Happy Birthday to My Bay-Bay

I claim him. He's mine. Forever more until the day my God allows us to cross paths again to mend my heart that's been broken since age 9. All I know of his death is that he died of a massive heart attack on the steps of a friend. The rest is history and to be quite frank, doesn't even matter. The family came to a consensus not to tell me about his death until after the service. They knew I'd loose my mind. Oddly enough, it wouldn't have mattered one way or another. But what about my heart? And mending it? Impossible feat.


I'd just seen him the night before his death. He kissed me goodnight. And when I woke up the next morning, a copy of Aladdin was laying on the bed. Yet another gift from Bay-Bay for his Nurl-Nurl.


Yea, that man, is all mine.


I don't write about him often because the tears flow with ease. And I don't talk about him. It's impossible for me to tell you just how much he meant and means to me without a snotty nose, red tear stricken eyes, and much heaving. 


February is a super hard month for me. February like holidays and family gatherings remind me that who I miss more than words or even these tears can explain, isn't here. Furthermore, it's our birthday month. He the 19th and I the 28th. The perfect Pisces pair.


At 7, he insisted on a birthday dinner at Red Lobster for me, with the family, for my first time. And I tell you, I was the happiest little girl watching the lobsters in the tank as he explained to me that those lobsters soon will be someones dinner. 


I pray that I make and have made him proud, because life has never been the same since he departed. My grandma yells at me to this day because I don't call her like I should. And I know I'm wrong, but he's not there. Someone else is there in my Bay-Bay's place. I should still hear his hearty, boisterous laugh in the background or the horrible cinematography from his Sci-Fi flicks. I remember spending summers and nearly every weekend with my grandparents riding around in his white van with the burgundy interior and blue U-Haul floor cover in the trunk. Uncomplicated and true, true love.


My ex use to yell when we argued that "No one will ever love you like me". No sir, no one will ever love me like my grandfather did. The only time I cried over him was he I knew I'd never walk into my grandmother's project home and see him stretched out in bed, or ever see his beret hats or white button up shirts stretched over his protruding belly. He, was love.


And the amount of tears and snot I've blown in his remembrance, I will and pray to the high heavens for another day with him. Just to tell him one more time how much I love him. I didn't know how to as a child, but I'm sure he died knowing that there was one little girl left behind, would grow up with a broken heart because he wasn't there, loved him more than what her childlike vocabulary could express.


This year makes 16 years. And there isn't a year that goes by that I don't acknowledge his birthday or day of death. But then there are the days between: Christmas, Thanksgiving, my birthday, rough days, good days - that I don't pray for the closure that now as an adult woman, I never received as a child girl. I know he's gone. And I know that he physically is not coming back. And I know, at least I feel as though he is OK. I saw him a dream a little over a year ago, first time in over 10 years I'd seen him in something other than pictures. And he sat wearing his blue beret hat and white buttonup shirt stretched tightly over his belly. I woke up sweating, walked into my living room, hoping and praying I'd see him there. But he wasn't.


My mother is getting married this summer and Lord knows, as joyous as the day will be, to look into the audience and not see his black face all dressed up glowing and full of love, it will be harder than what I can tell you. But we'll make it thru, because I know his spiritual presence will walk us down the aisle. 


Sunday is his birthday. I don't know how old he would've been. I just know I have to say happy birthday to the skies, thru my tears, and let him know that this now grown woman misses him just as much if not more than the girl child he left behind and that my love, to this day is unyielding and unmoving. 

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

Why I Stayed,

No one knows why I stayed but me. We reach a point in life and specifically in certain relationships where we've grown so comfortable with the bullshit that we wind up convincing ourselves that to start over defeats the purpose. So we stay. I did. I convinced myself, with his help of course, that I didn't have the patience or the time to meet and get to know another person and their habits, attitudes, likes, and dislikes. To learn someone new again. Who has that sort of time? So I stayed. "We not gettin' any younger T." So clearly, I was getting too old to seek and find and learn a new person too. I stayed through the cheating, lying, verbal abuse, and sheer laziness. I stayed through the excuses, schemes, and blaming everyone else for why you're where you are in life. I stayed. I stayed through the threats of if I can't have you nobody will, through the threats to knife up your wrists with our kitchen knives, stayed through blocking the door so I couldn't escape - to stay and wallow with him in his misery.


