very soon. It is the oldest that tells the others how to pose, where to stand. She is so bossy and mother-like, I wonder what it will be like when she is out on her own and no longer such a driving force in our home. They are all taller than me now, with bigger breasts and bigger opinions. Where has all the time gone? It wasn’t so long ago that I had to pick their clothes out, comb their hair and make sure they had brushed their teeth and put deodorant under their arms. I used to think it was a chore, but now my heart aches for those moments when they really needed and depended on me because I know I won’t ever be able to go back. I guess I’m just missing them the way they used to be. Before they grew hair up under their arms. Before they started liking the opposite sex. Before they grew into little women and a little man. I guess I just miss them before they grew up.

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This is me...

2007-04-08T14:19:00.000-04:00

This is me saying
enough
This is me saying
I love you but not
more than I love me
This is me saying
I can’t stand still in this
place with you any longer
My feet
and my soul
and my heart
must move now
This is me saying
Thank you
its been real
but no thank you
not real enough
I would rather drink
muddy water and still thirst
than to drown in lies
This is me saying
no explanations needed
it was fun while it lasted
This is me saying
I must love you from
a safe distance
This is me
Saying goodbye.

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2006-09-11T15:31:00.000-04:00

Get Your Own Voice Player Manage

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I Love Me Simply.

2006-06-30T16:15:00.000-04:00

i
love me
i love me
not
because of
full hips
and thick lips
not because of
sweet words
not because of
brown eyes deep
i love me
because of me
i
love me
i love me
not because of you
or them
not because of
family or friends
not because of
selfish vanity
i just love me
simply
i love me
soft and sweet
poignant and fragrant
i love me
vibrant and beautiful
i love me
tender and delicate
like the petals of
my favorite flower
i love me
simply

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The Reconstruction of She.

2006-06-29T16:18:00.000-04:00

naked
no longer hiding
exposed
spirit guiding
open
no longer closed

new
a revelation exposed
whole
nothing lacking
strong
fearfully
and wonderfully
remade

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Look for your Rainbow

2006-06-28T13:42:00.000-04:00

I used to think that I had everything all figured out. I thought I knew what I wanted out of life. Who I wanted. How I wanted them. And when I wanted them. But in releasing my expectations into the hands of the Creator, I find myself much more satisfied; content. I can remember a time when I would exhaust myself trying to be on every set, doing what I thought was my best to be everything to everybody. I ended up drained and resentful; disappointed and discouraged. I got to a place of surrender after my house caught fire, one daughter was diagnosed with a heart condition, and the other with a thyroid condition. I lost a longtime friend, a job, and my home within a span of weeks. To say the very least, I was undone. Like most people, in the midst of turmoil, I cried out to God. I would use my car as my prayer closet; riding to quiet places where I could be alone and really speak to God. I thought he wasn't listening to me. Maybe it was me that wasn't listening to him. I was all but ready to give up and then one day while driving, I saw a rainbow. It was huge and it covered the sky revealing a spectacular array of beautiful pastels. It warmed me in a way that I can hardly explain. It was like the arms of God reaching down out of the sky and encompassing me; comforting me and quieting my anxious mind. I immediately let go of my problems and began to see them as windows of opportunity. I think now, "what if I hadn't LOOKED UP into the sky that day?" The rainbow reminded me that God is the author and finisher of all things. It brought back to memory promises that He has made to me about my life and the lives of my children. I am not done yet. It is NOT over. In fact, now that everything has been torn down, the rebuilding can begin. I am seeing him rebuilding and restoring. When everything is falling apart around us, it is hard to remember that God is still working. Everything is not always what it seems. God had to clear some things, some mindsets, even some people out of my life in order to give me the things for which I had been praying. I couldn't be mad about my house. I had asked him to take me from being a renter, to a home owner. Now the door is wide open for that to happen. I couldn't stress over the sickness in my children. I had asked him to make believers out of them as well. How else would they come to trust him, if they never had to lean on him for themselves? I asked God to teach me how to be a good friend and he challenged me in the friendship that I valued the most. I can't be mad. I asked him and yet I have no control over how he performs a thing. I can only pray that a rainbow will manifest itself even in that situation. I asked him to make me a business owner, and in the midst of this struggle he has opened a door for me to do exactly what I asked. How could I ever doubt? He is faithful.

The most I can hope for you today is that when everything around you seems to come crashing down, you will remember that sometimes what we are looking at is just an illusion.

Stop looking at the illusion, and look for the rainbow.

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Momma

2006-02-20T23:56:00.000-05:00

Presidents’ Day to me is not about honoring the fathers of this great country. Yeah, sure, I can rattle their names off and detail their accomplishments; tell you what they did to help mold and shape America. But still, a day set aside for them; many of whom were slave owners that stood on the bloody backs of my ancestors, is something to which I pay very little attention. Instead, I regard that day as Black Monday. It will forever be remembered to me as the day my mother passed away. Six years and counting, but I can still remember each and every moment leading up to the last time I saw her in the land of the living. The good thing is, that after all this time, I don’t agonize over it the way I used to. Her memory comes back to me often just like a boomerang and her spirit lives on in me, my children and her friends. I choose to reminisce over times when she would take me to the lake as a little girl and we would “jook” until late into the evening listening to the Gap Band, Teddy Pendergrass and Rick James. We’d have crabs and barbecue and some of the best potato salad you ever tasted. Man, my momma sure could cook. There are times when I am in the kitchen cooking and I can hear her reminding me to “clean as you go.” I have never forgotten that advice or the tricks she taught me in preparing good food. Her spirit lives on in my heart as well as my kitchen. She would probably toss over in her grave if she knew that as a child, sometimes I would be listening at the walls late into the night while her and her boyfriend were getting busy. My cousin would spend the night with me sometimes just so we could eavesdrop and fantasize about what it was like to be grown. It was funny to me then, but now memories like that make me conscious of the presence of my own children. Eyes always watching, ears always listening, minds quickly scanning and processing all of the information placed before them. I can only be thankful for my time with her. I stand on her back now, the same way past presidents stood on the backs of weary slaves. Her life is my platform. Her memory, the podium from which I speak and her spirit is my well. Millions of people got the day off, slept late and didn’t think once about our country’s revered forefathers. I, on the other hand spent the day remembering, honoring, and missing the only mother I will ever get.

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Comatose

2006-01-31T11:41:00.000-05:00

Life can make you so tired sometimes. Kids and work can make you so tired sometimes that you just want to give up. There have been days when the pressure of life has bore down on me so heavily that I just want to grab my purse and walk out of my home, closing the door behind me, never to return. I read this story once about a man that woke up from a 7 year coma. For SEVEN years, he lay sleeping while the rest of the world moved on. His family kept going, and the earth continued to revolve as he lay sleeping. I was jealous of him when I read how he just opened his eyes and asked for his wife. How lucky I felt he was to have been able to step away, put his life on pause, and then resume. Now I know this may seem silly to all, but unless you have ever known what it feels like to want to literally give up, you won't know what I mean. I started daydreaming about going to sleep. I didn't realize that was a spirit of suicide. Little did I know that my desire to give up, was inviting death to my dinner table. And see the funny thing about death is, once you dance with him, he begins to entice you. I started to feel like giving up was the only option I had. As me and death did the tango, he whispered to me, "Your kids will be okay." Maybe they didn't need me. Maybe they would be better off. I was doing my best to fight off this sleep, but my eyes were getting so heavy. Tired of seeing all that I was seeing. My feet were getting so heavy. Tired of walking up and down these rocky roads. My arms were getting so heavy. Tired of fighting. My spirit was uncooperative. Maybe I'll just sit down right here and drift off.....

I wrote this poem to God during my battle with depression. I am happy to say that I have overcome. Living is my only option.

Comatose

Lord put my flesh into a coma

So my soul can come to life

If my flesh would go to sleep

I’d be walking in the light

While my flesh was catching z’s

I’d move through my days with ease

Trouble all around me

But I’d be as calm as you please

Lord put my flesh into a coma

So my soul could take control

I’d be walking in the spirit

Watching my promise unfold

I would look right through temptation

As if it wasn’t there

I’d soar on high as an eagle

High up in the air

Lord put my flesh into a coma

Let my emotions slumber deep

I need my soul to do the leading

Cause I have a charge to keep

Put the fear in me to rest

So I can move without restriction

Take this anger out my chest

So my dreams will come into fruition

Lord put my flesh into a coma

Let my soul be wide awake

Be a lamp unto my pathway

Order every step I take

And while my flesh is in this state

Would you purge me of my sin

Would wash my hands and cleanse me

Give me new wine and new skin?

Lord put my flesh into a coma

I’m desperate for a shift

I need my flesh to sleep here soundly

Cause it’s my soul that needs a lift

You know every time I try to find my soul

My flesh gets in the way?

I know you all have been there before

You just might not want to say

But see I must be real about it

I got to always be me

I got to tell the truth about it

Cause the truth will set me free.

