Category Archives: motivation

The Crackhead Cig Report… The 2nd Report

So I have began to fall back on the inhale and exhale of the nicotine silent killer… The new commercial featuring the removal of teeth plays in my head… And then I realized… The more time I talk on the phone… The more the drags extend themselves…. The more I talk on the phone the more the desire to suspend my lungs at death expectancy sooner calls to me…. So I amended behaviors… Indoors, movies, a book something else and now my pack a day I had stepped up yo has been reduced to the impressive number of a pack per five days… The glee in my heArt is profound… Screw you nicotine… I will kick you yet. A girl is human dome days are harder then others…. But I’m making strides.. Oh cigs… We gotta break up… I just don’t want this type of love in my life… You stink… And well u just don’t do the things you use to do.. I mean.. You don’t Dorothea my tattered thoughts… You make me see toothless men, you remind me of dirty days and broken highways…. In the height of morning we may meet… Or after a delicious meal… But doing the meals will be less and then you will be a distant memory… I really just font think I want you anymore!!!

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Filed under a rant of love, evolution, life, motivation, opportunity, Uncategorized

Before We Touch

Insane understanding
Belligerent emotion
This notion
Of normality
Is not the current reality
I inhale your scent
Yet we haven’t met
The sensation of skin to skin
No sin in our hearts
A want to move beyond this part
The fear so evident
You are heaven sent
So unsure of previously laid plans
Since the arrival of your presence
Do I have the courage
This risk demands
Dream of holding hands
Of soaring beyond what’s real
You evoke more of my beauty
Push my thoughts to heal
Those wounds the fear of being great
Want to hate you for seeing beyond my mirage
Already it’s exactly what I can’t do
Goose pimples cover me
You ignite the woman
I want to be
A hidden sanctuary in arms
I have yet to feel
Want to wheel and deal
Contemplate the gamble
Go all in
Somehow, together I know we will win
The desires I have given away
Are back to play
Dressed like possibility
No negativity
It was long ago, in an out of rain
I left those dreams slain
Beneath the discouraging mistakes made
A price for pain I foolishly paid
Now you see me cloaked in flaws
Superficially yet ironically so pure.. You believe I can still soar
Tell me God calls
Time to risk the glares of a past
Its gone,
My last date with impossible
I can be the responsible girl, now womanly
Write my way to success
You say it’s a gift
Can be a blessing
Can fly in my creativity
Is this reality
This insanity
If  you touch all of me before we even meet
How will I be able to deny you
How will I run from this
Always wanted to be the differential geometry
In a world of basic mathematical ideals
Wanted to defy gravity
Float above the mean
The probability of winning
It Detest me
Want to be exceptional
Like what we share
Raw and inexplicable
Even before we touch

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Filed under a rant of love, Emotion, love, meaning, men, motivation

willing to be………

willing to be the rarity in the mist

a uniformed society is never a battle uncomplicated

Never easy to explain,

why because a rarity is cost and the  reason for home land security

riddled undocumented truths that don’t hide behind black out inked

I am rarely the rarity that will appear on the mainstream news

locked behind journalist divulging the skills of in battle synpers

female ingenuity  battling for the likeness of unity

Yes likeness because whiteness is lost in blackness and blackness is seen as unpure

unsure of what I mean look beyond what is shown to what is unseen

locked in the foreground of words meant to confuse

with the confusion you will upgrade to the next version which is suppose to be the stupid down verision of the same which is something to which we know the name

propaganda the definition in two lessons never complete the reason for doubt in the claim

one sided information that is proposed or posed as truth

fed to the youth in the simlac that seperates mother from child,

brain devolopment remain unstatistized or verbalized less

Willing to be the pioneer, the  renegade, the bitch by name at least in the accordance to the media

The evangelist fanatical truth slayers, bomb layers, fear traders,

trading faith for fear,

selling you use of dreams to rip humanity from the seems of outsourced makers, even the sweet cakes have become homegrown outsourced bakers

Willing to be political for the point of history at which we stand when really life isn’t about this land

power or a the fight for resources of resource to one instead of another

resourcefully using resource is the source of creation

built nations and families for man (all) only different on the surfaces bearing resemblance of his climate not his intent, we were intimate before we were so different

