Drop of Possibility

with a corner of sweet red wine left in her wine glass on the end table, she sat in a slightly oversized racerback tank, leopard print bra, hot pink lace hipsters, and fuzzy leopard slipper socks. the only thing put together on her was her hair: pulled back and neatly gathered into a glittered gold rectangle hair clip - very Chistmasy.


she sat indian styled on her plush California king bed with feet intertwined like a pretzel and tucked underneath her, all while pounding against the keys of her laptop. thinking aloud through her fingers, she couldn't for the life of her, even years later, figure out what was it about her and about them that made him venture off.


by all means, he had it all; at least all of what the average man she thought desired. she was the refreshing image of what a woman was to look and sound like: well put together even on her bad days in fitted jeans, collegiate tees and hoodies with clean furry boots or designer clogs. she handled business sometimes better than a man without negating the "womanly duties" bestowed upon her when her father's sperm decided she'd be born with a split versus a pole.


she'd given him everything: hot, home cooked meals where she'd slave over hot pots and pans served with ice cold drinks and napkins folded cleanly under his plate - served to him. she never called him into the kitchen to retrieve his meals. she always waltz her smooth brown flesh into whatever room he was in and served him. she washed clothes, sheets, carpets, and backs if need be. she was the listening ear he'd said he never had, the friend he needed and the lover he prayed for. she did it all. and not to mention, she was a whole theatrical act in the bedroom, shower, living room, and kitchen (when not cooking of course). whatever he wanted or needed, he had.


but all wasn't enough. as if more could be sought and found. different, yes. more, absolutely not.


and here she was, years down the line, trying to decipher what was it that made him do that to them, and to her.


she questioned her own thoughts on the fact that such questions were even being posed. it didn't matter, but, it did matter. no one likes or wants or desires to be wronged. even more so, no one wants to be hurt and to live to speak on it and relive the pain when the hurt has been instilled upon them by one who was their lover. their partner. and in some cases, the key to their future - or so they thought.


her love was and still is ingenious. craved and desired by the minions who crossed her path. damn near perfect, yet, she had not been able to wrap her head around the sheer selfishness and stupidity in the decisions that were made on his behalf that affected and tainted her view of love and relationships.  and she knew it was all out of stupidity and self-centeredness, but her being a woman, it made no sense to her. she knew it wasn't her. couldn't have been. especially not when you get the whole shebang. she knew she wasn't the average woman with average wants and needs or even an average attitude or personality.


she just could never wrap her head around any of it. she knew she probably would never be able to come to grips with the situation. and yet, she'd provided chance upon chance being hopeful and convincing herself that there was enough faith to try. she was glad she'd finally left well enough alone as she realized that even glasses half full of hope grow to be half empty. and eventually, the half empty can barely spare a drop of possibility. 


closing her laptop just as she heard his keys jingling in the door, she looked towards the door of their bedroom as he and his deep dark brown eyes met with hers. they smiled as he made his way over to her and placed several sets of soft kisses upon her lips. she realized then that there was a reason for all of the past shenanigans: so she could see what was sitting and waiting in front of her. so she could walk away from what use to be and what could have been. so she could be loved by who wanted to love her all along. the faith she'd given then to one who didn't deserve it, was the same faith she used to walk out on and grab hold of the love she needed all along.

***

The Speechless Feeling

you know that feeling in the pit of your stomach you get when that person is in your presence? that feeling that makes you believe you can sit and just stare at their existence for eternity and not grow tired. that feeling that makes all around you disappear as nothing and no one else matters but them. that feeling of fluttering butterflies who'd rather tickle your insides than escape you and be free. that feeling, when you realize you're in the right place at the proper time with the correct person.


it's an indescribable feeling, but it feels wonderful when your heart and mind are synced. there aren't even enough words to paint the perfect picture of what this feeling feels like. the tightness of their arms around you as the two of you drift off to sleep and for those few hours, drift into forever. the feeling of you waking, realizing his arms aren't wrapped you as he realizes it too and embraces your existence once again.


that feeling. that indescribable feeling that even as i try to paint this perfect picture for you, i can't. tongue tied and tangled into knots so severely that only that smile and those thoughts adequately depict exactly what these hands are trying to explain to you. he, leave her speechless. and she, loves every bit of it.


and when it all ends, temporarily, they each countdown to next time.

All Mixed Up

I dream his voice
and feel his eyes.
I taste his smile
and sense his stroll.
I smell his presence
and write him into reality.

All mixed up
it's tough getting this thing right,
but with kisses so sweet
and a presence so endearing,
I,
don't necessarily mind.