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Love, Unconditional

2005-12-05T11:09:00.000-05:00

I have been MIA from my blog for a little over a month now. Honestly, I have had so much to write about, but not enough quiet time to write it. Death and sickness in my family has had me in so much turmoil that the words to express how I have been feeling would not come. But today the thought heaviest on my heart is how much love we are often surrounded with, but often are too busy and preoccupied to notice until something happens. Since I was a little girl, my Auntie Clytie has been a strong pillar in my life. Her genuine kindness and concern for all are character traits of which I am in awe. She has been my rock, my prayer warrior, my conscience and my guide. Her life is rooted and grounded in biblical principal's and unlike many, she lives by the word; walking the walk, and talking the talk. When life has been too much for me, she is the one that has comforted me with the wisdom gathered over her 92 years of living. When my mother died she embraced me and assumed the role of my "surrogate momma" without me even asking. Even when the advice she gives stings, she follows it up with a good dose of love to make it go down easy. The word of God flows freely from her belly and each and every time I talk to her I gather strength, courage and wisdom. Since I was 8 years old, she has sent me a dollar a year for every birthday; never forgetting. My friends, my family, or my man may forget, but not Auntie. Even though she wasn't well this year, her card along with $36 dollars was in my mailbox prior to December 2nd. Just like clockwork. I have always been able to count on her card and birthday wishes. I don't know what I will do when they cease to arrive anymore. I have never known her to be ill. She doesn't like to go to the doctor, but right now she is laid up in the hospital recovering from major surgery. The thought of her mortality has rushed over me like a mighty wind of reality. How blessed I have been all these years. What a wonderful thing it is to be loved unconditionally. To know that despite fault or flaw, love still remains unchanged. She has been an excellent example for me to follow. I know it is selfish to say, but I wish she could live forever. There is a part of me that realizes that the goodness that is within her is rare and I just want to hold on to it; preserve it. Save it all for me. But then there is another part of me that realizes how tired she must be of serving. It is exhausting to always give without thought of what you will recieve in return. I find comfort in knowing that her reward will be great in heaven whenever she gets there. And knowing that God made it possible for me to benefit personally from her love, unconditionally, makes me smile today because I realize how blessed I am.

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Give Out, But Don't Give Up!

2005-11-03T15:37:00.000-05:00

Today I got a phone call from the principal at my son's school. It seems my son can't seem to make it to school on time. This is extremely hard to understand considering we live two blocks away from the school. In addition to reporting my son's excessive tardiness, he proceeded to inform me that my son had an attitude problem that he could no longer tolerate. "Anytime I say something to him, he immediately gets on the defense." I didn't say anything to him, I just listened. But I was saying to myself, join the club. Lately my son has been smelling his underarm. Backtalking, sucking his teeth and challenging everything I say to him. For months we have been battling. Earlier this year he spent 45 days in the alternative school, stole some shades out of Target, and ran away from home (for only 2 hours). I have tried Big Brothers. I have tried arguing and cussing and fussing. I've taken away all priviledges. I've reached out to every male friend, platonic and otherwise, for advice, understanding and whatever else they could offer. To date, nothing has worked. No words have gotten through.

But this morning, I couldn't do anything but fall down on my knees and pray for him. It hurts so bad as a mother to see him slipping through my fingers. I look at him and see him trying to make the transition from boy to man. He's struggling to emerge into a set of shoes he ain't ready to fill and there is no one here to help him but me. For whatever reason, he doesn't want to accept my guidance. So when I was crying out to God this morning, I had to tell him that I give out, but I won't give up. I have given out all the advice I can give to him. I have given out more tears than a little bit. I have given my heart, my soul; anything and everything I know how to give. But I won't give up on him. I know it's hard for young black men out here. I know it's hard growing up without a father. But he is too gifted and too talented to just give in to the temptation of being a thug or another statistic. I said to him last summer, "Do you know that there are a million niggas in prison and only 400,000 make it to college?" He just looked at me. "Which number are you going to be in son?" He told me he didn't know. All I could do was shake my head. I have realized, with much dismay, if he doesn't want more, me wanting more for him is a moot point.

But you know, at the end of the day, when all is said and done, the hardest thing for me to deal with is that I am the one that caused him to have to grow up without a father. I think that's why it took me so long to let God have it. I was trying to fix him myself because I felt like I was the cause of him being broken.

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Wounded Woman (Drawing by Aida Correa)

2005-10-28T14:44:00.000-04:00

I have found her seated in coffee houses and poetry lounges. She has stood behind me in the supermarket; beside me in church and we have fellowshipped together at lunchtime on the various jobs I have held. She is often African-American; visually sharing the same features, mannerisms, and characteristics as myself. But on many an occasion, I have found her to be of any and all ethnicities. She has been Catholic as well as Muslim. Baptist and Pentacostal. She is educated and well-groomed, or just as easily, ghetto and unrefined. She is the Wounded Woman and you can find her almost anywhere. To the average person, she may not be so readily recognized. But for one with a trained eye, she is easily spotted in any crowd. There are years of torment on her face and her eyes look to you for an understanding that she knows you can't give. So often she is hurriedly trying to cover up her scars before you notice they exist. Don't mistake her tough exterior as indifference, it's just a mask she wears to hide her insecurities. She is an expert at laughing instead of crying and if you look very closely, underneath the make up she is wearing to cover up imperfections that aren't really there, you may just see the tears of a clown. Hurt by rejection, wounded by friends and family and life; she is a broken soul longing for healing and freedom. As crazy as it may seem, sometimes she doesn't even know that she is wounded. She couldn't tell you where it hurts if you asked her, or who inflicted the wound, but it is quite apparant that some type of trauma has definitely occured. If you see her, don't neglect to read between the lines of her subtext. There you will find neatly printed between years of heartache and pain the message: FRAGILE - HANDLE WITH CARE!

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Diamonds are Pearls of Wisdom.

2005-10-25T20:36:00.000-04:00

My father is a wise man. He gives me advice about work issues, relationship issues; how to discipline my kids. But the best piece of advice I have ever gotten from my father came when I was a junior in high school and not really taking my studies seriously. I had everything but school on my mind. I was resentful of his new family and can remember writing him a hot little letter giving him a piece of my mind. I thank God for the gift of words. I have always been able to express myself best on paper. In one of his responses he wrote to me, "The world does not applaud mediocrity." I didn't even know what the root word, mediocre, meant until I went to the dictionary. In short, I found that mediocre meant average. It meant as much to me then as a lump of coal. But I never forgot it. And over the years, that lump of coal that I tucked away into the far corners of my mind, has proven to be a diamond. In essence, what he was telling me was that I can't expect to succeed at anything if I blend in with the crowd. I have found that advice to be valuable in virtually every aspect of my life. Even as an African-American woman, I have come to terms over the years with the fact that every thing I do must be done with a flair of excellence if I have even the most remote desire of being recognized. In the workplace, the theme is very much the same. I have always felt the need and the drive to work harder, do more. Even in relationships, my aim is to set the bar high because the playing field of love for black women is far from being level. I found myself reiterating the same advice to my teenagers last night. As the words spilled from my lips I felt like my father must have felt the day he took pen in hand and tried to give me some words I could feel; some heartfelt advice that carried weight. I told them average black boys and girls don't get noticed, they get passed over. Mediocre talent is not recognized, it's overlooked. I wonder if they got the message. I wonder if they know my heart breaks for them each time I see them settle for less than their own personal best. I wonder if my words carried any weight; or if, like me so many years ago, they treated them like a lump of coal and just tucked them away. Only time will tell.

Beauty Is...

2005-10-24T14:44:00.000-04:00

implied and not stated
simple not overrated
it is subtle and more gentle
than the softest touch
it is a feeling and not
a vision
an actuality as opposed
to a premonition
it is rare and subject
to scrutiny
from those that don’t
understand it and confuse
it with something
less significant
you can’t touch it with your
fingers
but you can feel it in your
heart
it soothes your soul
like hot coffee on a cold day
beauty is
intangible

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i was his woman

2005-10-18T18:22:00.002-04:00

first of all
let's get one thing understood
i was never the other woman
to say that i was the other woman
would be characterizing me as a
cheap opportunist
a damsel in distress pleading
for the affections
of a taken love
i am so far from that
i was the woman
the woman that didn't take anything
from anyone
every secret
every kiss
every conversation
every orgrasm
was given to me willingly
without coaxing or persuasion
no invasion of privacy
this was love
on its highest level
and because i am a woman
i won't berate it by kissing
and telling
divulging or confirming
instances for the purposes
of scrutiny
no
you won't be analyzing this
comparing it to that
or downsizing it to make you
feel better
as far as
i am concerned you were the
other woman
the one that was never made mention
of we didn't think of you
or discuss you
for any reason
there was no room for you
in my bed or at my dinner table
there was only bliss
there were dreams shared
and tragedies exchanged
and fears comforted
and for a time
your man was mine
and i was his
and we were
and we are
and we did
everything we felt
obliged to do with the time we had
the time when he was my man
and i was his woman.

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Teardrops on Paper

2005-10-14T13:01:00.000-04:00

these teardrops
on my paper
leave an indelible stain
traces of salt remain
as proof that
grief was here
my pen releases
the fear
the frustration I feel
it acts as the referee
between my words and
my emotions
I wrestle not to control
the anger rising up inside of me
instead I choose to set it free
to write like a mad woman
ranting and raving about
the senseless loss of life
unleashing and releasing
writing in red
symbolic of blood shed
another young black man
left for dead
and these
teardrops on my paper
leave an indelible stain
and no amount of
‘i know how you feels’ or
‘must’ve been God’s wills’
can erase the pain
retrace the stain
back from whence it came
five minutes before he took
his last breath
it was already too late to cry
too late to try to turn back the
hands of time
he wasn’t even a friend of mine
and yet try as I might
I can't seem to stop this
stream of sorrow
flowing from my pen
written evidence of these
literal tears that imitate
a mother’s cry
teardrops falling freely
onto my paper
leaving an
indelible stain
and only traces of salt remain
as proof that
grief came by here

My co-worker, Charlotte, lost her nephew last night. Ironically, I heard the story on the news about a young woman that drove into a McDonald's parking lot asking for help for a man that had been shot. No one knew the details at the time. News at 11:00, I guess. She lived. He did not. He didn't even make it to 25.