Now that  conviction sick left to the old dying, watching bold be replaced with cold

where is our resilence to conformity

yet bleeding lips of judgement loud and dynamnic in naming the abnormalities

when it states it’s true desire within its components a, b, normal I ties

did you see that  the (A)and the (B) normally is how I ties to it’s community

it’s not normal for us to concieve of negativity yet it’s bred in our learning

taught with knowing, the ability to ignite old embers of hate

to give breath to past, history

sold version of his story

free gift of manipulation

I am no more worthy of this than you

to be the subjection of mental invasion

Someone has to go first

no stay you fathers, true dads cradling your childrens head

stay you mothers keep quietly you fight

for I am

willing to be the enigma, the insane uncooperative “problem child” who speaks to loud

stands out for love

will not allow you to believe I can be sold,

will not fold

will be the sacrifice

will allow myself to carry the load of revealing my soul

left out to be a documented amusement

ridiculed

fueled to hate

it’s not to much for me to consume

that pain you leave on the dessert tray

my plate has no weight

Without your pain that needs to be slain and released from your shoulders

Prior loud uncooperative’s, were the weapons used

so you could openly choose option abused

the hate they sell in those dreams that look like faith

using fear to get you to load  your plate with empty calories

no integrity to use for defense

no nutrients of living

no ripe natural sweetness to stain your lips with memories of positivity

selling you a dream you gladly buy

signed on the line to the creditor of living in the life by way of speech not heard on your lips

Found carried by women heavy memories of human beginnings on full hips

in between poisioned sips of as seen per the speculated

It’s bitter taste of previously remastered leaves me hungry

I am willing to be the rarity

go unfed until here authenticated is labeled

so you may close your eyes to the sounds of  ambiguity,

you now sold and selling the same untruth

You might do the crime

but I am willing to be the imprisoned, the persecuted,

electrocuted happy for  reviving pain

willing to be in the eyes of normal weird a living a and b tieing it self to normality

I took the bid so you could leave uncertainity, worries

I will do the time

be it’s bomb strapped to it’s core

i am willing to denate the ability to be heard,

the bomb of recognition, the human matyr of submission

willing to be rare,

willing to be fair,

willing to care,

willing to forfeit popularity

for truth, love, and sincerity

so you don’t have to

what are you willing to do..

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July 4, 2012 · 1:29 am

The Arriving Man

As a woman I live in an understanding of my emotional culture. With each documented moment I live binding a library of books of my experiences. Something I find on my journey are moments of interaction with men in my community some of them from homes broken and others from families assembled by time and others in the traditional make up. The black man has been the consequence of negativity and forlorn thought. The black man is an elusive entity of strength and as the community of my peers evolve from young men to men it’s most powerful era I look at the elegance of transistion and the opposition of being a  legacy of decisions that maybe the men before them took. I am a woman and I like other little black girls were left to become women without the presence of a man in the home. Yet as God provides me the gift of  his love he has shown me the new understanding of the black man who has shed the heavy coat of prejudice and the cotton of a too hot life when trying to get  to a moderately comfortable temperature in there atmosphere of being the man on the outside of privilege. These arriving men whom I have named arriving because through the storms of history and disrespect and the lack of support These men truly need they still come through those foggy moments hoping and trying their best. They even arrive to the storms of us loud talking, strong willed, fatherless and fathered mess of understanding women.. Yet as a woman sometimes loving that man who needs so much love is hard but see him as arriving.. Why? Today I hear more men say… I have full custody of my baby… insert son and alot more in my world insert daughter. They breathe for these children, facing the disappointment of being not enough or not having enough in the dank aftermath of heated summers of no lemonade stands and no baseball games on shoulders of that elder likeness and those of us who live amongst the on the streets of father non-applicable to me… cuz I don’t know my daddy we know the pain of being apart of a single parent home and feel the strain of traits not owned by mommy. We are the generation of change and we are changing our outlook and we are fighting loudly with  the access of technology,,,, I am proud of us regardless of these colored skin suits. And I know in the colonies of different hues lives homes broken and children hearts broken by the choices of those who are our key to lifetimes of lifelines that teach us how we think, and live and celebrate life.