Unrecognizable

i
searched
and waited
but you never came back.
i
traveled
to the end of time
and checked the beginning of it all
in hopes
to re-discover
you
and thus, us.
i
prayed for the ability
to re-dream dreams once dreamt
to get a glimpse of the you
and us
i remember-
the us that challenged the world
and re-designed
what young love
looked
and felt like;
gave the world
something to talk about,
something to study on
and dissect
in attempts to figure out
what was it
that made us
tick
and buzz
like bumbling busy bees buzzing
and screaming our names-
etching our existence
permanently
into the realm of time
so that lifetimes from now
we
would still exist.

but yet,
i
could not find us.
i
could not seek what i sought
nor re-dream dreams once dreamt about
i
could not re-create
re-design
re-conform or confirm
the love
that i know
we
created.

none of these things was
i
able to find.
yet,
i turn over
in our bed
and i see your face,
but i cannot
do-not
recognize
the lover
nor the love
that
i know
was built with
and by my maimed hands
river bed of tears
and my ear curling screams
begging
for survival
for the us
that shall last
for lifetimes to come,
for histories to study us
and for lovers to mimic the best of us.

i search
and i seek
the you
i once recognized.

jill scott

cross my mind

beautifully human part I

A Love That Is Mine and Mine Alone

The truth of the matter is it doesn't matter how much or how hard you try to push them out of your mind and subsequently out of your life, they're going to cross your mind. It's oftentimes, inevitable. And in my case, I'd run into them before the process could be completed.


The break-up and thereafter was far from amicable. We were like captives on a distant island that didn't know what it meant to cordially disagree. And was displayed for the world to see. When two adults display their raw emotions in states of anger and frustration, the pictures painted are never pretty ones. But we deal with the consequences as we normally do in life. Play the cards however they were dealt to you. Roll with it. Keep it moving. Look at the picture however you choose so long as you don't allow that picture to hinder your growth.


Love is what I write about. It's what I live for. Nikki Giovanni herself even said that we love because it's the only true adventure. I believe this. And I've lived this very belief and quote out on front street for the past 3.5+ years. The heart's desire does whatever it damn well pleases to. And all we can do is trek along with it. And this trekking along also means dealing with the outcomes to predicaments of that and those journeys; including having mutual friends and being adults about a nasty situation, handled in a cold, cold world.


I harbor no ill feelings. No hatred. No bitterness. No anger. No frustrations. None. And God knows I know there are millions of women who would perhaps brow beat me for not feeling this way. But I don't. It's not in my genetic makeup to feel such a way. I believe, everyone's deserving of forgiveness. But everyone is also deserving of a love that is going to love them to their core. A love jones.



He said to me that "... I wanted a love jones sort of love."  "And I do. I deserve it. I desire it. I await it with open arms. I use to believe that no love was worth it without a fight. But should my love for you be pure and true, unyielding, faithful, and forever, there should be no fight, so long as your love is equal and just as endearing as mine...."


I could and probably will write about love forever because it's so multifaceted that there's no one true picture of what it looks, sounds, and feels like. 


All I know is that the love I want and a love I seek, is forever and enduring. It's, the butterflies fluttering my the pit of stomach as we kiss or the sound of jingling keys or a hearty laugh. 


All I know, is that I want a love that is mine and mine alone.

Just For Me

There's no part of this life that is guaranteed to us. Not our next breathe, next smile, or next day. And if we're lucky enough to be given tomorrow, or enough hours in today, they ought to chronicle the best of us - and nothing short of it. We spend so much time planning for the days, weeks, months, years - lifetimes - to come, we fail to realize that none of these things are promised. Either that, or we knowingly attempt to fight time hoping to come out on top.


The plans are easy to make. It's putting them into action that sometimes we get stuck. It's the second nature second thoughts that overtake us. It's the wondering what others will think, snicker, or say. It's the issue of giving others whether consciously or not, power over our lives to determine what we will or will not do.


I'm guilty of these things. Daydreaming days away wishing and hoping for something to change. But change is a mind-frame, a way of life. It's not something that just happens, it's created and formed. It's birthed through our actions and raised via our practices. It's homegrown and a reflection of the best, or the worst of us. It's ingrained so deeply into us, that often, we have to dive into ourselves to seek it and bring it's glory to the forefront.


I, am guilty of everything in this. I, deep sea self dive all the time all because I spend so much time and dedicate so much energy attempting to please those who ensure they please themselves. I, cheat myself out of my own happiness that when the time comes, and they have come dozens of times before, I look back, and see no part of me. I don't see the me that I think I'm grooming day-by-day. I don't and haven't seen the me that I envisioned years ago. I see instead, a self that I don't quite recognize.