You Can't Move Forward Looking Back

2005-10-13T00:13:00.000-04:00

Aida and I went to dinner tonight. Kinda like a waiting-to-exhale- moment. We both needed to inhale/exhale; breathe deep about situations and circumstances in our lives. Sitting in the cozy, relaxed atmosphere of Crush, sipping on some wine the color of a late summer sunset, we conversed, and vented and began to unwind and travel deeper into our friendship. It was clear to me after our first bowl of mussels, that we as women are more alike than we are willing to admit. I was finally able to share with her a part of my life that I had been surpressing for a long time. I do that when I don’t want to feel the sting of a particular situation. I push it down and get busy. Busy writing, busy working, busy being a mom. Anything to keep me from healing and dealing. She told me about Man; the thorn in her side. How she had loved him until it hurt and let him go because the time was not right. And even though she loves him still, she was adamant about pushing forward, bringing new love into her life without regret. We drank wine, listened to jazz music, and laughed like school girls over the silly things we have done in the name of love. My respect for her grew and after 2 years of cultivating a friendship, I was able to tell her all the details about the time I loved hard and blind. Re-living a time I wanted to forget proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated. I hadn't talked about it or him to anyone in months. It wasn’t easy letting someone into my soft spot. But I shared openly. Hell, a bottle of wine will make you give up your coochie, your ATM pin, email password, and your inner most secrets. It could have been that, or maybe it was that in discussing it, I was finally able to listen to myself for once. I heard me say I wasn’t loved totally. I heard me say that I was loved in secret and behind closed doors. I listened to myself clearly state, with much dismay, that I was wrong about something that felt so right. The benefit in doing this was coming to the realization that after years, months and days, I was finally at a point where I can say, I’m over it. There is no more anger. I learned the lesson and won’t have to take that class again. I like Aida a whole lot. She has read every self-help book known to man. The valuable resource I have in her is that I don’t have to read them because she is quick to provide quotes and anecdotes fit for any and all dilemmas. We were done eating and just relishing in the atmosphere when she dropped some of her book knowledge on me. “You can’t move forward looking back, Bridgette.” Even though I was a little dizzy from drinking so much wine, it made perfect sense to me. I had still been looking back wondering; Why this? Why that? The answers to those questions were irrelevant. What mattered most was that there is so much more for me that lies ahead. I was doing every person that has come my way since him a disservice because a part of me wasn't even ready to move. Anthony Robbins, world renowned self help guru, said it best when he said, " You can't drive a car if you are looking in the rear view mirror."

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We Got Khemistree (Wicked Freestyle from Overseas)

2005-10-07T21:01:00.000-04:00

(k em i-stre )
by Soulflower

She said....

We got khemistree

Like honey bee’s got

honey sweet

Like Sunday morning got

Hog maw’s and black eyed peas

We blend

splendid

Easy

Our chemical composition is

Nice and easy like

Hennessy and coke

Sliding down your throat

Intoxicated

Get you high

Like good dope

We mix and mingle

This mutual attraction

Causing a mental metaphysical

Reaction

Our molecular structure somehow

Intertwined

I got rhythm

He got rhyme

We got khemistree

Like Diana and Billy Dee

Like the moon and the stars

We go together

Fit together

Like a key to a lock

We open

Put the joint to your lips

Old school

Cause we tokin’

Mind blowin

mind sex

Given birth

To brain child

First name: lyrical

Last name: verse

Go ahead and check the

DNA

You’ll find that we are one

And the same

We got khemistree

Unrehearsed and unscripted

Call in the FBI

Cause this shit is

Encrypted

Not all will understand

How one woman and one man

Could flow so

United

When in reality

By many seas and many moons

They are divided

See I never understood

Chemistry

I flunked it in school

But the second time around is

Always the kicker

Right

Right

Can we kick it?

Yes we can

Cause we got

Khemistree

Then He said...
by Carimflow

We got Khemistree

We are

Chemical reactions

Of sexual attractions

Arroz con asoulful

Flowered lyrics

Radiantly felt contractions

Throbbin walls up in brains

Until

Cataracts be fuzzed refractin'

In-spasm

Jerk Chicked

Mutually made

Concoted curried smoove contraptions

Spit

Then sprayed

On time

We be khemistree

Loyal

With B I am royal

She’s my loving concubine

My own lady don’t know

How she be up in my mind

Chillin

Pen dot connecting

All her flowin wit mine

My lines cum

XXX’ed grimey

Contemplating her grinds

Black coffee

A pack of sugar

Carimflow

On this rhyme

Can I kick it (yes u can)

Can I kick it (on a panamanian beach with an ass fulla sand)

Can I kick it (to the vibe of the band)

It's the mecca'd out one

Back 2 where we began

We be K-he-emm-I

Streamin cess in yo mind

Even if u try 2 mute us

Our shit’ll go pantomime

Brailed on cables

Across the seas

Like smoking ganja in rewind

Elevated

Toked fully

Naked

Truth

Spit

Hood

And

On time

We Khemists...

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What in the World???

2005-10-05T16:14:00.000-04:00

My REAL friends wouldn't have let me got outside with my hair like this!

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The Best Sex I Never Had.

2005-10-03T16:22:00.000-04:00

(First Draft)

It almost seems like fantasy
To good to be true I
Struggle within myself to just let go and
Feel
Experience the waves of emotions that
Are swelling
Rising and falling
To meet my hopes and dreams
on the shores of anticipation
You touch me and a chill
Begins at the base of my spine
And I feel
I feel tempted to ask you if you will stay
But I’m too afraid of the answer
So I opt instead to softly whisper your name
It springs forth from the center of my heart
and glides off my tongue
creating an unchained and unrestrained melody that
Drifts into your ears and allows
You to feel
The vibration of my soul
It is the soundtrack of our experience
Heartbeats and deep moans
A melody too sweet to sing
So instead we hum our tune
Of passion to the rhythm of
What we feel
It is hypnotic the way we communicate
Through hands and lips
Fingertips and arched backs
It’s almost as if no one and
Nothing else exists
And time stands still
If but for a brief time
I feel
Connected to you in such a way
Seems too deep to just say love
Too pure to call lust
It is infinite and indescribable
And unbelievable because
I haven’t had anyone make me
Feel like this in a very long time
Or maybe not at all
I wonder
Is it possible to make love to someone
And then at the same time not make love at all?
And if so then this has to be
The best sex I’ve never had.

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The Life and Times of Misty Blue....(a short story) Part 1

2005-09-26T13:39:00.000-04:00

Diamond awoke to a beautiful Monday morning. Sun was streaming through her bedroom window and illuminating the entire room. She stretched lazily and smiled to herself as she thought about last night. Lamar had come by after his late night shift at the club and they had taken a bubble bath together and made love until nearly 4 am. She had met him at the door with nothing on but pink panties and a matching bra. She knew that was his favorite color; knew it would please him immensely. It had been the color she was wearing the day he walked into the salon to get his locks tightened. The color she wore on their first date. And the very color he chose for the first dozen roses he sent to her. It had been an exciting 6 months for Diamond. It felt good to be in love again. She was finally relaxing her boundaries and beginning to feel again. The smile on his face when he’d caught sight of the soft pink against her caramel colored skin made Diamond giggle like a little girl. He immediately wrapped those long arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Something about the way he slowly, but firmly gripped her waist made a sweet sigh slip from her lips and they kissed like long lost lovers with the front door wide open and the midnight air pouring in. “Hi baby,” she finally whispered. She was on tippy-toe, stretching to fold her arms around his broad shoulders, pressing seductively against his 6 foot 3 inch frame. He began to tickle her and they tiptoed and shhhed one another down the hallway; trying hard to contain themselves and keep from waking the boys up. Tre’ and Devon, ages 9 and 11, were not very receptive to any men in Diamonds life. She had to keep most of her relationships or indiscretions separate from them. They didn’t understand why she couldn’t wait for their daddy to get out of jail. But 10 years was a long time and Diamond was getting tired of coming home to an empty bed. Lamar seemed to understand her need for caution. He respected it and that made her love him all the more. He didn’t even trip when she insisted, no matter how tired he was, that he leave before the sun came up in the morning. Once behind closed doors, Diamond turned up the music on her stereo. Miles Davis was bouncing off the walls and sending vibrations through the air. They talked in whispers and sometimes not at all. Mostly they communicated with their hands and their eyes; lips anxious to tell of emotions and bodies ready to convey a passion that didn’t even need words. Lamar was a patient lover. It was nothing for him to spend an hour just kissing her. He called it becoming familiar. He would abandon her lips to become familiar with the rest of her and Diamond loved every minute of it. They must have been really caught up in the moment; truly engrossed in the task at hand, because neither of them remembered to lock the door and neither one of them had noticed when it opened.

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A lot like LOVE!

2005-09-26T00:14:00.000-04:00

(for the one that slipped in unannounced.)

heart all a flutter
melt like butter
try to talk and i stutter
this feels a lot like love
smile when u near
anxious just to hear
petrified with fear cause
this feels a lot like love
always want to be kissing you
surprised when i find myself missing you
with a four leaf clover i'm wishing you
felt the same
knew my middle name
we'd would stop playing these games
this is too closely resembling love
mind in a daze
trying to come up with 1000 ways
into your eyes i'd like to gaze
because there is where
it looks just like love
the scent of roses fills the room
my heart is in full bloom
i think i'll have to tell you soon
that this smells a lot like love
heart beating, racing fast
can't remember the last
time i felt this way
call you
don't know what to say
ask about your day
just to avoid the true intention
each time i neglect to mention
that what i'm feeling
is a lot like love.........to be continued.

