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.

Just Like That

Most mornings, when I don’t have to tend to any one of my three jobs, my alarm isn’t what wakes me. Instead, it’s his “Good morning” text. And just like that, a smile crosses my face, from ear to ear, cheek to cheek. My brown eyes I’m sure light up because I don’t even feel the weight of sleep on my lids and I happily text back “Good morning”. Sometimes we even have lengthy conversations about life: anticipations, downfalls and shortcomings, the stresses of adulthood – all at seven o’clock in the morning. And after all is said and done, we wish each other good (now great) days and graciously say thanks.

We met in college: I the freshman and he the sophomore. We clicked - immediately. From the beginning, I was fascinated by him. Fascinated by the way he walked and talked: side to side stroll, perfect enunciation, and very little slang. Quick with words, he embodied all I’d wished for: an intelligent urbanite who made me think and feel good. His teeth were white and perfect that embodied one of the most gorgeous smiles I’ve ever seen. He was tall, thick and solid, with deep, endearing brown eyes. He was everything I never crossed, or had the pleasure to entertain or to be entertained by. And I was attracted. There was no denying it.

We’d created a ritual: before or after class, it was deemed our time. And our time the majority of the time was spent nestled in sheets for quick half hours to get our days started. It was convenient and fun. For the both of us, it was different. There was no title. No responsibility or position. We understood, with no discussion into the matter, that at any moment or time this could end. Yet, we kept at it, believing and convincing ourselves that this was platonic. Unbeknownst me, this non-committed commitment would eventually become a problem. But somewhere in the midst of the fun and excitement, somewhere between all-nighters and caramel lattes, somewhere in the time spent together, however trivial and unpromising, I caught feelings. And the feelings that I tried to control, eventually got out of control. I wanted more than rendezvous’ that took us across city and back, but was too fearful of expressing any of these feelings to him or admitting them to myself. My form of control was to sever ties and let the memories of his bedroom and the subway rides before and after class to become figments of my past. So I sent a text. Said what I thought I needed to say, but not what I really wanted to say. He responded; frustrated and confused, in a daze and lost as he attempted to understand why I made such a brash, sudden decision to leave him alone and remove him from my life. To make him a memory that I wouldn’t even visit. I never responded. Just like that, I let him go. And left him alone. Or so I thought.

Fast forward two plus years.

I had never stopped thinking about him and his style, his swag as we say in big metropolitan cities. Always wondered and questioned the what ifs: what if I’d never sent that text; what if I’d told him what and how I really felt about him; what if I’d asked him to be mine, and mine alone, maybe, just maybe, I’d be happy. I always wondered what was he up to and how was his life going while mine was falling apart at the seams with no needle and thread to piece it back together. I was the lone soldier fighting for the survival of a relationship that no longer existed realistically, yet I was still in it. I’d fallen in and out of love on a seemingly daily basis with a man who still yearned for the streets, who allowed those fantasies and wants of what existed outside of our relationship, to view me as second best. I wanted out, but didn’t know how or when, yet, I had a laundry list of reasons why I had every right to walk away and never turn back. It baffled me daily, how I could lay next to my partner, to my lover, to the man who I cooked breakfast and dinner for, washed his clothes and his back if he’d asked me to, and wonder about someone whose memory and existence I’d promised myself I wouldn’t visit. So for months, I questioned if I should reach out to him. And for months, I told myself no. Never look back. Never go back. Leave then, there. But one evening, I ignored these notions; I typed my message and clicked send. Just like that. Unbeknownst, I’d also opened up a new can of worms.

A few days later, he responded. And my heart fluttered rapidly. His response, ‘who’s this?’ Heart sunk to depths I never knew existed. I played with whether I should respond or not, if I should refresh his memory like a steady clocking web browser. Instead, I deleted his response and my original message. Just like that. Delete. Case closed. On with your life.

Or so I thought.

A day or two later, he sent a message on his own accord, and thrilled merely doesn’t explain the sheer excitement I felt. His memory had been refreshed, without me even having to do it. I was happy that he remembered me. Regardless of what his memory was, I’d obviously made some sort of indentation in and on his life for him to recall just who I was. And just like that, we were back on. As if we never stopped.