I've been spending the last few weeks in my mind organizing and prioritizing. I spend more time than a little bit in my head attempting to make peace with myself and the foreseen issues that others may or may not - assumed fears. Spending time giving myself permission to be who I am and permission to live my life as it is: my life. Ensuring not to vilify myself for being who I am and who I am growing into. These, are the steps to power moves; these are the steps to a life that is plentiful and full. These, are the steps to self-empowerment and constant self-improvement. 


These processes of change and alterations are necessary in this life regardless of how often or how much or how hard we fight them. These changes force us to stare at ourselves as we are in the mirror and accept the reflection. Accept the us that everyone else wants to change. Accept our growth and our change. Accept us as we were made. Accept us as we are to become. And accept those who will join along with us in the journey.


Why not make this the best while we're here? Why not allow our lives to be the best reflection of who we are, where we come from, and how we've gotten here? All I know is that for me when it's all said and done, it'll all be worth it. And I pray the same to be the case for you.


***

This Long

tears streamed down his face

as he begged

for her forgiveness

of his insecurities

and shortcomings

admitted that his faults

were his way of beating her

to the punch.

a grown man,

now emotionally stripped of every stripe

he'd earned growing up as a hood boy,

stripped of every piece of game

he'd ever played,

stripped of every bit of unfaithfulness

that he'd committed.

it'd taken him this long

to realize she was worth his love,

worth his faithfulness

and security,

worth the late nights full of bore

but full of love that no one

but them

could re-create.

it'd taken him this long

to realize she was it.

to realize that she was the girl

who was more than worth being wife

and mother

and barer of their future.

to realize that her tears

should not have been cried

and dried

by the thermal fitted sheet

and cotton flowered comforter-

but by him instead,
yet he wasn't there
to dry them
to catch them before they fell-
or to keep them from falling at all.


it'd taken him this long
to comprehend her hurt
to see the heaving chest
and bloodshot
tear struck eyes
that it wasn't clear
on whether love
was enough anymore.
it'd take him this long
to realize the most important things
to make it all work,
he pleaded,
hoping and praying
on Bible verses
and shooting stars,
that it hadn't taken him too long
to realize she was gone.

{#GOODmusic} :: Tyrese, Stay

{#GOODmusic} :: Monica, Until It's Gone

Before You I Stand

I've stood before you
bare and naked
pleading for understanding
and the love that not that I believe,
but that I know I deserve.
I've stood before you
screaming and silent
attempting to help you
find our middle.
I've stood before you
as I am
and as you know know me,
in every bit of my essence,
hyper-sexualized and on the prowl
for you.
I've stood before you
barefoot and nude
with breasts exposed and
moving to their own tune,
needing and wanting
you to see me for me -
as I am,
and as I will become.
I've stood before you
with tears staining my skin
and tearing my heart to shreds.
I've stood before you
as your best friend
and potentially as your worst enemy
fighting for the best of us,
desiring and needing
the best from us.


So now,
I stand before you
prepared for forever
and what's to come. 
I am here as I am,
as all that I can be,
and as I hope to become,
praying silent prayers
that only my God can hear,
that we will become we,
as we are
and we are to become.

city girl's hips & thighs, strut your stuff chile

By the age of 10 I had breasts and my mother had long gone tossed my training bras. And at 12, my hips were wide and formed. My ass was firm and large according to everyone around me. A brickhouse; strong and solid. But at 12, to me I was just a girl who enjoyed reading books, playing hopscotch and eating sunflower seeds. To the world, especially to men two and three times my age, my body was to be gawked at and hyper-sexualized over. My body, caused limp dicks to get stiff while they'd lick their lips and stare with eyes full of raging lust and desire. A child, I'd walk quickly all while attempting to talk away the knotting in my stomach from the uncomfortable feeling of being preyed on. I was sure to be snatched up off the street one of those days. Thank God, it never happened.


A child is a child regardless of how fat her ass is, how robust her titties are, how wide and firm her hips look. A child is a child. But a city girl's hips and thighs can be a dangerous existence. Her body in time grows to be her worst enemy. It goes against her, contradicts what she feels compared to what the world sees.


I remember the gawking stares, comments, and lip smacking gestures. For a girl, not a woman, a girl, these can be the most damaging, damning years of her life. For a girl slowly attempting to grow into the woman she someday will become, these moments and times of her life could forever alter how she views herself, the world around her, and how she decidely chooses to dress.