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Out of Time

2005-09-21T14:02:00.000-04:00

In Memory of Lil Cuz

I remember summer
Playing around
Racing one another
Sporting Converses
In all different colors
You looking out for your
Little brother
The minutes were slipping away
Wasn’t wearing no watch
Wasn’t looking at no clock but
It was just a matter of time
Thought you’d be the Mayor
Or the President
Even at an early age your
Intellect was evident
I can still remember your smile
How we used to laugh a while
Taking chances and running wild
The hours were slipping away
Wasn’t wearing no watch
Wasn’t looking at no clock but
It was just a matter of time
You went left and I went right
Our lives, like two ships
Passing in the night
Days turned into weeks
Weeks turned into months
Got harder and harder
To keep in touch
The world was changing,
We in such a rush
The days were slipping away
Not wearing a watch
Never looking at a clock but
It was just a matter of time
Before you finally beat me to
The finish line
Your memory will remain in this
Broken heart of mine
Wishing I could turn back the hands of time
Go back to the summertime
Stop the time
Hug you tightly one time
Race you down the street for the last time
Tell you to be careful one more time
Say I love you for the last time
But instead I’m just checking my watch
And watching the clock
Realizing that
You have slipped away
and we have run out of time

RIP - Troy

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In Memory of Lafayette the King.

2005-08-25T12:47:00.000-04:00

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...

2005-08-12T23:51:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-03T21:57:00.000-04:00

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

2005-08-02T14:58:00.000-04:00

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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Playing My Sexy

2005-07-27T01:44:00.000-04:00

There’s a melody
between my thighs
waiting for your lyrics
My soul is humming
a harmony
and my volume is high
in anxious anticipation
waiting for the day
you arrive and bring
your instruments
so you can play my sexy

No other musician
could play my sexy like you so
I guess I’ll sing this solo
this lonely blues song
until you come along
and make
my rhythm and blues
Playing sexy
all alone
ain’t no fun
and yet
it will have to do cause
No one can play my sexy
Quite like you

I imagine
as we blend
in unison
there will be thunder
and the earth will tremble
because my sexy
combined with your sexy
will cause an eruption
a cataclysmic
catastrophic chain of events
neither one of us
could prevent

My soul
is open to your music
I hear you coming
footsteps racing
through my mind
trying to find
the right key
so you can
play my sexy for me
no rush
I’ll be waiting love
right here
my lonely blues song on pause
cause my sexy is all yours
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The Origin of a Soulflower.....

2005-07-27T00:44:00.000-04:00

as a seed
she begins to grow
and feed off of the world
you would think she was a weed
growing wildly
yet still absorbing
and consuming life
and love
and the sun shines on her
and sometimes overcast skies
pour bitter rain on her head
but she is strong in will
and blooms ever still
with soft petals like the wind
sweet nectar within
she blooms
she blooms
through every season
cause there is a reason
that god put her in this field
surrounded by other flowers
yet still she stands alone
sticks out like a sore thumb
among the others
absorbing life like a sponge
rooted in the earth
that gives her life
she grows
she grows
and blooms anew
as each sun shines
many moons have glowed upon her
this soulflower
but she is strong in will
and blooms ever still
soft petals like the wind
sweet nectar within
she blooms
she blooms

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Blues Mister

2005-07-25T23:34:00.000-04:00

Listen
can you hear?
Blues Mister is playing my song
he's blowing my horn
hard and strong
each note pierces my soul
unlocks my rhythm
and I am free
to dance like
Josephine
Blues Mister is playing my song
and with each note
he's caressing me
tender
with fingers
that remember
the song of the unsung
Blues Mister is playing my song
instrumental
but I hear the words
in my heart
and the song comes to me
easily
it's my jam
and I just close my eyes
and groove
by my damn self
cause Blues Mister is playing
my song
and it ain't nobody else's
but mine

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2005-07-25T05:38:00.000-04:00

I am SO excited about the ad concept for the show! Janell, the lady who came and took the pictures last week, just finished up the design.

Tickets will be available here it at the Ritz in the next few days, but they are available RIGHT NOW on ticketmaster.com or at the Times-Union Center (beside the Landing), the new Veterans Memorial Arena, and by phone at 353-3309. Prices are $12.50 ($11.50 for groups of 10 or more). FYI, if you go online to purchase, the price is higher, so try to encourage people to either come to the Ritz, or go the Times Union Center or the Arena.

The official ads will hit the streets at the end of next week, and all of you will be provided with the official posters and flyers to distribute in your individual circles. In the mean time, here's the basic info:

Friday, August 26, 2005, 7:30pm
Saturday, August 27, 2005, 2:00pm (with "Talkback with the Cast and Director" after the show--Matinee show only!)
Saturday, August 27, 2005, 7:30pm

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The Closer I Get

2005-07-25T00:29:00.000-04:00

I have a tendency to be overly sensitive sometimes. It works for me and against me. When it works for me, I am my most compassionate self. Sensitive to the needs of others, in tune with the vibrations of those around me. I find that I can be watching the news and hear about a particular persons' distress and immediately have empathy for what they are going through. But there are times that I wish I weren't so sensitive. Particularly as it relates to receiving criticism or the opinions of others. I am working on being delivered from the stamp of approval from outsiders, but honestly, I ain't there yet. Last night, I was at an event to benefit foster youth, a cause I am passionate about. I spent most of the day with my co-workers setting up, organizing, arranging and planning to help ensure that everything went smoothly. By the time the night was under way, I was feeling pretty confident that the overall message was clear to every guest. My part in the whole evening was but a minor piece in comparison to the cause: to raise funds to keep our agency going. I wrote a poem that we used as a basis for a new campaign. Save our seeds. I gave it the energy and care it deserved because I wanted the people there not to focus on me, the poet, but the words that were given to me. Afterwards I had an elderly lady come to me and tell me that though she loved my words, she felt that she should tell me that I was sending the wrong message with my clothes. I immediately got offended. First of all, I thought I was looking cute. It's Florida, a midsummer night, so I bought a nice spaghetti strap blouse with a skirt to match. I still can't see what was wrong with it. She went on to tell me that she was going to by me a dress for the next time I speak. I smiled graciously and held my peace out of respect for her. But I was vexed for the rest of the night. But I thank God because the closer I get to him, the more I am able to see the changes he has made in me. There was a time when I would have given her a piece of my mind and told her where she could put her dress and her unwanted opinion. But I realize that my gift is not for everyone and not all people will receive me no matter how deep and profound my gift may be. The closer I get to God, the more he makes me see that there are alot of folks out there caught up in religiosity that are looking the part of a "christian", but missing the mark altogether. Some ankle-dress-wearing-bible-toting-shirt-buttoned-up-to-the-neck hypocrites are gonna bust hell wide open with the closemindedness. And why? Because they are paying attention to the messenger as opposed to the message.

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Journal Day 21, No strings attached.

2005-07-21T23:41:00.000-04:00

Today started out like any other day. Nothing out of the ordinary or spectacular. It seemed I would breeze through this day with the ease of a professional gymnast. But not so. In rehearsal tonight for the play I'm in one of castmates fell on me during a pretty emotional scene. I was so stunned I just had to lay there for a minute. Practice came to a screeching halt and I'm sure the director was worried about a lawsuit. My arms are sore, my head is hurting. Tomorrow, I imagine, I will feel like I was in a car crash. He's a pretty big dude. Then afterwards, this dude I have been sort of dating/not dating comes to pick me up. Now earlier, I called him out. Chalk it up to female intuition or whatever, but I knew something was up. He had been acting strange for the past couple of days. Out of the blue I asked him," what's up with you, you got something to tell me?" For a minute, he was silent and then he fumbled over some lame ass excuse about having a lot on his mind. mmmhmmm....whatever nigga. I let it ride then, but when I got in the car after rehearsal, it was still on my heart to press harder. I said, "Are you going to hurt me?" I don't know where that came from. Well, yes I do. It was God. He isn't going to let me get too far into anything without letting me know what the deal is. So anyway, he takes a deep breath and hits me with..."so and so called me today, she's pregnant." Now so and so is his supposed to be ex that he claimed he didn't want to be with anymore. Yeah, right. She is also the reason we were dating and not dating. Feel me? I don't need no drama, I have enough of my own. So we had been taking it slow. A movie here and there, dinner a couple times. It still shocked me to hear, so I just sat motionless and in silence while we rode. Another one bites the dust. He tried to pitch a curve ball to me and tell me he didn't know what he was going to do. blah blah blah I slammed that ish out the park and was like what do you mean you don't know what you gonna do? The last thing our society needs is another single mother. I told him if he didn't go to her and at least try, I wouldn't have any respect for him. How would I look taking up time with a dude that will leave a woman high and dry that's having his baby? He would be dancing to her song and she would be pulling his strings from here on out. His heart strings, his emotional strings, his pocket strings. I'm like, bump that. As I got out the car, I told him don't even shut the engine off. I don't need their drama. "Handle your business." My man is going to come with no strings attached. I came inside and immediately deleted his number out of my phone. That's something me and Aida do religiously. When we know it's over with a dude, the first part of exiting his ass out of our system is to delete his number out of our phone. I ain't even mad. In fact, I am thankful because God knows exactly what and who I don't need in my life. And every day I am learning more about how to trust His judgment.
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Journal Day 20, Dedicated to the Little Girl.