SO it’s for the man arriving in your world as well, those colored life coffee, deep and brown those with layered choices with skin so bright and illuminating, those have culture built in this soil, their heritage with their land stolen…  so do not be left out. Yet my fondness for these men made so much like me with deep brown skin, shadowed eyes and hearts of solid beaming gold left hidden with cavities of teflon. My little boys who have taken the stereotypes and made them enterprises, took the grid irons and concrete courts from games to headlines and fame. Those growing boys turned men with need to fight and survive instead of drive and arrive are still beating down the hot block with hearts that want to be home, want to know those kids even when they laid down to be incarcerated by women who still have the learned lesson that men leave… don’t believe, don’t grieve, left to live with pain than to have it eased. SO many days they sit with breaths caught in chest hoping to slang enough, dunk enough, take enough to be the present father and not just the donor who fertilized a egg with his seed.

Yes I want you to be the best man you can be, yet I also see the struggle and desire to aid you in knowing your worth and those small things also mean something. The desire, the attempt, the faith, the hope, the strength and the experience you both show, and provide bleed your love. As women we can nurture those strengths. Your power is in the love you feel, the meal you cook to quell the hunger, the sex you indulge in to show him the importance and need to not just your heart but your body.  The love they so seldom vocalize but will always show in their resounding baritone as they ask where we have been, if the oil has been checked, how they will walk on the outside, and do their best to apply what they have never learned but know in their hearts is right. Just the fight to live will show how much many desire to not be the stagnant typed without the stereo for its never displayed how much it hurts to have to say, not applicable and does not apply when it comes to the language we can’t identify whether it be fatherly or motherly love. This community of strength taught to survive… we need to learn how to thrive, be our own resource of love… Move away from the belief that we must be the dog that dined on the dog of circumstance. Must unite if you want to fight and win.

A generation passed full of daddy’s rolling by home home to collect stones they were made to believed were jewels…NO HOME IS WITHOUT IT”S STRUGGLE… and no parent meant to create and mold life alone. These men are a special breed, descendents of man made Achilles heels, robbed of identity, used as common artillery, bred to do the work of building empires of which they could not call home and while slavery had died on the dark hot tar we call pavement… it has already been paved and if not actively fought will remain submerged in hate.

No this is not about slavery for we are each free.  wanting to make a loud noise in the sake of revolution to be another block of words strung together about being the victim looking on to the inside with too much fear, too much pride and just enough anger to be forced to grow. I am a woman among many women with matching skin id’s and similar history, The women who love these black men, lets us the be their place of  love make his house his home so he leave behind his spot, his crib , make our homes kingdoms. Not with things but with those jewels of love… we call them support, trust, forgiveness, loyalty, kindness, tolerance and self control. Let us use our action of physical love with fortitude and and be the woman who sees his heart and chooses it above all. Yes we women have pains and hurts, yet me make the time whether right or wrong to sing our song, some constant singing his wrongs. Each replay comes with a fine of his worth, and time for he sees your pain and despite what all continue to think… a man in love with a woman in love with him… is not afraid to speak freely when she wears her priceless jewels daily and shows him the ultimate jewel is him.

… why do you think these men stay with you even when love didn’t build that home. Even as your belittle his masculinity instead of just telling him your pain. Why do you think they are not so quick to divulge in (sorry about my language) sharing the true power of his magic wand , his sword you’re so quick to use in a scheme to shut you down.. ONce it’s been offered you no longer hold the cards… he already  has part of your heart. In no way am I taking away  the power of a woman, a black woman who might look something like me…

I know your pain, I know your need… and part of our want is based on that man you desire… so open your eyes and see him arriving and love him gently. Promote his power in your world, Provide a safe place for his emotional vulnerability so he may use it has the secret weapons to slay his enemies and practice love in your words, needs, and actions… Show him that even know love has its flaws and you certainly don’t take lies, abuse, or negativity. Just do it the way love would.

For the world in which he lives and struggles to be seen as a equal… befriend him… he is a man just as you… regardless of the clothes he wears, his choice of song, his difference in opinion. He is like you really the only difference is his flavor. Regardless he is arriving, from shallow graves of mis conception, perception , and infectious outbreaks of humanity and their ignorant thinking.

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Filed under a rant of love, change, desire, Emotion, evolution, motivation, opportunity, pain, