Mr. Blue Collar Blues

His hands were coarse, rough, and stubby; they were made up of hangnails, clogged cuticles, and dirt. She cringed at moments when he touched her. She cringed at the sight of them. She cringed and her teeth would grind at the thought of them being so close to her that she could see the veins pulsate underneath thick layers of skin. Thriller flick type shit. She was accustomed to soft, well manicured hands; "cleanliness is next to godliness" is what he use to tell her, and she held onto this thinking that became a belief.

She felt as though her dreams were being murdered by these dirty limbs of his. Her thoughts would drift off to old dates and times when cleaner hands, more gentle hands, less selfish hands ruled and rocked her world. Hands that nurtured her thoughts, wants, desires, and her dreams. Plush lips and white teeth, soft words and intelligent conversations. She couldn't wrap her mind around how she had gotten herself somewhere and with someone who didn't complement her.

A white collar girl. That's who she was attracted to; this is the type of woman she grew into. Business suits, ties, and briefcases. Low cuts with aviators. They wear their confidence in their eyes and in their walk. They worked hard in the boardroom and played harder in the bedroom. Monday through Friday men who mingled at after work happy hours and played at swanky hotel suites.

Still, for the life of her she couldn't figure out when, where, why or how she ended up here, with him, Mr. Blue Collar. Mister who works long days to try to make ends meet with a little bit of something left over to last until his next pay.

She'd awakened one morning, facing the ceiling, eyes quivering and mind racing, thinking. Love is all that was on her mind. Successful love. Rocket ship knock me off my feet sort of love.

All she wanted was a love that was true and enduring. A love that lifted her off the earth's stoney surface just as easily as the autumn wind shuffles falling leaves. She just didn't want these hands who would provide that desire, those wants. She wanted the hands she missed. The soft hands who worked effortlessly and selflessly. The hands she admired. She didn't want this with him. And she knew it. His hands, she thought, were just a glimpse into just how much dirt he'd done and would do if she continued on this road.


So she got up. And ran. And would have run forever if need be to get back to her Mr. White Collar. Mr. Clean with the well manicured, healthy, clean hands and the bedroom eyes that read her better than her favorite book. She ran away from Mr. Blue Collar Blues because his blues was just too much for her to bare. So before things got so deep that she couldn't escape, she ran. And never looked back.

Anthony Hamilton, "Best of Me"

Back To 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.