Bottom Line

circa 2006


Torn to pieces and
Shattered across ghetto street corners,
Spoken against and not for…
Stepped on by the unwatchful, neglectful eye.
Yet somewhere among fresh Nubuck Tims
Scuffed Forces
And rough Shells
I still can say I love you.
Yet somewhere amidst chic 8 with the fat ass,
Lady 1 with the pretty smile
And bitch 2 with the good pussy
I still can say I love you.
And through all of your exes, sexes and other jawns,
Baby, I still love you.

There once was this couple
Strollin’ through Center, Olde and my City.
They were dreaded and sexed up.
Held, lifted and carried high in the other’s eye.
I saw love etched, kissed and taled on their faces
Smiling happily, hand into hand, flesh apart of flesh.
I couldn’t help but to wonder
If ever gray clouds baring bad news
Not with the prediction of “Oh my child, he will twist,
Lick and fuck you like no other.
Thou shall sweat from the pleasurable pain
His beautiful thang puts on you?
So as they strolled in and out of Market, Chestnut and Broad streets.
The question came back and forth to me-
That is, until two weeks later,
I ran into brotha man
And he was different.
Suave and cool,
Relaxed and a tad bit sexual.
He was still dreaded up, dressed in flip-flops, jeans and tees
But the difference today--
He wanted to holla at me:
The urban lady 
Permed and dyed
Classy, flashy and sexy in every sense of the word
The epitome of rags to riches in the city:
Coach, Douney and Louie,
Chanel, Gucci and Dolce.
My style caught his eye
And my 36D’s and fat ass caught his thang.
So between wanting to talk and converse,
Amidst needing to twist, lick and fuck me like no other,
He and I both knew,
Sista girl with the dreads and clean smile
Whom had his heart two weeks ago
Can still say to him
Like I to you: baby, I love you.

In and out of our battles,
Through the times that draw tears
And those that create smiles
Late nights in back seats
Fogged up windows and sweat dripping foreheads
Sore limbs and satisfied flesh,
Baby it’s you to whom I love.
Though my heart has been torn and shattered
Battered by false loves
And a fear of falling, needing and wanting to love,
Baby it’s you to whom I love.

So amidst the fresh Nubuck Tims,
Scuffed Forces,
And rough Shells.
Amidst chic 8 with the fat ass,
Lady 1 with the pretty smile
And bitch 2 with the good pussy.
Through all of your exes, sexes and other jawns.
Amidst me, the urban lady,
Permed and dyed
Classy, flashy and sexy in every sense of the word
The epitome of rags to riches in this city:
Coach, Douney and Louie,
Chanel, Gucci and Dolce.
Amidst my problems, fears and insecurities-
Shit man, I still love you!

So to hell with all the men, boys and dudes who want me.
To hell with all the women, girls and chics who want you.
To hell with those who said we’d never make it.
To hell with the fly brotha dreaded up in his flip-flops, jeans and tees.
Baby, I’ll take your sweats, Jordans and hoodies.
I’ll take your commitment, marriage and children.
I’ll take your basketball shorts and shirtless ass at night.
I’ll take your hidden fears that I know not of.
I’ll take you-
Every pound, ounce, inch and increment of you.
Baby,
When it’s all said and done,
It’s you to whom I love.
And that I tell you is the bottom line…

Lets Play Pretend Again

circa 2006


I remember us-
The make-believe we-
The Black Barbie & Ken
And Bill Cosby’s modern day replica of the Huckstables.
Our makeshift domain was
Built on weak stilts
And surely created from a sweet symphony of lies,
Melted in a pot of sloppy lovemaking--
We thought we meant and equaled forever-
Felt as though eternity and everlasting
Were symbols for you and i.
But like they say:
All things good and sweet
Fly and on point
Sexually pleasing and enticing
Eventually
goes
downhill… 

And we like miniature devil’s advocates
Got caught and twisted
Tangled and fucked
Licked and teased
Into temptation.
But wait a minute--
It’s also the same tune this fly, sexy ass brotha
With a hot, tempting voice
Sung into my ear
On the dance floor,
Against the wall,
atop a sweating floor,
Countertop
And bedroom sheets--
But like one-minute men
Who nut faster than the speed of their strokes
And climaxes that take forever to come,
All things good and sweet
Fly and on point
Sexually pleasing and enticing
Eventually
goes
downhill…

We-
Being the conniving, 
Sneaky and sinful creatures we are,
Hid our dirt
Like four legged creatures
With wagging tails
Hide their bones
In backyards,
Alleyways
in the cushions of Benzes,
Lexus’s
And club booths.
But regardless,
Like quickly earned drug money,
Sex money,
Fucked money
And illegal trade money,
All things good and sweet
Fly and on point
Sexually pleasing and enticing
Eventually
goes
downhill…