I stayed because I was the good girlfriend playing "good wife".


But eventually, that shit got old. Real old. And it started to stink and to wear me down. There's but so much encouragement that I could give when what I really wanted to say was "shut the fuck up and get up off your ass. no one owes you shit, not even a good fucking morning sunshine". I began to spend my days off at my mother's for a piece of peace of mind. I grew tired of my brain always working and working the majority of the time to keep him functioning.


A weary woman is not a happy woman no matter what she says. If she claims she's happy, she's fucking lying.


I was tired of redoing resumes and hearing the dreams of how to make these moves and build "our" legacy. Build a legacy when you don't have a leg to stand on. The irony was appalling. But my being so comfortable and being OK with it because it'll change, things'll get better was just as disgusting. As much as I was tired of working 16 hour long days at work to catch up on the late rent and past due bills, coming home to take the trash out, do the dishes, and straighten up the living room while he was stretched out in the bedroom, I'd convinced myself that this was as good as it gets. I stayed because I had already prepared myself that this was going to be my life.


Oh yes, I stayed.


I continued to make excuses and enable the behaviors. But, if I'd said or did what I really wanted to, my day and quite possibly, my week, or months to come would have been severely fucked up. My level of miserable would have been beyond 100.


I stayed so I wouldn't have to hear the bullshit. So I wouldn't have to be threatened with what I wasn't going to do and what he was going to do. The threats were just as empty as the promises but it took me a while to realize such.


I stayed, because while he didn't have a leg to stand on, I'd lost my original backbone and needed one rebuilt.


Don't get me wrong, there was love. Insurmountable amounts of love. But the shit was fucked up. I fell in love with who I thought he would grow into and he fell in love with who I was when we met. I fell in love with thinking I could mold him into who I wanted him to be versus who and what his reality was. It didn't take long for him to show me his real face, but I didn't believe what he showed me, so I stayed. And grew angry at him for my knowingly mistaking him to be someone he wasn't.


My mistake was taking my frustrations out on him for not being who I imagined him to be instead of admitting such and leaving well enough alone from the rip. Instead, I stayed thinking I could change this boy into the man I wanted.


And don't get me wrong, he put it down. On the regular. But I got it and other bitches got it too. Yet, my simple ass stayed thinking shit would change. And eventually it did. But, a cheetah doesn't change its spots like a zebra can't transpose its stripes. And change, well that bitch was a few days late and several dollars short.


Believe what you see when you see it. That, is the difference between now and later.


The love we shared was limitless. There was nothing we would not have done for one another - other than leave. We both knew we were both better apart than we were together, but we weren't strong enough for each other or ourselves to let it go.


But eventually, the weary woman wanted to be happy without the weary or the drama or the pain. She wanted to be with someone who she could genuinely love for them and not for her thoughts. She had to own up to the fact that lost trust and non-belief alone was more than enough of a reason of why she couldn't walk that well trodden road yet again.


I stayed because change was too scary. Because I misconstrued a lot of things for love when it wasn't about love, because sometimes, love just isn't enough of a reason to hang around. It's frightening to see the person you've shared your life with stand before you threatening to cut their wrists if they can't have you as if you're their property. There aren't enough words to explain the sheer fear of thinking you can't move on with your life because that person won't allow you to do so.


There are a lot of things that love is, but equally, there are many things that love is not.


I apologize for staying around longer than I know I should have. I apologize for not being the stronger one sooner to let it go so repair could have began earlier. But life is about learning and I pray that you've walked away with just as many lessons as I have without holding an embittered heart. Love is worth fighting for. But love is also worth letting go for individual repair versus combined destruction. We stayed thinking time really does and would heal all wounds, but not if you're not brave enough to stop patching up scars as if they don't exist.