We re-entered each others lives quickly; like childhood friends who lose touch after elementary school graduation and reconnect as adults. I was happy and satisfied. My eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice when he called or answered. When his good mornings and good nights were received, opened, and read. There was something specific about him that I sorely lavished in, and secretly, was falling for. He did what was not required of him, but his willingness to do so, made him even more special. He was a secret worth holding onto, and I held on for dear life.

I remember the date: October 19^th. It was a Friday. And I was so excited to see his face after two years, though I’d never forgotten it, and knew I never would. A few past 10pm, I saw his silhouette strolling confidently down my block, he looked like exactly what I remembered and smelled even better. We hugged tightly. This tightness, I felt every curve and memorized it and wished not to let go. This tightness was nothing but an endearing love that whispered ‘I miss you more than words or actions could possibly explain.’ With this tightness, the hair stubble of his beard pinched my neck, yet, I didn’t even mind. I felt his hands firmly grasping my waist, the scent of his cologne on his neck and collar, the thickness of his neck, and the coldness of his face from the autumn night breeze. I stood, hugging this man, inhaling his scent and feeling the sheer beauty of his skin, knowing exactly what road I was on and I knew at no time soon would I yield to anyone or anything – let alone stop. I could’ve stood there for eternity and not have gotten tired. And just like that, I came to realize and accept that my feelings for him were not just those of lust and infatuation, but of sincerity and compassion. My feelings, felt at home; they were where they wanted to be.

And since then, my thoughts have been consumed by him; wanting to see him more, to kiss and hug him more. To stare into his silly brown eyes more. And feel his hands grasp my waist and hug me forever more. I wanted him more than what I anticipated; wanted him more now than I did then. I wanted him to be who I woke up next to on lazy weekends. I wanted to see his name in my incoming, outgoing, and missed call log more than anyone else’s name. I wanted him to be the man who I sloped my body across to watch afternoon sitcoms and nightcap movies. But the reality of it all was that I wanted him, but knew right then and there, he was not to be my own, not to be claimed by me at that moment in time because I was unfortunately already claimed and attached to another. And as dissatisfied as I was with what was at home, this was the reality of my situation. Relentlessly, I was bothered and haunted by the fact that he was where I genuinely wanted to be, but I wasn’t. I was even more bothered by his contentment and wanting to be my number two. But every fiber of me wanted and needed this man to be my main man.

So for months, we played around. Our good mornings became a routine, it felt odd if one wasn’t sent or received. He became my consummate partner with no title. We said nice things to one another just to make the other smile. Sent smiley faces in text messages and expressed excitement about the next time we’d see each other. He became an important piece of fabric in my life just as I was in his. He was the person who I could (and I did), talk his ear off about anything: problems in my relationship, problems at work, what happened at the nail salon, or what I planned to do this coming new year. He listened. Never interrupted. Never judged. Never made me feel that my words were falling on deaf ears. I knew he not only heard me, but he listened.  I always had his full, undivided attention, and that meant the world to me.

And as time passed and the stresses from my everyday no longer mattered, things began to change. Hugs turned into kisses. Pecks upon lips were given freely and when least expected. Nicknames became necessaries and staples. And just like that, I came to realize, understand, and accept the fact that he meant more to me than sexual escapades and blocks of time spent. He wasn’t just someone in my life, but someone who meant something to my life. I wanted and consequently needed him around. He added to my life and time with him was never wasted.

I was quickly approaching my birthday and overwhelmingly fighting the realization that I was getting older. The more I fought this idea, the more I understood and comprehended that life was designed to continue. It was designed for us to fight ideologies and defeat them. He found my sadness and frustration with age to be a form of humor. His laughs have always been and still are hearty and full; they make me laugh and the timing of them have always been perfect. Subsequently, age made me realize that the relationship I was in, needed to end so that I could began. And it did. Tragically and not in an amicable manner, but it ended. And even in the end, he was there. It was then he explained to me “I don’t know if you realize this, but you have every right to be picky with anything you do. If you don’t a man who cheats, you can weed them out. If you don’t want a dude with kids, you have the right to deny them. You deserve whatever you want, but only if you’re willing to go after it.’ I thought to myself, ‘but I want you. Why can’t and don’t I have you?’ I never opened my mouth.

The fascination that filled my body over four years prior still existed. And as time passed, as we grew older and began to experience the trials and challenges of life, as adulthood slam dunked the reality of what it meant to be an adult, to be grown, into our lives, the more we began to rely on one another for strength and a listening ear. We became tangible fabrics in the lives of each other. It no longer was a-here-today-gone-tomorrow-situation – our purposes and existence in each others lives appeared to be and felt semi-permanent. And just like that, existence and purpose began to get analyzed and studied like a piece of literature. What we added to the lives of one another became crucial and critical as the days passed and the vices of life ensued.

We wanted each other, and wanted it badly. It showed in the way we stared into each others eyes. It showed when his hand folded and wrapped itself into mine. When I’d press my nose into his neck and deeply inhale his scent. It showed when he made it clear that he wanted to hear my voice before closing his eyes for the night, just to hear each other say goodnight. When we’d call each other on our lunch breaks or on our way home, or when our stress levels have peaked and need an unbiased ear. He was there for me just as I was there for him – but it wasn’t enough. And because of this, we found ourselves pulling away, whether from the stresses of life, or from the realization that though closed mouths don’t get fed, we never bothered to open our mouths to voice concerns and wants, we began to change toward one another. And just as the whether grew cold, something changed. It was noticeable, and I was bothered by it.

Sweet kisses and text messages are perfect when all is well – but what happens when it’s time to weather the storm? When to have a body lying next to me is wanted and needed, more than an empty promise to visit or when a week’s worth of ‘good morning’ texts are never sent and therefore received? I realized that though we temporarily claimed each other’s attention and bodies, our hearts were not to be claimed. It became daunting to me, and I’m sure on him as well, that to greet each other day in and day out without knowing what the final outcome would be, was a feat that bought forth nothing but anguish and frustration. So day-to-day is how we handled each other because we understood that we bought something new to this invalid relationship every day. And no days were promised. None of them had guarantees. No one and nothing ensured us that one day I would be his and he would be mine. I had to come to grips and realize that sooner than later, just maybe, as mystical and godly as this man is, he just may get tired of playing cat and mouse. I was forced to admit the fact that as beautiful as this mans existence and all that he embodies is, neither of us belonged to one another; he could not bare permanent claim to me. And though he changed daily and surprised me even more, I knew I had to take my heart off of the table before it became lost in a whirlwind of emotions.

He’d been stressing about work and I was happily adjusting to the single life. His calls had ceased, visits stopped, messages went unanswered. At one point, it had been two weeks since the last time I’d heard his voice, and even longer since I’d been able to feel him. I knew something was wrong and had convinced myself that his joy with me had ended and maybe, just maybe, the thrill was gone; but I hoped and prayed it was just stress and he needed space. Against my own desire, but for the sake of my heart, I’d vowed that I was once again done with him: no texts, calls, or visits. I went cold turkey, but daily, thought of him. Daily, I wanted to send that good morning text, that good night text, that I miss you more than I believe you know or could possibly understand text. I wanted the back and forth to stop. I needed it to end. But I also needed him to know he was missed; so I told him. And thereafter, things significantly changed. Yet, he still is not mine, but I believe in my heart-of-hearts, someday, he will be – or so I hope.

When I think of him, he reminds me of a school girl crush that’s grown beyond crushing and lusting, but has settled at the tip of love. In my belly, butterflies have harvested themselves and they flutter at simple thoughts of him. That quiver at the idea of never. That tighten at the idea of not having. But school girl crushes too have to grow; and often, they have to grow fast. They too have to face life and its realities. They too have to realize and understand that they deserve more than the minimum. More than the basics, or bare necessities, or what’s left over.