And although,
We did our devious deeds,
At the end of the day,
We were
The Black Barbie & Ken
And Bill Cosby’s modern day replica of the Huckstables.
Our makeshift domain was positively
Built on weak stilts
And surely created from our sweet symphony of lies,
Melted in a pot of sloppy lovemaking
That was fixed and maintenanced by the dicks and coochies
Of others 
We knew we meant and equaled forever-
We knew that eternity and everlasting
Were symbols for you and i.
But like they say,
All things good and sweet
Fly and on point
Sexually pleasing and enticing
Eventually
goes
downhill…

But 
why don’t we 
play 
pretend 
again?

They and I Fell

circa 2006


I had to let the tears fall
Like torpedoes fly in Afghanistan,
Bombs over Baghdad,
Africa’s riches stolen by white hands:
Rubber tax, hands chopped, we run this--
They fell and I let ‘em fall
Like panties rolling down brown legs
Secretly in concrete floored basements:
Lights dim, lips wet, coochie ready--
Like hair falling, the needed disconnect from society’s ideal view of beauty--
They fell and I let ‘em fall
Because my guard had been down,
It ran and couldn’t be found,
My heart fluttered like old heads who haven’t been hard like rocks in decades:
Tight jeans, big titties: so dreams are real!
They fell and I let ‘em fall
Because I had no choice,
The inevitable had taken place:
Mascara smeared,
Hair tangled and tied,
Heart broken and splattered like candy apple red blood on a Philly street corner:
Lifeless body, city crying, but ain’t nobody talkin’!
The beauty in life looked over;
I said fuck it, you and us--
They fell because I dropped the draws,
Licked my lips, laid back and gave you control--
They fell and I let ‘em fall
Like limp dicks after quick fucks:
Newport ready, fan on, get dress and bounce
Like flyy sistahs tripping and meeting mother earth face to face in public--
They fell cause I put you first and me last,
Cause I said love is a possibility and I’d found the impossible in you,
Cause I was young and ready,
Hungry and thirsting for someone like you…

They fell and I let ‘em fall…
Now-
I’m struggling to get back up…….

Girls Night In

Occasionally, my sister-friends and I get together and talk. We’ve been doing this for years – since high school at least. These “conversations” or “discussions” have grown from immature girlish cackles to full blown woman conversations about womanly things that now range and run the gamut from careers and money, sex and love, children, weddings, and our futures. These are random nights that we choose last minute, to get together, to chat and catch up; to be emotional and honest. Nights that we choose to sit in instead of painting the town.

This night, we claimed and called ours during an impromptu afternoon phone conversation: ‘Lets get together tonight. We need a girl’s night.’ And just like that, our previously empty evening was full. Prior to hanging up, we debated on dinner and what time we’ll get together. I wanted Papa Johns. She wanted Domino’s. I vouched for pan seared crab cakes with buttered rice and broccoli. She responded ‘absolutely not’. Crab cakes: out. Pizza: in. So I ordered enough food for at least two additional people: medium pizza, half cheese, the other half topped with chicken, mushrooms, onions, green peppers and pineapple (I knew she wouldn’t even touch this half, let alone look at it); also, medium hot wings, cheese sticks, and bread sticks. She was bringing a bottle of wine.

Five o’clock couldn’t get to me quick enough. But when it did arrive, a cognac colored bag slid up my arm and sat on my shoulder, parking garage ticket in hand, cell phone too, and I happily, left work, and anticipated an evening that I had no clue what to expect out of.

Before I knew it, it was 6:45 and she was knocking at my apartment door and ringing the bell. We hadn’t seen each in a week, but a fly on the wall would think we see each other daily. She came in, threw her bags on the couch and went into a full rant about how hot it was in the hallway, how she got locked in the house as she tried to leave, and why on earth did I order so much food. I just half way listened and quickly logged out of Facebook so I could eat – she’s nicknamed my hunger my 2^nd Person.

And over pizza, cheese sticks, wings, and fuzzy navel, we talked about life, relationships, love, our wants and needs, what was and what wasn’t going on, the heinous design on her feet to which she’s named ‘Mosaic’ and chuckled at the fact we had the same color pink on our toes. We caught each other up on what’s happened in the last few weeks, what we wanted to accomplish or do, to say or experience in the coming weeks – so that our next girls night would be just as exciting.