2005-07-20T21:20:00.000-04:00

I grew up around a bevy of strong black women. My mother, though weak in some ways, represents strength to me now that she is gone because I am able to fully comprehend the different demons she fought as well as the obstacles she overcame. There is my grandmother who raised me when she didn't have to for the mother and father that couldn't. I have aunts and godmothers and mother figures that were placed strategically throughout my life that showed me strength. But at times in showing me their strength they neglected to let me know that it was okay to be weak sometimes. In learning how to be strong, someone should have shown me that it was okay, and necessary, to breakdown and cry sometimes. My grandmother doesn't like tears. If I had money for everytime she told me not to cry, straighten up my face, and that crying wouldn't change anything, I'd already be a rich chick. I have conditioned myself to fight back tears even when they have threatened to spring forth from any open orafice of my body. "Tears are a sign of weakness," my Auntie told me one day. So instead of letting them out, I held them in because I didn't want to be weak. But in doing that I have caused damage to my own emotions. Long supressed sorrow/anger/rage is bubbling just beneath the surface of my calm exterior. "People say I'm the life of the party, cause I tell a joke or two..." The contradiction is too much for me to even comprehend. I bring this up because I came face to face with the little girl in me today. She was crying so hard, and I didn't know why, but just seeing her made me cry. Realizing that she was here and had been here all along needing someone to listen and not tell her to be quiet. I cried for the child in me today that is still missing her momma. I cried today for a strong sista that just wasn't feeling very strong. I dedicated my tsunami to the little girl forgotten. After my eyes were dry I realized that they were not tears of regret or remorse. They didn't represent weakness either. Instead, right now, I feel relieved that I was finally able to let go, even if it was in private. And you know what? I feel twenty pounds lighter.
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Journal Day 19, Untitled

2005-07-19T23:15:00.001-04:00

He's
not too
heavy for me
my back
strong enough to carry
three times
the normal load
arms fit to hold
hands made to mold
I'm
not so weary now
got bout
five miles to empty
done caught
my second wind
I just keep climbing
keep striving
and just cause you
might see me
sweat
don't mean
he's too heavy
it just mean
i'm working hard
to reach
my destiny
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Destiny to Reach

2005-07-19T23:15:00.000-04:00

Journal Day 18, happy birthday nigga.

2005-07-18T21:00:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was his birthday. I won't mention his name. But I'm vexed because as much as I want to be over him, I still wanted to wish him a happy birthday. Too proud to call, I chose to email him a greeting. There were so many to choose from, but I chose this really sappy one. I played it two times before I would even personalize it. I couldn't help but laugh because none of it was even true. The irony was too great to resist. It told of a mutual love, complete with wonderful memories and special gifts. It would have been perfect, if he were someone to me and I was someone to him. In fact it was so sappy that I know when he opened it he was like "what the f???" I deliberately sent him a card that said more than I ever could; and if he has any common sense, he will read between the lines to what I am really saying. Like "damn nigga, happy birthday, but how come you ain't never spent a birthday with me, if you loved me?" Or, "damn nigga, how come it's been five years and I still have to remind you when mine is, even though it come the same damn time every year?" The card was like the nail in the coffin for me. There was never a relationship. He was my imaginary friend and even though it was very real for me, I was all alone in my thoughts and alone in my love. Am I the only sista that this has ever happened to? I have been trying to reconcile my emotions; in search of some kind of solution to the condition of hard heartedness that I came down with shortly after my eyes were opened. It's hard for a brother 'round this camp. I ain't in the mood to give love and oddly enough I ain't trying to receive it either. Playing it safe....watching the game from the sidelines.
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Journal Days 15, 16, & 17 Writer's Block - Times 3

2005-07-17T21:58:00.000-04:00

For the past 3 days I have been blocked about what to write. There are things I want to say; always something on my mind, but the words have escaped me. This isn't uncommon, there have been weeks and months at a time when I couldn't write a thing. I haven't written, but I have been dreaming. I've dreamed some crazy stuff these past couple days and for some reason the number 3 just keep popping up. Three dreams about my dad. A dream with 3 baby boys. Oh, and one really wild one featuring a tri-colored rabbit. Don't ask me for the interpretation....I haven't a clue. I know it means something. Just like I know that my 3 day writer's block is significant as well. From a spiritual standpoint, the number three represents many positive aspects. The triad is a symbol of the unity of mind, body and spirit. It is also the number of siblings I have, the number of children I have, and the amount of times I have been in love. Christ died at 33, after Peter denied him three times, and then rose on the 3rd day. Some say bad luck comes in threes, however, I can't subscribe to that belief. Instead I choose to embrace the idea that I myself am going through a resurrection experience of sorts myself.
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Journal Day 14, As is

2005-07-14T22:44:00.000-04:00

My girl and I had a conversation once about what we wanted from a relationship. We were on our way to work and just naming our desires if we could manifest our own ideal mate. There probably was no difference in our list and the list of the next sista. But as we got deeper into the conversation, we began to get more specific. One of the things we both agreed on emphatically was that we needed a brother that could follow through. It seems like it is so hard to find someone that will just do what he says he is going to do. Someone to be exactly who he says he is. Don't tell me you are going to be somewhere and then don't show up. But even more than that, can I get a brother who will accept me as is? Me....with all my wonderful attributes AND the ones I am working on. Me....with my bad credit and the little pooch in my belly. Me....with my bad breath in the morning and my three kids. Brothers sometimes have this fictional woman already built in their minds. She is wonder woman. A great cook who always is in the mood for hot, kinky sex. She is docile and agrees to everything he says. Her hair is always done and in place and she never has a bad day. She is drama free and of course has no issues from her past. She is quick to jump when he says how high and never questions anything he says. She is also............NON Existent. Just like we sistas have to learn that no man comes to us perfect, brothers must realize that as well. There are no perfect people. There will be days when I am not feeling or looking my best, but I still want to be loved on those days. There will be days when I say the wrong things or don't feel like getting my freak on, but that should still be okay. Is it too much to ask for to be accepted as I am faults, flaws and shortcomings?
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Journal Day 13, I am not aMUSEd!

2005-07-13T22:37:00.000-04:00

I met Redd eight years ago when I was still clubbing. My and my crew were out on a Sunday night doing our usual; walking around the club, profiling. I never really liked meeting men in the club. Something about it just didn't sit right with me. I guess I knew if I missed the following week, the same men would be in there shooting some other sista the same line of bullsh**. But on that particular night he caught my attention by grabbing my hand as we passed him by. A little chit chat and before I knew it, we had exchanged numbers. He ended up surprising me. He wasn't the thug I had pegged him to be and turned out to be quite intelligent. Score 10 for him because conversation is and always has been big with me. Since he was in the military and moved to another city shortly after we met, conversation over the phone and through emails has been the bulk of our existance. In between we have tried a relationship, but I am a firm believer that long distance love does not work. Besides, where I have evolved from the "scene", he seems to still be stuck somewhere between the nightclub and the stripclub. We do however continue to have a solid friendship that is strengthened by the fact that we can talk about anything. Politics, education, religion...you name it. I love that about him and a part of me may even love him. But it seems he gets his mental stimulation from me and fulfills his other needs elsewhere. I have email conversations between he and I that go back three years and as I was reviewing them today I realized that I have been his muse for far too long. He knows not to even try me with anything physical. I draw the line with stealing cookies out the cookie jar. But honestly, I think this mind sex we're having is much more detrimental. We debated about that today. I told him I feel like he engages me in conversation because there is a part of him that needs that stimulation just as much as I do, however, none of the sistas he deal with give him that. But the reality is a connection like we have; one not based on or driven by a sexual foundation, are few and far between. At the end of the day, what will sustain you? I am rethinking our little whatever you call it. Opening my mind to him without a plan or direction for where we are going, is just as detrimental as laying down and opening my legs. To me, both parts of me are just as precious. I'm asking myself is it worth my time. Eight years is nothing to shake a stick at. That's a lot of time wasted. And you know what they say, a mind is a terrible thing to waste.
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Journal Day 12, Final Round

2005-07-12T21:59:00.000-04:00

It's funny how when you are in a situation everybody on the outside of your situation seems to be able to tell you what and how you need to do things. I can't stand that and if I am wrong, Lord forgive me. But I am just about tired. I feel like for the majority of my life I have been in a boxing ring. My opponent has been whipping my ass round after round, but I have been holding it down to the best of my ability. Only because in my corner their has been God. Wiping my tears and fixing me up in between rounds. It has been His strength that enables me to go back and fight each and every time. Were it not for the hope I have in Him, I would have laid down and stayed down back in round 3. There are all kinds of people outside the ring shouting what they would do and how they would do it, but ain't nobody but God stepped in the ring to help me fight. They are content to run their mouths from the sidelines, watching me take blow after blow. It's sad to say, but they don't even expect me to win. In fact, I'm sure their money is on my opponent. I don't look like a winner on the outside. I may not have trained in the best gym, and my robe ain't all that fancy, and I'm a little run down. But I am a champion in my heart and I have what my dad refers to as intestinal fortitude. GUTS. I'm complaining today, but the reality is, I don't really want them to help now. Hell, the fight is just about over, I'm in the last round. My opponent ain't knocked me out yet, so I have just as much of a chance of winning as he does. Maybe it's foolish pride, but when the last bell sounds, I don't want anybody but God to get the credit for my victory. Cause you do know I will be the victor right? See, I am what you could call an Underdog. I'm that opponent you didn't bank on losing to. The last person you thought could even run a marathon, let alone win it. I'm the ace in the hole. The ram in the bush. I am what you would call a Million Dollar Baby.
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Journal Day 11, Stretched beyond limits.

2005-07-11T23:43:00.000-04:00

There are just not enough hours in the day. No matter how much I try to manage my time, I can't seem to squeeze everything into one day. Take today for instance. The bulk of my day is eaten up by work. I leave there to go to play rehearsal for 3 1/2 hours. I personally think that is too much time. But maybe I think that because I have yet to learn all of my lines. By the last hour, I am hungry, tired and running on empty. Too late to drink coffee, I'd never get to sleep. I come home to my kids who need time and energy that I am in limited supply of. I ended up skipping dinner and opting for an hour long bath. I felt quilty the whole time I was soaking the day away because I should have been talking to my kids about something or asking them something or sharing something with them. But I am flat out busted. No energy for anything but sleep. I haven't read the newspaper, washed my clothes, read my mail, cleaned up my room, or polished my toes. ~Sigh~ None of those things are as important as my kids, mind you, but I still feel that if I don't do better they will be deficient. I'm not giving them enough of me. But for lack of a better excuse, there isn't much of me to go around. Stretched beyond limits in every area, I am searching today for a solution to a problem that all single mothers face. Balance escapes me and my arms don't reach far enough. I feel like I am extending myself in every direction as far as I can and I still ain't touching nothing. My job is pulling on me, my dreams are pulling on me, my kids are pulling on me and I'm just like..."hold up now, pretty soon, I'm gonna snap!" I'm exhaling now. About to say my prayers and ask for some strength. A little bit of get up and go so I can face the day tomorrow and start all over again.
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Journal Day 10, Black Music Feminism

2005-07-11T00:35:00.000-04:00

Black music is
a mother
Bringing forth rhythm and blues
Giving birth to
Ghetto hymns and anthems
More drama than the evening news
No matter what your emotion
Black music has your song
If it’s loneliness you’re feeling
She’ll hold you all night long
Black music is
a sista
in your stereo playing loud
she got that junk in her trunk
bump bump bump
and she came to move the crowd
she got quad between her thighs
and a vibe for every mood
she’s a bridge over troubled waters
with a funky jazz interlude
black music is
a pimp
moving up and down your streets
a stone cold hustler baby
supplying all your musical needs
she’s all up in your pockets
you spending all your cash
she got you feenin got to have her
fo you know it you addicted to her ass
black music is
a vessel
transporting you to bliss
instrumental in your journey
in regular rotation on your play list
you hooked on all her melodies
you singing all her songs
her harmony all up in your soul
thumping bassline pumping strong
black music is
a voice
speaking preaching loud and clear
a vibration resonating
turn up the volume so all can hear
she says we shall overcome
she says what has this world become
she said sssssssshhhhhh ol massah sleepin
come on y’all its time to run
black music is
a beat
popping fingers bobbin heads
she is tambourines and drumming
she is hand clapping and humming
she is remixed and rehearsed
she is complex and diverse
she is the quiet storm your feeling
she is the remedy for your sexual healing
she is that connection to your past
sometimes slow and sometimes fast
she is a lullabye
a battle cry
a hymn before you die
she is your inner peace
your mind at ease
don’t turn that dial please
and I love her so much
and I dare someone to
touch my radio
my stereo
my video
my mp3
while my black music
is
playing
loud
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Journal Day 9, Alone in the Darkness

2005-07-10T01:27:00.000-04:00

When I was a little girl I hated going to bed at night. I would fight sleep with all my might because I knew that along with sleep came darkness and nightmares. I would make sure that my bed was pushed all the way against the wall and sleep as close to the wall as I could, just in case the Boogeyman was under my bed. I would see what I now know were spirits floating in the air towards me and because of this spent the whole night with my head under the covers. Many nights I would sneak into my aunt Penny's room and sleep on her floor because they seemed not to bother me when someone else was around. I bring this up because I realized today that in some ways, I am still very much afraid of darkness. Not the darkness that envelopes you while sleeping. But the darkness of traveling through a valley of unknown spiritual terrain. Oddly enough, God does his best work there. I saw a sign one day that read "God is in the dark room developing my positives into negatives." It stuck with me and I know that it was His way of helping me to understand this process. "Trust me," He says. I can't see my way through and it is scary to have my eyes wide open and still not know where I am going. I feel like I am fumbling around in the dark searching for a light switch that isn't to be found. And there are times that it seems like the Boogeyman is hot on my trail, breathing down my neck. He is teaching me how to use my third eye, trust not only in Him, but my own intuition as well. I write about this even though I know not everyone can fully understand what I am talking about. It is definitely something you have to go through alone. Funny thing, as much as I am afraid of this darkness, I am just as apprehensive about the light. One of these days the light is going to chase away this darkness that surrounds me and I will be exposed for all the world to see. I just hope I am ready.
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Journal Day 8, Treasure Hunting

2005-07-08T19:21:00.000-04:00

I feel like the more I search, the deeper I get, and the closer I get to a treasure within. It's something God placed inside of me a long time ago. I didn't know it was there until He told me. He spoke to me one Saturday morning and told me. He gave me a map. And on that map are the directions to my hidden treasure. Now I am the only one that has possession of this map, but the treasure is no secret. There is a big X on my map to mark the precise spot that the treasure can be found. It would seem to be a cut and dry expedition. But what I didn't know is that on my way to this treasure, I was going to have to travel through some dark places. My hands and feet would get dirty. My mind would play tricks on me. My back would threaten to give out and not support me anymore. My body would turn on me. I never imagined how tired treasure hunting can make you. Each day you get up digging and digging with nothing but a promise as your guide. But at the end of the day, even though you didn't find it and you are empty handed, you can still rest easy because you know that progress is being made. As long as you keep digging, the hope in your heart tells you to face the next day as if it were THE day. I didn't know that there would be pitfalls and other people trying to get my treasure too. Seems like they knew about the treasure before I did. Luckily, God only gave the map to me. So not only am I having to battle with myself, I have to deal with the others that know there is gold beneath them hills! But I am knee deep in this thing now and carry on I shall. Ain't no turning back. I've come too far to let someone else get what is rightfully mine. Each day I rise to search some more, dig some more. Each day I get closer and closer, so close sometimes I can see the shine of it, feel the weight of it. I think I may need help lifting it. Might be too great a treasure to carry on my own. We'll soon see.
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Journal Day 7, Top to Bottom

2005-07-07T15:42:00.000-04:00

I've gotten close to one of the foster youth that volunteers at my job. I communicate with all of them on some level, but Marcus is different. I don't know the details of his story. I just know he and his brother ended up in foster care. At 21, he's already been so many places and seen so many things, my heart goes out to him. I mean, I have had my share of lumps just like the next person, but I can't imagine growing up in foster care. The system can't love you like a mother, teach you like a father. So I find myself constantly playing the role of big sister, or li'l mamma. There's something about Marcus I can't quite put my finger on. Sometimes he'll call me just to talk and last night was one of the rare occasions that I wasn't sleeping. He didn't have anything particular to discuss, so I just listened as he told me about his relationship with yet another female. "Why doesn't it work out," he whined. I wish he could have seen me shaking my head at him. It's not like we haven't had this conversation before. "Because Marcus," I had to take a deep breath, "you are starting out from the bottom to the top instead of going top to bottom."
If you start your relationship between someone's legs, it's bound to run it's course quickly. What else will you guys have to do? I suggested he try getting to know someone from the top to the bottom. Most likely by the time he made his way half way down, one or the other party will have lost interest. Start by getting to know their mind. This is time consuming, no way you can have a one night stand if you're delving into their thought process. If you like that, begin to look into their eyes; eyes are the window to the soul. I don't mean just stare blankly into their eyes. I mean find out who or what they are connected to. If you like what you find there, move on to the mouth. What kind of conversation do they have? If you make it this far, you are doing real good and you could possibly have a good catch. I had to learn all of this the hard way. I guess that's why God continues to place me around young people. As often as I can break it down to them, I can, I will and I do. They need to start teaching common sense in school. Sex education is not enough. I remember when I was in high school, we had a class called life management skills. It should be something along the lines of that class, just tailor made for the children of this day and age. Loving from the bottom to the top got me three babies before I had even had or knew what an orgasm was. Loving from the bottom to the top got my heart broke and my head split. Loving from the top to the bottom ain't easy by a long shot. But it is much less complicated.
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Journal Day 6, Anger Management

2005-07-06T23:18:00.000-04:00

If you haven't seen the movie Diary of a Mad Black Woman, I would suggest you do. It's not just for women you know. There are actually a lot of messages in there for men. It also isn't just about a black woman. The lead character, Helen, could have been any woman. I would suggest that you watch it the first time for the sheer entertainment of it. Then watch it again. This time, grab and retain what you can from it. Without giving the story away, it's about a wounded woman that remained silent for far too long. Years of neglect and mistreatment by her husband cause her to ultimately go over the edge. Anger is a funny thing, you know? It will sleep for a long time, hibernating deep in the corners of your heart, mind and soul. You can do your best not to awaken it, but oh baby, once it's up, it's up in the worst way. I'm looking around me now at all of the angry sistas I know. Some of them don't even know they're angry; walking around with grimaces on their faces. You can't miss them. I see my grandmother, who has been angry for as long as I can remember. She's been angry so long, she probably doesn't even know what she is angry about. Come to think of it, anger is more like a virus you pick up somewhere without even knowing it. The incubation period can deceive you into thinking that all is well. But then the symptoms begin to manifest, little by little. It's wide awake now, there is no hiding. You have to deal with it. Treat it like the sickness that it is before you infect someone else. I'm searching my heart today to make certain there isn't any misplaced anger lurking anywhere within me. Anger is like a repellent. It will keep anything good from coming near you. Something sweet could be trying to get close to you, but the minute it gets a whiff of that anger oozing from every pore in your being, it's going to avoid you like the plague. In the movie, Helen's mother gives her the remedy to help manage her anger. One simple word. Forgiveness.
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Journal Day 5, Amazing Grace