To finally have let go is honestly one of the best decisions I've made to date. My individual happiness means the world to me and I honor it just as much as I honor the love we shared. But, the truth of the matter is that it was time. We'd taught all we could teach and bought to the table everything in our power, including the messiness. This was nothing more than a good ass chapter that had to come to an end.

Wrecking Brain

I can tell when a particular best friend of mine is up to something, just like she can tell without seeing me when and if I've been crying. So, when she called me the other day, asking a million plus one questions about a particular someone, I knew, with no proof, that either she was up to something, or, she knew something or some things that I didn't. And when I say asking a million plus one questions, this was like a police interrogation - but not as intimidating. And in between our laughs and my not being able to stay still, I knew what it was all about and where it was coming from. Without her saying so, I was given an outside view of what I've always kind of wanted to know.

And when she asked the question I've quietly asked and answered for myself, I cheerfully answered yes. If asked, the answer is and would be yes. For a long time, the answer has always been yes without a shadow of doubt.

Sitting on the phone with her, I wrecked my brain while trying to pick hers to no avail. And as much as I figured that I had it figured out, I just wasn't sure - and still am not.

She said to me, as if I didn't know, "you know sometimes we look and it's been sitting there right in front of us all along". I know just who she was talking about and what she was saying, but, I wanted to know why? And where was it all suddenly coming from is what I couldn't figure out. Were there truth to her questions? Had she heard it all from the horse's mouth and was just encoding it so I couldn't repeat it verbatim? Hopefully, this won't end in the world may never know like the age old question of "how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?"

I hope, for my own sanity that I'll be able to get to the center of it all because by all means, it's been a long time and all sorts of emotions are bound up like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

If I took my own advice I wouldn't be wrecking my brain over my best friend's hidden messages or your sometimes cloudy disposition. If I took my own advice, I'd be at the center of the tootsie roll pop already. But clearly I'm not.

It's been said that good things come to those who wait. And I hope, this, is a classic example of such. I don't expect a fairy tale ending because in the world we live and function in, fairy tales don't exist. But the sheer feeling of a love so transparent that it becomes contagious will do. 

Anthony Hamilton Do You Feel Me

American Gangster soundtrack

Drop of Possibility

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

***

A Love That Is Mine and Mine Alone

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


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


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


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



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


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


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


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

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.

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.

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.

getting my peace of mind

Dear You.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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




Sincerely,
never looking back.

Chrisette Michele

Goodbye Game

In Dedication to All of Your Sauciness

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

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

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


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


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


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


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




cc: You

{#GOODmusic}: "So In Love"

Jill Scott f/ Anthony Hamilton
So In Love

Pre Order "The Light of the Sun" on iTunes: http://wbr.fm/JillScottLOTS

"Light of the Sun" in stores June 21st, 2011

featuring "Shame" f/ Eve and "Hear My Call"

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JILL SCOTT SUMMER TOUR

Budweiser Superfest Presents: Jill Scott Summer Block Party Dates:
7/28/11 NYC
7/30/11 Detroit
7/31/11 Chicago
8/3/11 Cleveland
8/4/11 St. Louis
8/6/11 Philadelphia {I will be there!}
8/7/11 D.C.
8/10/11 LA
8/14/11 Oakland
8/17/11 Memphis
8/19/11 Atlanta
8/21/11 Virginia Beach
8/23/11 Raleigh
8/24/11 Charlotte
8/27/11 Dallas
8/28/11 Houston

Shacking Up

For some, it works wonders. For others, it's a deal breaker. For me, never again.
We moved expecting that life would only get better. Yeah, we expected and anticipated hard times, but long as we had each other, life was headed for All-Graveyland.

At least that's what we thought.

Before I knew it, good times and laughter were soon out the window and nonstop hard times were waltzing through the door. From infidelity and lost of trust to reduced work hours and not so amicable break-ups, I tell you, this wasn't what I signed up for. But then again, when shacking up, this is exactly what I signed up for.

Three and a half years, three break-ups, hundreds of sleepless nights, screaming fits with wall shattering glasses later, I've finally come to make the decision not to ever, ever, ever, shack up again. Til' death do me part, if no ring, vows, and marriage certificate, Theresa'll be living alone.