Unbeknownst her, she’s a great inspiration to me and a staple in my life, anything that goes horribly wrong or surprisingly correct, she’s first to know. If I can’t sleep, if I’m depressed, sad, happy, miserable, joyous – any emotion that I can’t deal with on my own, she knows all about it. She’s one of the few people to whom I cannot hide a tear-stricken voice from. And as my two year sister would yell, ‘That’s my boo’.

I shared with her my utter sadness that had taken place the week before. For a whole week. Seven days straight; how I barely ate, didn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, and for the life of me, could not get myself out of this emotionally drained rut I was in. Everyday without fail, with no reminder to do so – tears fell on their own accord, marching to their own tune. And within each day, I cried as if I knew my heart had been ripped out of my body and I was fighting to live. Then all of a sudden, I’d awakened one morning, energized and ready for something or some things though I had no clue to what or who they were. The tears stopped. The sadness ended. The unexpected, self-imposed depression was over. But I anticipated something; something good.

I’d also explained to her that this fellow, whom she was absolutely fond of for me, wasn’t for me. He was fun, a sweetheart, and a great listener. But, he held no benefit nor did he add to me or to my life. Just something to do, from time to time. That no matter how much I was remotely attracted to him, attraction dwindles, and, looks and handsomeness go away with time. That as I looked at my life then, now, and attempted to envision later, I began to notice how much overlooked and accepted just for fun. I needed something and someone who was timeless. And I was OK with the fact that he wasn’t.

Sharing this with her, she yelled and shouted about there’s no need for such madness, but, she understood. She understood that our bodies essentially do what they feel is necessary – we just have to comprehend and let the process take place. She understood that when in our lives, it’s midnight 24/7, there’s also work being done so that at daybreak, whenever it decides to arrive, we are better. She understood that this was something that had to take place in order for me to realize some things, as I was simultaneously letting them go. She understood that quite possibly, I knew what was best for me. This was a process that as daunting and sad as it was, I had to experience it. I had to let those tears fall, let those emotions that as old as they felt, they existed, and I had to deal with them head on and eventually, let them go.

It’s during this time of turmoil. This time of relinquishing things and individuals who hold no benefit to me and the spirit I nurture day-to-day, that I recalled months prior, a status I’d posted that was true to the second then and even truer months later as tears took over my lids and sobs shook my body In it, I stated:

"I know I made the best decision for me and my now; me and my later, my to be, my future because I feel comfort and reassurance in my spirit. In my thoughts. I see it in my smile. In my eyes and how they glimmer regardless of the time of day. I feel it in the curve of my back as I put on jeans and shirts, socks and shoes. No aches. No pains. No trauma. Just joy and the knowledge of knowing now was the perfect time."

Life is about a lot of things – but it revolves around love and growth. We live our lives for love. We spend our entire lives, for love, to be loved, to give love. To witness it in the 1^st degree, front row, in 3D, from 1^st and 3^rd person. Love is what we want, what we need, and we fight for it – sometimes to our death, and the death of others – just to prove how deep our love really is. And I wholeheartedly believe that all we want is for love to love us in return. To not be unrequited, but instead, to be faithful, honest, and fair. That’s all. That’s all we request out of life, whether man or woman, rich or poor, homeless or ridiculously successful – love is what we desire. Love, oftentimes holds more weight in this world than death – because even upon death, we love whomever or whatever it was that was previously a part of our lives as if they never departed. As if, their spirit and body are still attached as one.

Then, there are those times in life when death is not the culprit, but life itself. Circumstances that open eyes, ache hearts, and dampen brown, blue, gray, or green lids. Life too can and oftentimes does practice its own version of survival of the fittest in our lives – long before death does its rendition. We think we know who and what ought to be a part of our lives. We assume we know what’s really best for us. We, oftentimes, most of the time, take on the thoughts, opinions, and feelings of others, that we neglect our own. And in doing so, we cut and slash, delete and remove individuals who we think do not or should not be a part of our lives. Yet, we keep and nuture those who ideally, and honestly, have no place in our day-to-day existence.

It’s taken me 23 years to realize this. It took a night of pizza, wings, cheese sticks, and a half empty glass of fuzzy navel to comprehend all of this. It’s taken me 23 years of my life to be OK with what it means to let go. And even now, as I write this piece, and re-read aloud to an audience of one: just me, it surprises me more and more.