It’s always been said not to count your chickens before they hatch, but at least anticipate them. And he was and is anticipated to every degree possible. I wanted and still want this man to belong to me. The reality that I am forced to face daily is that if he wanted me and wanted us, the effort would have gone far beyond text messages, monthly visits, and even fewer calls. If it were possible, I would have loved this man who hugged me so tightly, kissed me so sweetly and so gently, and who wished me nothing but good days, bought nothing but smiles across my face, and showed nothing but respect and compassion, why was he not mine and I not his? The woman I’ve grown into has made it clear that though not all things are meant to bud, grow, and flourish – the love of and for this man that I dream of, is not one of those things. At least that is what I pray and wish upon. I pray and wish that my want and desire for him, does not go unnoticed or unrequited. Though I am forced daily to fight against what is realistic and pragmatic, fight the thought that he is who and what I want, I just may not get him, I remain a hopeful romantic when it comes to him.

Too often, we daydream ourselves into worlds that do not exist, worlds that if they were meant to belong to us and to be claimed by us, they would be ours to have and to hold. We want what we know we will not obtain or receive regardless of the fight. We live for love, and die for it to – fight to endless depths to taste it. Convenience is always that bittersweet friend who fogs the glass and obscures what reality really is. And the reality of him is that it’s fun for now, and so long as the fun ensues, all is well. But in my heart-of-hearts, with closed lids and a humble heart, it’s wished upon stars that this is not the case.

And though I’ve spilled and filled these pages with uncertainty and confusion, I fight daily and often because he is with whom and where I want to be. Yet, at the heart of the matter, he is not mine to claim. And battles with the heart are always dangerous.

Growing is merely an extension of letting go. And it is here where I, and most of us, get stuck and lost in a daze. Fearing what is not known or familiar, it is the ‘hypothetically’s’ and ‘what if’s’ that haunt us like distant childhood nightmares trotting through our memories. We often, nearly always, convince ourselves that what is in our present, in our right now, is right for us right now. But what if it isn’t? What if there exists and breathes a man who will fight not just endlessly, but to the death for us? What if there lives a man who not only promises not to make us cry, but keeps his word, and for him, we never shed a tear out of pain? What if what, and who we are holding onto, what we want to keep around, no longer wants us to fight on their behalf?

I fight these ideas; these thoughts with shields and swords like a knight, all while questioning if he feels, does, or if he would even do the same just to keep me around? And suddenly, my heart quivers and the butterflies tighten. My youthful energy dwindles and my eyes glimmer with tears. But before the tears could fall, I face them head on and convince myself and my heart that what I do and how I feel is not in vain. And just like that, I make it known that letting go and moving on, is not an option. And just like that, continue to move in and out of days hoping he’ll take notice of my supreme dedication. And just like, I take my heart from the vault, and place it on the table.

Nothing New

My story I’d like to think is unique and different. Philadelphia born and raised. Thus, an all around city girl. I pamper myself every two weeks with a visit to the nail salon. I love poetry and music, love and life, laughter and absolute quiet. I sleep in total darkness and work endlessly. I’ve had one long-termed relationship in my 23 years. And many heartbreaks. I’m a cry baby. A Pisces at heart. An artist. I love the way words slip and drip and drop from my tongue and lips to settle on your earlobes. But all-in-all, I am a woman who basks in her femininity.

When I say I, I speak and write and live a life that is not just my own. I tell not just a story that only belongs to me. I see people, places, and things, not limited to only my sight, or my own existence, or from my perspective or stance or opinion. Some years ago, my grandmother shared an adage with me, explaining that “There’s nothing new under the sun honey”. These words have stuck and they stick; they live and they breathe; they exist and co-exist in a world, in societies, and in communities, in the bodies and hearts, the spirits and souls of those who believe and understand the simplicity of existence.

So when I speak of me, I too, speak of you – of us. Of women who are taught and reared early, to be a lady at all times: cross your legs, iron your clothes, clean the crust out of your eyes, and brush that scalp of yours. At all times, present an individual who cares about her individual.

But when and how do we learn, and from whom or what teaches us to be women? Beyond morale and responsibility, beyond the idea and practice, when do we learn that now is the time to put the theory of womanhood into practice?

I identify myself as a full fledge woman. I pay my rent, my bills, clean my home, go grocery shopping, cook meals, counsel family and friends if need be. I respect my elders even though I myself am an adult. I put the existence and life of others oftentimes in front of my own so that their existence never wavers. I push forward, even when what use to be continues to beckon me to visit. But this is nothing new and this life I live does not only belong to me. These chores are not just Theresa’s. They belong to Barbara, NaTasha, Tina, Jalissa, Michelle, Erin too. As easy as it is and would be to say my experiences as a woman are mine alone, and vice versa, the fact of the matter is that this is not entirely true. There are emotions and feelings, moments and times, when what we go thru, at some point in our lives, the sentiments that run thru our veins rapidly, the way we respond to what happens in life, are all the same. Ever sat up late, sad for no reason? Or shared an Ah-Ha moment with your best friend? How about those butterflies because he kissed you the right way, at the right time, and made you feel like it were only the two of you in the world? Or that day, your heart broke after you know you fought endlessly for nothing short of survival? This is why these experiences and feelings, our gender and genetic make-up, makes us so distinctively different from our male counterparts.

But womanhood is far more complex than what the outer layers portray. What about the those nights when I shower in lavender, lotion in peony, slip into silk, dim lights, and sit atop of cotton, alone? To think. And ponder. And wonder about life and where I stand in the midst of it all. What about the anticipations that fall short or the unyielding doors that open in succession, unexpectedly? What about those bad days when every emotion takes over my body, floods my face, and pours rapidly through my eyes? What about those days, nights, weekends, weeks, months, and sometimes years, when I’ve exhausted myself? When I need a break, but can’t catch one? Or that day, when I’ve realized I’ve had enough, and now is the time to let go?

This life ladies, (and gentleman), I tell you, is not new. Its occurrences, its tragedies and triumphs, are not new. Someone else and others have done this too. They too have cried alone when a lover walked away or when one just wouldn’t leave so she, so I, so you, could grow and appreciate their and our existence. They too have had to draw strength from their surroundings and from their individual selves, and that of others. They too have spent long days hustling and bustling to make ends meet or to satisfy their own self indulgences. They’ve sacrificed and struggled too. But the responsibility had to be passed on to us. And as overwhelming as this task appears to be, it leaves us standing, still, wherever we may be - whether in our Philadelphia high-rise condominium, New York loft, Miami beach, Baltimore public school, Las Vegas nightclub, to ask the question: “but how do we do what they’ve done and make it still look so easy?”

I don’t know if there’s an answer. There’s surely no guide or handbook or instructions on “How to Make Your Womanhood EASY…in 10 steps!” This, I guess, is a day-to-day thing. A take life by the horns and run with it, type of thing.

So, with no manual or instructions, no one to explain to us thoroughly, how to, what and whom for are we doing this, when and where do we start being women, the end question is why? Why is our womanhood and being women and ladies and mothers and daughters and sisters, friends, confidants, partners, lovers, who are women, so important that it needs to be maintained, successfully, from generation to generation? The easy answer is that the world vehemently, depends on us. For strength and love, compassion and understanding, for our ability to look at both ends of the spectrum – whether one end begins in Russia and the other ends in Hawaii. We are able to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, along with a baby strapped to our breasts AND carry groceries, quietly. We are the struggle and its behind the scenes producer; no revolution or movement was or could have been done without us somewhere near, whispering softly to our men, baby, you got this!

The torch we now carry will too be past on to our daughters and nieces and granddaughters, and while we won’t have a manual or guide to give them, we at least can show them a life full of feminine and womanly experiences to be proud of. Pass to them habits worth carrying and nurturing for a lifetime. Instill into them the things we wanted the women of our lives to pass on to us.

This life as a woman is fragile. She’s gentle and to many of us, she’s new. And she deserves to be taken care of because while we won’t be here in the physical forever, she will. So when you bathe tonight, appreciate your gender. The next time you look into the mirror, smile at yourself – because being a woman is more than enough to be appreciative for. Don’t be afraid to nurture and love yourself from time to time – or all the time.

So while this life is not new, nor is the idea of womanhood and being a woman, what we make of it and what we do to it is all new and different and exciting and to be enjoyed. Our task is tough and our order is tall, but it’ll be done, because it’s not just me, and it’s not just you. So whether you’re in jeans and flip flops, a business suit and stilettos, a ball gown and glass slippers, or your pajamas, this life, this experience and the experiences that are headed our way, do not belong to only one person.

So, on your mark, get set, go!