Being a woman I've learned is just as much about our femininity as it is about our strength. But the feats are made tough when our bodies are sexualized over and commodified like Coldstone ice cream or the latest red bottoms. Products. Items. Things to be bought and sold to be enjoyed in the privacy of our homes. Disgusting. Point blank. I recall men being old enough to have grown up with my parents, though they too were young having been teenage parents, the point still remains these men were much older than I and thus, far more experienced than me. Disgusting. Because at the end of the day, if her back is turned to you, and the sillouette of a woman is what you see, perfectly formed and evenly distributed, when she turns into your direction, the face, that face of hers that you see, is that of a child,. the lust and sexualization in your eyes ought to cease, the thoughts of what you'd do to "that" surely ought to leave your mind just as quickly as they entered. Otherwise, you may as well have just mentally raped a child old enough to be your own. 


***

{#GOODmusic} :: Duke Ellington and John Coltrane, In A Sentimental Mood

Duke Ellington and John Coltrane (1962)
In A Sentimental Mood

love jonesing love

i think he thought or thinks he has me all figured out. and in figured out, i mean, knowing the reasoning and logic behind the things i do, the way i act, how i've become who i am - why i am the way i am.

i guess.

i am a romantic. i intentionally left hopeless out because i'm not hopeless in this realm. nor unrealistic or bitter, twisted, confused, mixed up, unsure, indecisive, flustered. least not when it comes to romanticism in what i think it is and what i want it to be.

my mother raised me. i was placed into her womb at 15 and she gave birth at 16 but was told no sooner than the moment my umbilical cord was cut, it was said i would die within 24 hours. at 16. i've always viewed her as a single mother though my then step-father was indeed around, present, and in the picture, even with him, she had to defend why she was the type of mother she was. she gave us what she never received. she cushioned our lives so that we would never entail the bumps and bruises that she and her siblings endured in their childhoods. she set us up to be our own individuals before we knew that we were individuals.

a city girl from the projects with teenaged parents, one absent and would be by all means, forever. my father figures were my big black grandfather whose laughter always rolled and bellowed from his belly, an uncle who spoiled me rotten with whatever i wanted and whenever i wanted it, and a great-grandfather who was the smoothest man ever to walk the block, it's from him i inherited the importance of smelling just as good as you look. by the time i was nine, all three of these men were absent from my day-to-day life. one incarcerated and two dead.


but before any of these men seemingly disappeared, they taught me how a girl ought to be treated. they taught me what it meant and what it felt like to be wined, dined and spoiled. big wheelers, custom made gold earrings, all the cookies, cakes and ice creams a girl could ever desire. the only times i cried or do cry over these men is at the thought of them not being around in my day-to-day life. the sheer moment of reading and re-reading these lines bring tears to my shorelines.

and to think of this man who assumes or feels as though he has me "figured out" from printed words from a book full of assumptions, misconceptions, and generalizations, i question if the point and purpose behind this piece is even legitimate or worth my own time.

i was raised by women who were focused more on survival and independence than they were about love and making a man feel happy, wanted, or needed. life growing up was about staying out the way and letting your work speak for you. better to be seen than to be heard because once you open your mouth, you remove all doubt. so i worked. hardly played. i read books and indulged from time-to-time in girly games: hop scotch, jump rope, numbers, down down baby, and so forth. but my comfort was in the words on pages in binded books that took me away from my reality. my comfort was in things that allowed me to imagine worlds that as a nine year old girl, i knew i would have to work endlessly for me to see in my lifetime. i wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. nothing was given. but anything could be taken.

love had never become a factor until discussions of the future came into play. wanting the children after the marriage and school and world travels. to conquer my world first before creating a world for my future. but then you grow up. you get older. you live and experience life through the cards that were dealt to you long before you learned that you were even playing a game.

i read books for the vocabulary. to expand my imagination. to give my own writing the umph it has now. it was never for the attempt to reach what was read; i didn't read fairy-tales to paste my face there and pray on little crossed fingers for my prince charming. as much as it was for the escape aspect, it was to become a better me than to become a better second you.


even as a child, i was too much of a realist to want the dreams i read about or the fairy-tales i watched or the movies about the childhood loves who grew into lifetime loves.

yes, i love love. i love what love is supposed to be. i love how love is supposed to feel and what its lovers are supposed to go thru. i love jonesing over love by myself and imagining how my idea of love would feel if another loved me with the same amount of love, passion, and empathy; the respect, that love really ought to have.


but then life fucks shit up. that and the people in it. you realize that love is an idea, a concept, an emotion that needs action to nudge its body up against it for it to get the human qualities that we people place upon it. it's not love that makes love suck. it's the people who don't know how to make it move and talk the way it ought to.

by all means, love, is not about infidelity (cheating if you didn't know) or abuse or tears of pain from fighting for the attention we desire. yes, people do things that go against what we want love to be. people make all the mistakes in this world. but it's up to those same people whether or not they will learn from those mistakes, or say fuck it, and continue doing what satisfies their warm flesh.

love, is feeling the butterflies you thought had died. it's looking into that man or that woman's face and seeing your future glimmer thru their pupils. it's the uneasy feeling of walking out on faith for what you know you want and deserve. it's about jonesing for this person who when the world thinks it knows what you're capable of, they know for a fact as they've seen you in action. it's that person wanting and yearning to be there when they can't.

it's you loving them when they're torn and battered; loving them thru their growth, their highs and lows, insecurities, and in-sensitivities. loving the love in them while realizing they're human and function 100% of the time as humans while what you see 100% of the time is a lover.


love is just as much about the falling and getting up as it is about it thru what was thought to be impossible.

Kem featuring Chrisette Michele

If It's Love

One Foot Out the Door

she stood bracing herself for eternity
and forever,
prepared to be thrown into an abyss
of un-bottled love
that would pin her against the world.
kisses so sweet,
and fulfilling,
she called them artistic
because his tongue painted a picture
full of dreams
and hopefulness.
full of bright blues
pastel pinks
plush purples
and yellows that yelled
called
whispered
and screamed her name.
his hands left her body
battered and maimed-
immobile
stuck
frozen
at a place and moment in time
where not even time mattered.


he was so thorough
that he was able to carefully
construct and fold
her body in ways that not even
she thought were possible.
and to think 
she could remain
that way forever
   unarmed and satisfied.
nothing else and not much
else mattered -
not even the transgressions that were
headed in her direction.


she stood bracing herself for eternity
and forever,
ready to be captured and thrown
into his abyss
where love and lovemaking happened often
and nothing else mattered.

{#GOODmusic} :: Teddy Pendergrass, When Somebody Loves You Back

{#GOODmusic} :: Melanie Fiona, 4am

{#GOODmusic} :: Chrisette Michele, "I'm A Star"

The Heart's Desire and Love's Expectations

All she wanted was to be loved. And to be loved the right way, her way, her heart's desired way. But you don't always get what you want life to give you.

Instead, she waltzed into domains that trampled upon her heart as if a herd of a hundred elephants were being chased from their homes. She was hot and dazed, confused and by all means hurt. Because this isn't what love is 'posed to feel like. It's not supposed to feel like a thousand pricking rose thorns sticking thru and thru for the heart's contents to drip, drop, and splatter onto linoleum floors and suede nude pumps. No, not love. Not the love dreamt of in fairytale dreams surrounding that one princess who meets her prince when she least expects it. The magicalness of it all is what love is 'posed to be about. What it's supposed to feel like.

Love, you're supposed to feel good. You're supposed to make me sing your name with eyes wide open and eyes wide shut during my day dreams and my night dreams. You're supposed to be with me at all times; loneliness with you around is nonexistent. Love, your lips are supposed to be tender when pressed against mine as my heart's pitter-pattering matches the elephant stampede that crushed it in the first place. You, are supposed to be everything that a girl who grows into a woman, has ever imagined you to be. You're supposed to be worth more than the diamonds and pearls, more than the dozen roses, treasured jewels, and surprised weekend getaways. You're, even supposed to be more surprising and more enchanting than the night he settles upon that one knee to offer that one ring and ask that one question.

Quite possibly, too many expectations and rules and guidelines have been placed upon your head. So much that not even you, this unseen notion of what "love" is supposed to look and feel like, that not even you can live up to these desires. These expectations and wants. These dreams of fairytales that say what "love" is to be like.

So I apologize to you on behalf of the millions and billions of women like me who have this Kodak vision of a picture of what love is when the photo hasn't even been taken. I know how I want my heart to feel when love walks in. And I even know how I don't want my heart to feel when love ponders walking out. In my realm of dreams, love, is a one way door: we walk in, but we never, ever walk out.



(#GOODmusic}:: Whitney Houston, "You Give Good Love"

You Give Good Love
Whitney Houston

Nothing more can be said other than that this song is a true classic.

{#GOODmusic} :: "Someone Like You"

Adele Someone Like You

Her music is a godsend for me. As if some part or pieces of herself, live reside in little ol' me. Her words, resonate so loudly, that I've been playing '21' since it's 2011 release. It's a surprise there are no scratches on it to date.

An artist quite slept on. But then, I like that - because I feel like there's less of her and less of her music I ought or need or have to share.

<3

{#GOODmusic} :: Teddy Pendergrass, My Latest, My Greatest Inspiration

My Latest, My Greatest Inspiration
Teddy Pendergrass

I was told tonight that I wanted a love jones sort of love. And I do. I deserve it. I desire it. I await it with open arms. I use to believe that no love was worth it without a fight. But should my love for you be pure and true, unyielding, faithful, and forever, there should be no fight, so long as your love is equal and just as endearing as mine. And this song, I believe wholeheartedly, exudes every bit of I secretly search for.

Growing Into Me without Losing Me

I am a social networking junkie! I'm attached to my Twitter and Facebook nearly 24/7 though I may not be "socially networking" myself. I update statuses because, well, that's just what I do. Oddly enough, these days, more than ever before, I seek a mirror that offers me the chance to see myself in the manner that others see me. What sort of woman do you see when you look at me, speak to me, see my name? When the name Theresa Clark is presented to you as a representation of myself, what comes to mind? I remember years ago, friends and myself would post stats asking "give me one word that describes me", and your friends would comment with descriptions and you would return the favor if they were too participating. Surprisingly, the words then were nice, sweet words: kind, caring, sweet, honest, funny.

But today, I wonder, what would come to mind to those who have known me and those who do know me? Especially since becoming a woman fighting adulthood with the same ferocity she did with childhood growth.

Life grants us chances to see who we've grown into after experiencing life from a first person point of view. Chances like having lunch or dinner with a dear friend and running into someone you'd never expected to see again. Or, on your way to work, and running into a representation of your past, and this running into, isn't exactly how you'd envisioned it in your mind. But it happens.

Yet, life doesn't give us the chance to see in real time how people see us now. It forces us to grow into, with, and because of these transitions and judge ourselves, for ourselves, and by ourselves accordingly. Daunting feat right?

We seek and define ourselves through the things that life makes available to us. We define ourselves thru our fear, our desires, our dreams and the nightmares that ride our backs at night stifling our breathe as it attempts to suck whatever air is left out of our bodies, for fear of what we're to become. We live these lives, for the bulk of these lives staring through a two-way piece of glass that only offers us our reflection. What we see of ourselves at that moment.

It's hard to make alterations when you're not able to see a picture for what it really is; when you're forced to alterate based off of feelings and emotions, off of personal wants and desires.

It didn't take me long to discover that life is about change. And honestly, it's not about much else. We change in life over everything. Life engrains into us early, that at any given moment in our lives, we can change without the requirement of anyone's permission or say-so. Not even our own.


I fight daily to be a better me. To be and grow into the individual, the woman, the creation in the image of my God, I am supposed to be one of these days. And yes, the journey is treacherous and quite tough, but on my good days, the journey is well worth the climb. Yet, I still desire an accurate picture of what I portray and what I give and offer to the world. I seek this out just as much as I may seek personal forgiveness or individual gratitude. I search for it like I sought for faithful love when I wanted and needed it most. Yet, life is not willing to give me the picture of what others see. And I have no clue as to why, only assumptions, gestures, and ideas. All of these though, still do not give the answer to the question I seek: what does the world see when Theresa Antoinette Clark is presented to them? But just as quickly as the question is presented, it is quickly withdrawn because who the world sees and what the world thinks, by far is not as accurate as who it is that resides within ourselves. And that just may be the reason that we're given that two-way mirror that only provides a reflection of who we are at the very moment we decide to stare into that mirror, and figure out who we are then and who we are becoming.


I am not who I am destined to become. I am not the woman I desire to be. I am not leading a life that is in my eyes, admirable. But my growth and resilience, takes the cake in all categories. I grow and am growing. And that, is a feeling, an experience that no two-way self-reflecting mirror can give us, nor one that the world can convey equally as well. We've been put here to change lives and grow. But one of the first lives we're scheduled to change is our own. And how we do so, determines our whole life's worth and outcome as life returns to us only what we have placed into it.




Chrisette Michele
I'm A Star





"I really don't think life is about the I-could-have-beens. Life is only about the I-tried-to-do. I don't mind the failure but I can't imagine that I'd forgive myself if I didn't try." 

Nikki Giovanni

getting my peace of mind

Dear You.


Yes you. Especially if you think this is about you, then yes, it can be about you too. I know somewhere in your psyche, you think, well, you've convinced yourself that without you, I'd be nothing. Better yet, I would have been up shit's creek without a paddle to maintain the waves or a compass to know which way to go, if it all weren't for you. Claiming credit where it by far is not due.


But guess what? I'm fine. And like many urbanites like myself who weren't born with a silver spoon attached to their tongues, I'm good. And to be honest, I'm glad, no happy, shit, I'm proud of me for having walked away and not looking back. For having grown the balls you were incapable of maintaining to say enough was enough.


I claim myself and only the individual I am. Heart, mind, titties, ass, smile, happiness, everything - all included. And I must say, I am the grand prize. I am above 1st place status and especially beyond 2nd place "runner-up-coming-up". There's no one like me. And never will be. This though, you already know.


I am over what was and what use to be. And just because I'm spilling my sarcastic ass feelings into this piece of literature, it does not mean I want you. No sir.


I need nor do I want anything from you. I desire nor crave nothing that comes of your being. No conversations, apologies, puppy dog eyes of a man who's lost his battle. Nothing. No phone calls, text messages, e-mails; no forms of communication. No reason to connect. I harbor no ill feelings, hostility, nor anger. I wish nothing upon your life that could potentially do harm to you or that could alter your life in ways you cannot even imagine. 


My main and only concern in this current and present life of mine is myself. That is all. I've reached a point where I could care less about your words, thoughts, intentions, or desires. Because sir, you know, just like I know, Karma, is a bitch. Life knew just what she was doing when she made Karma, sexually speaking, a cold blooded fucking woman! And I already know, your name, is indeed on it.


To you, you walked away with nothing. To you, I forced you to begin all over again. To you, I have everything, and was inconvenienced by none. If you say so. But the last time I checked: that large, lavish apartment has been traded in for a twin sized bed while I solely am still paying for that large, lavish apartment that you too resided in. You remember that apartment right? The same one you laid your head at when the night sky took over. The same one where I scrounged and struggled for months to make all ends meet while your sad attempts to get on your feet didn't quite come through. Yet, I would have lost it all if it weren't you. Are you sure about this? Or is this just what you irresponsibly spill into the streets and atop of the ears of whomever will listen to make yourself look good? How about no comment? Or, I'd rather not speak on it. How about "I fucked up. But I have to move on". Any of these would work magically for me because then the hard work I did put in and the dedication I did exude would not be trampled on by your selfish, inconsiderate, lonely ass words on the simple fact that you've grown bitter.


You hold no power over me or my successes. Your presence has no place in my future regardless of how hard you attempt to ease your way in. You words mean nothing regardless of how hatefully you spew them all in the name of hatred and anger. You, are no longer a factor in anything I do.


But go ahead and carry on. Because while you harbor these ill-gotten feelings that really should be geared towards yourself, I pay you no mind. I fight daily to regain the peace of mind that rightfully belongs to me. But do understand, this peace, was never in your jurisdiction. This peace, is brand new and refreshing; it has no imprint of days spent with you. And yes, I fight daily to leave you further in the past than you were yesterday. I, will and can be everything you claim me to be because you, my former beau, are no longer a factor. I will be all the fat bitches I've ever been to you because you, have no stake to profit off of when it comes to me.


So Sir, enjoy the words you regurgitate today, for they may be the words you eat tomorrow.




Sincerely,
never looking back.

Chrisette Michele

Goodbye Game

on the fence

Mistakes are expected in life on the simple fact that we're human. And depending on how we're hardwired to function, others mistakes are sufficient enough; but often, we have to make our own. This is expected. Whether you were made by a man and woman because of a night of heavy, hot, and sweaty lovemaking, or due to doctors initializing your creation in a petri dish - we came from a woman's womb and she birthed us one way or another. So, we're supposed to make mistakes, have slip ups, do some things the wrong way to discover the right way.

But there comes a point and place in life when these mistakes become foolish and most times, selfish decisions that we think for one reason or another, will never catch up to us. Yet, when they do, we become defensive and don't know how to deal.

We cause pain to those who we know, without a shadow of doubt or an inkling of reservation, love us to their core. We do to them what we know we ought not to. What we know, quite possibly that if and when these selfish decisions we call mistakes reach the shorelines of their existence, they may not return as the individual we've always known them to be. Yet, we still decide to slip up.

"Mistakes" are preventable. Because they are decisions made by adults who have enough cognizance to know the difference between right and wrong, have just as much ability to walk away as they do to engage in such decisions.

But, consequences are a part of this human life too. So if and when that person who loves you to their core builds up enough power and strength to leave well enough alone, and decide for themselves that they deserve more and better, this is a consequence to your mistakes. And you can't be upset. Nor angry. Nor frustrated. Unless, it is with yourself.

This is no on the fence issue. This is no maybe or what if issue. This is about life and about when the people who we trust to do us right, doesn't do so. When the person who is done wrong, eventually has no choice but to move on, or drown in their own misery for staying.

the fuck you blog piece

You know when you've reached your point of no return? 

When you've spread yourself so thin that even butter on hot toast is thicker than what you have left? 

When you're all cried out and over it all?

When the next breathe is an apprehensive next breathe because you don't know what bullshit may come along between then, now and later?

Well, I guess this blog is dedicated to you.

To you and all of the bullshit that came along with my breathes of fresh air that were polluted and tainted by lies, deception and betrayal. 

To you and the support that wasn't garnered when well, it should have been readily available. 