2005-07-05T23:08:00.000-04:00

Seven is the number of completion, five is the number that represents grace. So when I realized that today's date was 7-05-05, I got happy because it was like an encrypted message sent to me by God. I am most definitely in a cycle of completion, and a double dose of grace will suit me just fine, thank you. It made me think of the rainbow that I saw last Thursday. My boss and I were driving down the highway and I just happened to look up in the sky and there it was. Most times you just see a small portion of a rainbow. But this was the whole arch, from beginning to end. Then if that wasn't enough, right above it you could see another, fainter rainbow. A meterologist will tell you that this isn't actually another rainbow, but rather a reflection of the first one. Signs and symbols may not excite the next person. But to someone searching, a sign or a symbol can make your day. A rainbow is God saying to me, "I haven't forgotten you." A rainbow always shows up just when I am at a point of feeling at the end of my rope. Sometimes I need reminding. It's like no matter how many times someone tells you they love you, you never get tired of hearing it and you can stand to hear it some more. No matter how much you witness something beautiful, you never get tired of seeing it and you are always willing to see it again. Each time, it's just as beautiful. I wasn't looking for grace today, but I got it anyway. I didn't even have to ask for it, it was just there waiting for me to acknowledge it. For that, I am grateful.
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Journal Day 4, Freedom Ain't Free

2005-07-04T18:59:00.000-04:00

In the 4th grade, I had to memorize Patrick Henry's "give me liberty or give me death" speech. A budding thespian at even that young age, I put my soul into it. With my hands on my hips and my neck rolling, by the time I got to the end of the speech, you'd have thought I was running for office. But like most politicians, it was a good memory and much rehearsal that helped me to bring life and passion to the words of another. I didn't even know what I was saying. But I'm analyzing those words today from a different perspective. I'm thinking how real Mr. Henry's desire for freedom must have been for him to say freedom or death. No one in their right mind would want to be bound figuratively or literally. I'm feeling the urge he had within him and I am on the verge of shaking my fist at the universe and shouting the same thing. The need and desire to be free cost Kunta Kinte his foot. It cost Nelson Mandela the bulk of his life. There ain't nothing free about wanting to be free. In fact, at the onset of making the decision, one must resign themselves to the notion that it can and will be quite costly. Fat pockets and a bank account won't suffice. It's going to cost you things you don't want to give up. Things much to valuable to consider. Things that can't be replaced. Time, blood, effort, tears and sometimes the very thing you hold dear, life itself. Who's to say if it's worth it or not? I'm searching for a sista within me that desires to be free above all else. Free to live life to it's fullest. Free to love hard and strong. Free to give until it hurts. Free to trust without reservation. And no matter how long it takes, or how much it costs, I know it will be worth it.
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Journal, Day 3 Fill in the Blanks

2005-07-03T23:06:00.000-04:00

My Pastor opened my eyes today and made me see that the reasons we do some of the things we do that are detrimental to our well-being is because of voids that we have within ourselves. I have been contemplating her words for the better part of the day trying to detail just where my voids are and what I am filling them with. I guess I have also been wondering what caused my voids. Asking these questions causes me to go deep within myself, within my past to some places that I don't really want to go. In all honesty I can admit that I have filled in my blanks with one-sided relationships, alcohol, weed and any other temporary thing that helped me to get through. But I guess now in retrospect I have grown mentally, physically, and emotionally tired of filling in my own blanks. The things, people, or emotions I have been using as stand ins for the necessary healing are not working anymore. My nights are restless, my days are restless and my sleep doesn't satisfy me anymore. In acknowledging the fact that I am operating at halfmast, I am praying that the Creator will direct to me to the answers to the questions my soul is asking. Remember when you were in school and your teacher would give you a test asking you a question about material you should already know? There would be a blank space beside the question that you were to fill in. If you had studied and knew your subject, you could easily fill in the blanks. But if you hadn't paid attention, or hadn't studied, you were out of gas. I feel that there aren't any questions to go along with my blanks. I don't even know where to look for the answers. Is this an open book test? Am I being graded on a curve? I see the voids. I know they are there. I will go so far as to say I know where they came from. But now what?
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Journal, Day 2 Hide and Seek

2005-07-02T18:46:00.000-04:00

Today I came face to face with my ugly. I spend so much time self evaluating, I am almost ashamed to write this. But I have to be true to the reason I am writing this blog in the first place. No point in searching for me if I can’t be honest, right? A guy I used to work with stopped by my house today. I have gone out with him a couple of times, but never really saw him as someone I could seriously date. I’m crazy like that at times. There is nothing wrong with this guy. I just met him at the wrong time. He wants my heart, but I can’t give it to him because I don’t actually have it right now. Pieces of it are still in Mike’s pocket. Mental note: I need to get those back. Instead of sitting in Lee’s face listening to his conversation like a good host would have, I was rude and continued to do the chores that I was doing before he dropped by my house unannounced. I actually hate that. Someone coming to my house without calling me first is the ultimate no no. I gave him all of my back and part of my attention as he rambled on about this and that. Blah, blah, blah. He finished his masters degree, got a new job, moved into a townhouse. I caught some of it. Then he started in on me. Why didn’t I call him? He had left messages, but I had erased them. I told you I didn’t consider him seriously. I began to feel bad about how I had been dodging him. Hide and seek. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, it was me. I say with my mouth that I want love. But when it comes my way I hide from it. At times, it lingers in my mind as a fleeting thought. But it doesn’t stay long enough to unpack its bag. I guess I don’t make it very welcome so it soon hits the road. I have so many doubts and so many fears. The scars from past relationships still have yet to heal. “We could have been married by now.” His statement caught me off guard. But I quickly retorted with, “You’re too young for me.” I know its weak, but that was the only thing I could come up with. The age difference is something easily overcome. My soul almost wants to shout, “Come out, come out wherever you are,” to the love that is hiding. It is standing right before me. But the thick armor that surrounds my heart blocks out light and sound. It can’t hear and it can’t see. I can be so ugly. I could at least give him a fair shot. There is a part of me that is missing being in love. I can taste the memory sometimes, remembering the satisfaction I felt when I cooked my man his favorite meal and he was pleased. Massaging feet and watching ballgames and Blockbuster videos. Falling asleep with my head on his chest on a rainy day when the house is still. I must do something about this game I am playing with myself. I have grown tired…..Ollie, Ollie oxen free!!!!
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Journal, Day 1, $2.01wasted

2005-07-01T12:05:00.000-04:00

This morning I stopped at my neighborhood store to by my usual cup of coffee. As I was getting out of the car, I noticed a homeless man stooped near the phone booth. He saw that I was limping and made some kind of comment and I thought to myself, "I don't even feel like getting into it with him about why I'm limping or how I hurt my foot." I said nothing to him and proceeded into the store and bought some hazelnut coffee...$1.19, one black and mild(I really am trying to quit)....$.89. It all came to a total of $2.01. Since this is my daily routine, I had already counted out the exact change for the cashier. I gave it to him and left before he could ring me up. Once outside, I made eye contact with the man squatting by the phone. He looked to be in his late forties, but the weather of life had beaten him down. He was dirty and his hands were rough and ashen. I never judge people when I see them living on the street because I have been homeless before. I was blessed not to be living under a bridge or sleeping on a park bench. But I was homeless. In a flash, I remembered being 8 months pregnant and walking the street at 1:00am because I had no where to go. I was cold. I was penniless and I felt like the weight of the world was not only in my belly, but resting on my shoulders. It was a chilly February night in our nations capital and I had riden the bus as long as I could. I sat down near a Metro stop and a car pulled up. There was a young man inside who asked me if I needed a ride. I had him take me to a hospital because I knew that I could buy some time in the ER and perhaps a meal before they realized there was nothing wrong with me. In retrospect, I am thankful to God for Chuck (the guy who picked me up). He could have been anyone. A psychopathic killer even. But instead, on that chilly night he became my angel in disguise. As I looked at my brother stooped by the telephone, I was reminded of how far I have come from that cold February night and how right when I needed someone to offer me a helping hand, it came from no where. "Can I get $.50c my sister?" The moment he asked me I felt selfish for having spent $2.01 on the caffiene that isn't good for me and nicotine that, if I don't quit soon, will surely kill me. I gave him the fifty cents willingly and deliberately touched his hands as the change passed from mine to his. I wanted him to feel me. To know that I didn't judge him. That I saw past the dirt and the smell to the humaness of him. I needed him to know in the moment of passing that I could relate to him in a way that even he couldn't understand. If he had caught me 13 or so years ago, I wouldn't have had the change to give him and we probably would have been sharing a bench together, hungry, broke, and cold. As I rode away from him to my job that I now can't think of complaining about, I couldn't do anything but thank God for a memory, a flashback of where I have been. I thanked him for Chuck. And I thanked him for my $2.01 lesson in humility.
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How Do U Like Ur Love?

2005-06-28T23:32:00.000-04:00

I like my love unconditional
Somewhat traditional
Actual and factual
And in no ways fictional
My love
is
best served warm
Over trials and tribulation
It listens
when I speak
And gives me a tingling sensation
I like my love
honest and fair
I like love that can see me
Even if ain’t nobody else aware
How do U like Ur love
Whips and chains?
or peaches and cream?
I just like my love to be real
I like my love
everlasting
Love that gives answers
without you asking
Love that’s great at multi tasking
That’s the kind of love I like
I like my love to be eternal
On going and persistant
When you’re in the fire
It’s love that’s flame resistant
How do U like Ur love
I like mine shaken
but not stirred
My love is in stereo
Louder than any song you ever heard
I like love that bends and moves
Relaxes and soothes
Love that makes you
dance to no music
love so good
you can’t help
but accuse it
of being
the best
you
ever had

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A Better Woman

2005-06-17T14:15:00.000-04:00

i have to thank you
give you your props
high five
big ups
cause it's all because i met you
that I'm better
better than before
stronger than before
i now know
i know exactly what it takes to please a man
because i stretched myself beyond limits for you
reached way beyond boundaries
dug deep within the farthest
recesses of my mind
to find
a love
a love that knew no limits
it was reckless abandon
caution to the wind
it was careless and pure
irregular and unsure
but for me
it was love
love that made me better
wiser
love that made me cry
harder
love that made me want
more
love that made me die
and then live
and that's why
i have to thank you
because you taught me valuable lessons
molded me and shaped me
forced me to
look at myself and realize
that
i
am
better

Beautiful music

2005-06-14T21:03:00.000-04:00

blended
splendid
we make beautiful music together
love laid over tracks
of soulful melodies
drifting into bliss
our tempo synchronized
and harmonized
funky like doo wop
controversial as hip hop
we make beautiful music together
in unison
we sing with no lyrics
a chorus with no hook
and no verse
acappella
from our diaphram
deep
we summon the voice of love
rock and sway
snapping fingers
tapping feet
we rhythm
we rhyme
line after line
we make beautiful music together
a song remembered
heartbreak
from a past forgotten
no other love but this one will
duet
we adlib
peak at the bridge
and crescendo
fade out into
jazz ensemble
saxophone
pounding bassline
wrap us up warm
in
beautiful music

wishful thinkin.....

2005-06-13T10:55:00.000-04:00

i wish
a man could see me before hand and not after the fact ....i wish niggas would acknowledge my love recognize it as prime stock instead of treating it like it's black market....i wish i could stop loving so hard... i wish i had money for every nigga i prepared for the next female....i wish i could be a bitch so this shit wouldn't hurt as much....then it would be me hurting them instead of them hurting me....i wish i didn't have to sleep alone....i wish i could stop writing poems about a man that isn't even thinking about me....i wish i had a man and me and him could fall in love and be somewhere at the precise time he was so he could see that he doesn't have my heart no more...i wish my eyes didn't leak water everytime i think about how much time i wasted....how much good loving i gave away....how many dreams and secrets i told ......how many late nights i answered the phone from a deep sleep but pretended i was wide awake just because it was him...and just because i wanted just a little of his time.....i wish i could have a full glass instead of a half a cup...i wish....

Him

2005-06-10T16:26:00.000-04:00

I saw him yesterday
he was looking the other way
and even though I tried to say
hello
he didn't see me
he couldn't see me because
he was looking at her
and she was looking at him
and I felt foolish
for trying to get his attention
in the first place
and as I drove away
tears streaming down my face
I was reminded
this was not the first time
I saw him
and he didn't see me
in all reality
he had never seen me
and never heard a word I said
to him
I was invisible
disposable
a casualty of love and war
I saw him
pass right by me
I was speaking loud enough
but he still couldn't hear me
and even when I was right in his face
he couldn't see me
but he didn't have the courage
to tell me he didn't need me
or didn't want me
and had chosen another
I saw him for the first time
and the last time
wishing each time
had never happened.

My Old School Boyfriend

2005-06-05T22:15:00.000-04:00

He held my hand
played trumpet in the band
and I was in the chorus
we were old school
with the whole world before us
we were tongue kissin and slow draggin
underneath a black light
how 'bout us
and he used to write me letters
tell me we would be together
always and forever
indeed
he was a dream come true
he told me I was like an orange
the best part of me was on the inside
and when we broke up I was
all cried out
like a baby cause even though I was only 13
he told me I was
Once, twice
three times a lady
we were old school
he gave me my first kiss
and even now I miss him
the innocence
the essence
he was my old school premonition
represented the man I would love later
before he even came into fruition
he was pure and what we shared
was untainted and unfiltered
it bloomed like a
wildflower
in an open field
and made me want to love
and made me want to kiss and hug
we were old school
like
sukiyaki
and silly
reunited like peaches and herb
my heart hung on his every syllable noun
and verb
ears clung hungrily to his every word
he was my hero
my romeo
my first love before I knew what love was
and he planted the hope in my heart
that remains unrooted
and waiting
for another real love
and old school love
a love on a two way street kinda love
a looking for the perfect beat kinda love
a love that is
old school

When I thought I could go Natural....

2005-06-05T17:26:00.000-04:00

Afrocentric Sista

Soul of a Woman

2005-06-03T17:23:00.000-04:00

The many faces of a flower!

talkin' trash about Koolaid

2005-06-03T14:38:00.000-04:00

He was just like a tall glass of koolaid
Grape mixed with the lemonade
Sipped in the shade
On a hot and sunny day
He made me want to runaway
Barefoot and pregnant
Through any and everything
He made me want to by a ring
He filled my belly with
Love peace and happy
It was like whatever
And I aint never been the type
To look for Mr. Right but
He just showed up in my life
One night
Right when I had gotten tired
Of drinking plain old dirty water
Out a dirty glass and I
Must admit at first
That dirty water did quench my thirst
But I got to a place where
I wanted something a little more sweeter
A little more good
Something get all down in your feet good
Make you come so hard you got to roll
Over and go to sleep good
make you say
Good Gawd Almighty
That koolaid grape mixed with the lemonade
Sipped in the shade on a hot and sunny day sho
Is good make you wanna run away barefoot
That koolaid quenched a thirst in me that I
Didn’t even know I had
It made me glad for the spoon
That stirred the pitcher of my emotion
What a commotion it made my love potion he became
Made me want to call out his name
HEY KOOLAID
In the middle of the park
After dark
BUCK E NAKED
With the exception of some
Bright red chucks
I'm like what the fuck
It's whatever nikka
You can have it all
Long as I get to call you daddy
I will gladly sip your koolaid
Grape mixed with the lemonade
Sipped in the shade on any hot and sunny day
he made me want to runaway
Barefoot and pregnant
Through any and everything
I turned into a koolaid smilin'
Koolaid wildin’ fool
I was koolaid drinkin' and koolaid thinkin'
Him like red red wine
And I know you think I’m just talking trash
But he had me crazy
If I was to catch somebody
Sippin on my koolaid grape mixedwith the lemonade sipped
In the shade on a hot and sunny day
BABY
It would be hell to pay
Cause you know I don’t even play
You know you got to guard a good glass
Of koolaid with your life
Pickens is slim nowadays
Half these men already got a wife
He had me on the phone with my girlfriend saying
“yeah girl, guess what? I done messed around
and found me a real man. And I bet my man can
make koolaid better than your man can"
and then
it hit me
this chick couldn’t even begin to understand
cause she had never tasted my koolaid before
cause if she had ever tasted my koolaid before
friend or not
me and that chick woulda been rollin on the floor
I'm for real
I know you think I'm just talking trash
But if I was to roll up on your ass
And get all up in your face and ask you
If you had ever had a taste of my
Koolaid grape mixed with the lemonade
Sipped in the shade on a hot and sunny day
Your answer had
better be
no

Soulful Flower

2005-06-03T14:15:00.000-04:00

(An Ode to Bridgette)
By CARiMFLow

I Think

It Has Been,
What,
Just Of Couple Days
And I've Lost Track Of Words I've Said Before
One's I've Loved Before
And
I Have Never Been So At Peace

I Am
Suspended
In The Continuum Of Time
Embarking On A Journey
To The Source Of My Wet Dreams
Seeing Your Silhouette
Dancing
In The First Rays Of A Mornings Sun
It's Going To Be A Good Day

I Smile

With Each Sensuous Tone
Each Anticipated Moan
I Feel All Of My Seed
Rushing
From Each Of My Spheres Of Life
Chemically Reacting
Into An Explosion
Of
Fertilizing Emotions
Meant To Entice
The Soul Of My Flower
To Animate
You Whisper To Me
Those Three Words
Written
On The Underside Of Each Leaf

I Listen

I Pluck
Each Petal Of The Flower's Soul
She Loves Me (I Smile)
She Loves Me Not (I Fear)
She Loves Me (I Gain Confidence)
O.K. That's Enough
She Loves Me It Is (I Make Plans For The Rest Of My Life)

I Hope

A Feel Of Post-Erotic Breath,
A Saturated Touch,
A Smell Of Ruined Hair
Orgasmic Times Of Two
Merging
Into One Complete Emotion
A House Full Of Strange Feet
Laughing And Playing Together
All This
A Closed Door Away
From The Echoes
We Make
In A Bath Of Yellow Rose Petals
Dimly Lit
By The Candlelight
Prisiming
Off Of Each Perfect Bubble

I Feel

Warmed
As You Place Me
Within Your World
Spent
As You Take Flight
Hurt
As We Write "Yes" On Each Other's Spine
Harder And Softer (Uhh!)
Shallower And Deeper (Ahhh!)
Slower And Faster (Shit!)
We Cry Out (Shhhhhhhhhhhh!)
I Came,
Then Throbbed Until You Caught Up

I Surmised

A Soul Of A Flower
I Learned To Love
The Heart Of Man It Needs
The Soul Of A Flower
I Need In My Life
And
I'm All The Water She'll Need

We Are

Understanding
Each Other
Better Now,
For We Are

In Love

locked up

2005-06-03T12:11:00.000-04:00

in the middle
of my life's sentence
while i was doing my time
confined solitarily in my mind
to the prison of my own thoughts
i looked around
and found that i hadn't
committed any crime
i was just an innocent victim
of circumstances
beyond my control
so i called on the powers
that be
come free me
let me go
i just came to myself
and realized that
i didn't want to be a
prisoner
no more

Thoughts of You

2005-06-03T12:06:00.000-04:00

Thoughts of you...
like the moon
disappearing behind the sun
you amaze me
simply craze me as I think of the
days we
spend
my best friend
till the end
and back to the beginning again
like the sun
on a rainy day
you chase water away
from eyes
that have cried
too many times
it is your essence
that shines
your presence that defines
true love that binds
your heart to mine
like the stars
are numbered in the sky
so many reasons why
I can't say goodbye
Complete my thought before I think
Quench my thirst before I drink
Cover me warm like mink
have my passion on the brink
your name written on my heart in
permanent ink
these are the thoughts of you