The {every-year} Holiday Battle

Holidays with my family are always full of good times and the laughter of children. And of course, good great food. If you ask me, no one's cooking could ever rival my mother's. Which is why I was so excited this past New Year as we ushered in 2010 when I cooked cabbage for the first time and it tasted just like my mother's. Women, I believe, spend our lives trying to perfect our cooking to taste just like Mom's. My next task: the baked mac and cheese (my brother and I return home everytime she cooks it.)

But off of the topic of food.

As joyous and exciting as the holidays are, they're also secretly saddening. It's during these times we look back and reflect on the lives that we wish were present physically, and not just spiritually, or in memory. It's during this time of the year, that I get particularly sad about my grandfather, my Bay-Bay, no longer being with me. I can't speak his name, or think back to then, or what could have been for now, without becoming flustered and teary-eyed, voice crackling, and tears eventually falling. There's never been a man I've adored or loved as much as him. No man's memory has ever bought tears to my eyes but his so easily. His smile and laughter, his denim blue hat and staple white button up shirt, tucked into the waist of his pants and it sat snug over his protruding belly - are missed more than I could possibly express in words or in actions.

I was 9 when he passed. He died of a massive heart attack, and from what I'd been told, on the steps of a friend. He was and has always been my favorite man. And it's because of this, my mother, step-father, and the rest of the family, had chosen as a collective, not to tell me about his passing until after the service. Until after the logistics had been taken care of. I've always felt some type of way about that collective decision, because I'd never been given the chance, the opportunity to say good-bye. Granted I've said and say it in my dreams, whisper it to the skies above when I think about him, and when the tears fall so easily down my cheeks - it's just not the same.

It's due to his death that writing became my safe haven; the safest place on earth. But it's also due to his death in particular that holidays just aren't the same. Nor are birthdays. Or graduations. Or life-altering moments like the birth of my now 2-year-old sister or when my Grandma had to have brain surgery, my elementary or high school graduations, acceptance into college, or when I moved into my own place. Granted, he's everpresent because that's just how Bay-Bay is, it's never been the same.

As a child, I recall sitting on his back while we watched Star Trek or V (he loved Sci-fi flicks, and I've never been able to watch them since) while I dolled his hair up with barrettes and ballies. We'd take random trips to the ice cream parlor on Ridge Avenue. He'd let me help him clean out his white van with the burgandy interior. Or, he'd just sit, with me on his lap. It's because of him I fell in love with Red Lobster's cheddar bay biscuits and with Red Lobster in general. He was my Bay-Bay, and I was his Nurl-Nurl (and forever will be).

Courtesy of he and my Grandmother, I was spoiled, rotten, and there wasn't much of anything to do about it. The first grand, the first girl, I was lavished with gifts and candy, movies and late nights watching sci-fi flics with my favorite, main man. My squeaky cackle and his rolling, bellowing laughter always filled up whatever room we were in. My mother always says to me "Just imagine how much more spoiled you'd be if he were here". Unfortunately, just like we don't know how many licks it takes to get to the center of tootsie pop, the world may never know the full extent of my spoiled rotteness. From birth, when doctors deemed my life to be over before it had even began, this man, held and nurtured me from birth, daily. There was never a day that his love was not shown.

I was a little girl being shown what love was all about. What it felt and sound like. Was being taught as a child that when love is gone, however it departs, there's no replacing the void left behind.

It's been 14 years.
And holidays, life has never been the same.
That void, that hole in my heart has never scabbed over to heal.

As children, we're taught "I Love You" as a part of speech. But we don't understand the action, the feat, what it looks and feels like until later in life. And if we're lucky enough, someone pivotal enough, important enough, loving enough, like my Bay-Bay teaches it to us in simplistic ways that are easily digested for us as children. And as we age, it becomes clearer to us just what they were teaching us. And that's what hurts the most: we've known love since before our birth, but somewhere between that first breath and adulthood, we lose or have lost the language of love.

Lucky me, I had a man who as big, black, and chunky as he was, taught me just what love was and what love is so that as an adult, I could understand it, I could digest it just as easily as I had when he let me style his coily, soft black hair or say his nickname for me: Nurl Nurl. That, is love.

Lucky me, from birth to age 9, and even now at 23, that man to whom I hold so dearly and so tightly to my heart and my memories, loved and loves me the way love is supposed to be done.

So while you stuff your face this holiday season with turkey, stuffing, and baked mac and cheese, sweet potatoe pie, cheesecake, and egg nog, realize, that this is all about love and nothing else. While death is promised, life isn't guaranteed, LOVE, sits cradled somewhere between the two - and it's up to us, to recognize it, and be willing to share it with another.

Letter to a 2 Year Old Me

Little Girl, Little Brown Girl-

What to say to you, I have not a clue as I'm still figuring this thing called life out myself. What are the facts of life and how will they benefit or hinder you? Wish I could tell you. But, your life will be one that when you look back on it, you'll be satisfied with the strides you've made.

There's much for you to discover and anticipate in this life. The journey though, is and will be rough and rugged; it's parched and dry. But you will learn that nothing is given to anyone who doesn't want to earn it. Who doesn't want to work hard and effortlessly. Not to spill the beans, but you'll grow into a hard-working woman who's tone and demeanor is endearing and passionate. People will gravitate to you because your smile is soft and gentle, it glides across your face with ease, and comforts the troubled spirits of many.

You've been born into a situation that you have no control over, but you, being the little girl you are, and the woman you'll  grow into will make the best and better of it. You will use it not as a crutch, but as a stepping stone. Your current situation, are the bootstraps that you'll pull up tightly and hold onto as a woman.

You're mother, to many right now, is a little girl herself. But to you, she's the world. And she'll always be that to you. Like the relationships of most mothers and their daughters, the two of you will go through rough patches, but only because a mother's love has no limits and because a child has to figure out who they are. Your love for her, limitless. You'll inherit many of her traits and take on her personality. Her laugh will become your own. Her sarcasm, willingness to lend a hand to those in need, and "pull no punches" attitude, will all wrap themselves around you to become yours.

Your favorite color will be purple. Your truest and best friends will be girls named Ashley, Brittany, and Deahna. It's from these women you'll learn the meaning of friendship. With them, you'll go through life knowing you're not going through it alone. The four of you together, will learn to love and nurture what it means to be women.

You're an artist. A writer to be more specific. You're a Pisces too, so the arts is something that's ingrained in your identity.  This, will be one of your greatest accomplishments. This, is the outlet that you carve and make for yourself. It is the place you go to in order to escape. It is a trait, a practice that will allow for you to understand the complexities of life.

I don't have all of the answers for you. I can't tell you what things you should and shouldn't do, but, do what makes you happy. I know this is I'm sure years too late, but it's best to do what makes your heart content - I've watched you spend years trying, attempting to make others happy before taking yourself into consideration first. But, that's life: it's about nothing else but learning how to make it and yourself better.

I speak to you candidly now because I've been where you're going. But there are places that we'll visit and things we'll experience together.  Life you will learn, is full of roller coasters and when they come, my best advice to you is to buckle down and face them head on with eyes wide open because there's nothing in life that you ever want to say you've missed out on. Have fun, because you only have one time to do this. Life is no dress rehearsal, no do-overs, or repeats.

I feel like this is nothing but a collection of cliches and quotes from famous and unfamous people. But it's not. It's all original. And new. This, is for you and for all of the little girls who will come after you. This is to tell you that though you'll worry yourself crazy because life is going to stress you, there's nothing to stress about. As you get older, you'll garner a relationship with God and strengthen your faith that will allow for you to weather any storm. You'll learn and come to understand the power of prayer. The importance in patience. You'll learn that it is OK to put yourself first.

I apologize to you now for putting others before you. And for holding grudges that weren't worth holding onto. I apologize for learning what it means to forgive later than I probably should. I tell you these things now because things may have turn out differently for you, for me, had you been given these facts of life earlier. But you'll learn that life is about learning. Every waking moment is a chance to learn more and be better.

I'll tell you though, there's a little girl you'll meet in about 20 years who will teach you just how beautiful life is. And she, is the inspiration for this. She is the little girl who's made it easier for me to not only to look back to then, but to look forward to and anticipate what's to come.

Live your life because God gave it to you for a reason.

Love always,
You.