To you and your absenteeism. 

To you and your selfishness and insecurities. 

To you and your inability to understand my hurt, my pain, or my frustration.

To you and thinking that on my next breathe, all would be fine. That we'd kiss and make up.

What a tangle web we weave when we try to deceive. 

Don't you agree?

JANET JACKSON

Son of a Gun

In Dedication to All of Your Sauciness

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::DEAR SELF::::::::::::::

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I raise this imaginary glass to you because yes, you are the shit. Regardless if anyone says it to you, or even if they don't. You know, and you have the right to stare at yourself in any mirror that offers you a reflection of the true you, so that you can deem it necessary if need be that "yes, I am the shiz-nit."


Yes girl, we've said it hundreds, if not thousands of times before: you know you did the best, was the best, and gave your best. And lets not forget, you forfeited us so that he could co-exist with you without feeling as though he'd lost any bit of his masculinity. But yet, our femininity, our woman-ness, didn't matter? Bits and pieces of you died so that he could live. Yet, after you weathered all storms, monsoons, tornados, hurricanes, tsunami's, and blizzards that came swerving into your  personal space, you still had the strength to resuscitate yourself, so that you could keep it moving.


In spite of him, and in spite of what wars were waged against your heart's desire, your strength continues to amaze me. Your perseverance, and ability to let go and live, leaves me speechless. I can't be jealous of myself, but I damn sure can admire myself.


You know, there aren't many like you walking this Earth anymore. Endangered species if I may. You are preyed on by the wild and ravaged, but prayed for and protected by the best.  And yet, you continuously revamp, update, change, alter, grow - become someone new, whether by choice or by force. And to do it so gracefully and without anger, scorn, or bitterness is one of your greatest assets.


So as you waltz bravely and beautifully into a new chapter, a new abyss, domain, a new corridor of your life, I lift this fictitious glass in rejoicement and sincere love to the person that you are today and the person you're becoming. Your load may be heavy and it may not go where and how you desire it to, just recall, you are the shit!




cc: You

{#GOODmusic}: "All Your Love"

I'd never seen nor heard this sung, until I just so happen to be watching a bit of BET's 106 & Park, and this was on. The beat I recall is from one of my fav songs, Lauryn Hill f/ Bob Marley "Turn the Lights Down Low". Very cute, summer-perfect song <3

K'La
All Your Love

Untitled Freewrite (problem with power & relationships)

Clearly, I, have given you too much power. More power than you could or can even handle. And now, because I’ve relinquished your hands, thoughts, and spirit of that very thing that you had no clue what to do with, and that very thing that you abused, you have no a clue what to do without it – or me. But baby, that’s ok. We were not born in power nor raised in it or taught exactly what it was. But, by the time we realized just what it is or was, our psyches had already been confused and brainwashed us that power meant harm. And because of that warped education that we received, you, took it all overboard. And you, did me worst than a woman carrying buckets on her clothed wrapped head in attempt to feed her starving children. You, took me and my love for granted. You, left us lonely in between flannel sheets and cold cotton comforters. And you, expected me to falter without you. Oh trust me, I’m just fine baby. I was bred to survive. I, was created and reared, raised and taught to make it in this cold, cold world.

Clearly, our love was just as genuine and true as Florida oranges with no insecticides or chocolate covered strawberries hand-dipped and made from scratch and with love. We, and everybody else just knew, we, would be it. That we, would make it. That we, by all intents and purposes, would run this town and just maybe, just maybe this world too. We, were the shit. But, little did they know, our love was rocky and rough, it was petite and stretched thin.

Honey, we lasted for reasons different from each other. To you, we lasted and survived because we were meant to be. Because there was something about you that kept me coming back. That there was something about me that you just couldn’t shake from out of those limbs of yours. But to me, it was out of mere stupidity that I continuously returned; wishful thinking and hoping wishfully that something would click and change. That something would be different this time around. But this time around never came around for me to rejoice in change and accomplishment. Instead, I, waited for you, to make a decision that was never made. And a heart like mine, couldn't bare the anguish, nor the pain any longer.

And before I knew it, I was deep in it and digging foot holes to crawl out and reclaim me, so I could escape you, and what I thought, and hoped, we had. To re-discover me, and the parts of me that had been long relinquished and placed into shadows, forgetting who I was so that we, you, could exist.

But baby, all is well. As I've taken back my power so that I could once again live and breathe again. So that I could wake in the morning and fall asleep under the moon's glow, happily cause I tell you, there's nothing like, awaking somewhere you wish not to be. There's nothing like feeling a knotting in the pit of your stomach that immobilizes your senses and abilities. There is nothing like losing, your power to the one you loved; and fighting to get it back.