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