And this is no laughing matter. This is the real deal.

A co-worker and I had this very same conversation while at work at the end of our shift as the boys were on their way to sleep. Granted it's totally understood that not all men and women are like me and him, and in some situations, it works. But in others, it can be a total diaster (hence my case). And because of this, I'd never suggest or push for a dating couple to move in and live together. There's too much messyness that comes along it. Yes, it would be grand to learn a partner's habits before marrying. And yes, it's nice to have someone to fall asleep and wake up next to at night and in the morning. And it's even sweeter to have someone to spend off-days cozied next to while watching reruns of your favorite shows and movies. Yes, these things are fabolous. And there's nothing like it...

But...

Of course there's the flip side to it too. There's also the emotional inability to realize that something's wrong in your relationship because you're spazing about the dishes piling up in the sink, his sticky socks clinging to your lace Victoria Secret hiphuggers, and lets not forget about the overflowing clothes hampers that need to be washed while the over-stuffer roaster's cooking. It's easier to spot shit from a distance than if it's already in your personal space. It's easier to forget about yourself when you're sharing corridors with your partner. And once we forget about ourselves, and become blind to the foolishness that may be happening, a relationship's approval rating plummets and home becomes hell, catching ablaze.

So while I my spend days and nights piecing a new life together, I reflect on such a decision that I'll go to lengths if need be to share my story with others in hope that they can prevent themselves from experiencing what I battled through and finally escaped. Often, after we've successfully taken 10 steps forward, we have to take double those steps back to check ourselves, our lives, and our circles. And one thing I've realized during my ongoing reality check, shacking up, is the one thing I promise myself that I'll never do again.

The love I can handle, the messyness I can't.

Better & More

"Being at a place where you no longer care is never a good place to be, but, it's often the best place because that's where we put ourselves first."

These words I posted on Twitter when it finally hit me that the situation I'd once again found myself in, I was in, but no longer cared about it or anything but me. And I was and am ok with such feelings. It doesn't bother me.


I always talk about self-worth, self-love, and how we, especially us women, deserve better, more - the best. But we also know that to get such things, a demand is created. Just like closed mouths don't get fed, a heart's desire is never satisfied if we don't pursue its wants and sometimes, its needs.


The steps to a better life, to the lives we want for ourselves always began with us. Point blank. There's no other place, no better place than there to began.


For four years, we tried endlessly to make us work. Call it forcing, contrived, or imaginary, we fought in our own ways, for our own reasons or motives, to make that thing work. One may have felt or thought they did more, experienced more or less pain, gave more of themselves for something that they wished and prayed for some sort of positive return. But oftentimes, God doesn't give us what we want or what we think we should have because it's not meant for us to have. This is a realization that never quite hit me until I decided I was finally done. After countless attempts to work, I caved, and gave into myself. Decided that I was and am too good of a woman to allow someone to use me as target practice. To brandish my heart with actions that left it heaving for air on those nights when the "I'm sorry" and "It was a mistake" weren't enough. Granted, I know he would beg to differ - these are my thoughts and feelings. I'd reached a point when thinking and whispering to myself that I deserve better and more, needed to be known all across the board. Subtle voice undertones and text rants about what I thought I deserved, no longer worked; I knew I deserved better and more, and was going to go to whatever lengths necessary to make sure I received them. And it didn't matter how anyone perceived it - as long as it was known.


Because of then and those moments that I spent alone with myself and with my heart and its contents spilled out ahead of me, I've found myself beginning again.  And as difficult of a decision this has been, I realize it's the best one for me. A chapter has been closed in my life, for new ones to have the opportunity to begin and the option to end. And I welcome them and their many facets with open arms. I welcome my life's forthcoming chapters with an endearing, understanding type of love that only I can comprehend. No amount of love or life songs can adequately describe just how I feel or what exactly lies in my heart. But I know I deserve better and more. And I commend myself on giving me to opportunity to live and the option to experience myself, by myself, and alone in my own skin.

Jill Scott, Hear My Call

I know I've posted this video on a past blog piece, but this is poignant and important :)

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…