Ladies (and gents too!), should there be something or someone that is in your life to whom you question whether or not they’re beneficial to your wellbeing, your successes to come (downfalls too), whether they’re deserving of your worst and your best. Should you even have to question if they are worthy to coexist in a room, over a phone line, in a chat window, with you, they’re probably not. My mother shared with me as a young girl that if you have a feeling that your partner is unfaithful, they probably are. At a young age, she instilled into me that to know unfaithfulness, is to feel it. The same notion applies when it comes to an individual’s wellbeing and if another benefits them or not. No one knows just how much or how little someone benefits our lives but us. It’s OK to edit our circles like we edit essays and reports. It’s OK to remove people with the same guts we delete friends on Facebook. There’s nothing wrong with throwing away feelings that are outdated, feelings that we hold onto for the memories, because they were fun, like you’ve held onto that corner of smell good lotion or your once lucky jean jacket. Not everything that’s old, is meant to be new again.

So as our girls’ night ended, the love in the form of knowledge that I’ve received throughout my 23 years, came full circle as I closed a chapter and prepared to open a new one. Prepared to dive into a life that I know nothing about, but one that I anticipate. And one that I already endear and appreciate.

Works in Progress

She came in, initially cheerful and jolly, her usual buoyant self. But as soon as she sat her food on the counter, slid her feet from her boots, and dropped her bag onto the floor, it were as if she was dropping a load she’d been carrying for too long. At the thump of her bag, the tears fell and her spirit seemingly began to speak for her. In control? Not this time.

From her lips came the explanations, experiences, and words that I’d been too fearful to share myself. All there was to do was to nod in agreement. This wasn’t one of those moments that demanded that I hold her and allow her tears to soak my shoulder and her cries to be muffled by chiffon shirts and pearl necklaces. No, it wasn’t one of those moments. This was a grown up moment: let her tears fall and her breasts catch them and let her be frustrated. Let her realize she’s worthy of more and of better things, better experiences and better moments. But in order to get better we have to suffer a bit. Learn, a bit. Be upset and scared, a bit. To be frustrated and angry, lost and dazed, a bit. To wonder and question self worth when self worth has been shattered to bits and pieces like broken glass on concrete floors. Yet, life begs of us, challenges us, to pick up the pieces and create a new canvas. It was one of those moments. It was a time to let her be her. To let her see who she’s grown and evolved into. Let the little girl, naïve and boisterous, clueless and inexperienced, be laid to rest.

I stopped me so he could be. So that he could find his niche in the world as it exists. So I cradled his dreams in my bosom like an expecting mother cradles her belly to let her creation knew she is here, to protect its existence. To ensure that it’s grand entrance is loud and clear, safe and protected, nurtured and loved unconditionally.

This here is the solo that most women have sang at some point in their lives. And we, now full and grown women, now realize how much had been postponed so that we too could sing this song.

It’s a surprise that I still have my sanity. Life took left turns when it should have yielded to oncoming traffic, forthcoming problems, and preconceived notions. Yet, I stayed. And so did she. We felt that the cause was worthy of an ongoing fight. But what to do when the battle is not worth guns then roses, not worth tears then sweat dripping and pore opening make-up sex therapy? What to do then? What to do when he breathing makes your skin crawl and your eyes flutter in frustration, when to hear his keys jingle at the door and you instantly become a full blown pragmatist, expecting the worst when you know you deserve the best? What is a woman to do then?

We stayed. But because we stayed and fought and battled out relationships that had ended months and sometimes years before we’d caught up to the heart of the matter, when the end finally drew near, we shielded our hearts, our eyes, our very existence, yet, we still didn’t know what was coming to us.

So now, we face each day, as works in progress.

We wake each morning feeling better than its predecessor. We allow our laughter to travel from the pit of our bellies to the nape of our necks so that the world may hear us, so that our presence here is known and forever etched into what used to be. We fight now and we fight daily and constantly and notwithstanding help, to decide what is best for us; trying our damnest to figure out the matters of our hearts and not that of others.

We once again are blank canvases waiting to be splurged on, to have tales written onto and into us so that the draft may be torn to shreds and required to begin anew. We go into each day, alone and bare, naked and new, ready and waiting and wanting new experiences. New ideas and thoughts that allow us to say “I have” instead of wanting, dreaming, or thinking of things we want to do. We do now – for us and therefore, for our futures, for what’s to become, for what is to be excluded so that better may be included. 

The journey for sure has not been the most adventurous; nor has it been the best, what we wished and anticipated. But it’s been a journey that has warranted us to give thanks and to mature, to understand and comprehend, to work beyond and towards – to be grateful for who and what we have become. And for these adventures, we understand that with each day we are given another chance to live and to do better, to become women we weren’t the previous day, the more we understand we are nothing more than works in progress. Anxious and awaiting canvases, drafts – waiting for new experiences to rip us open so that life may sew us up again and place it all on repeat.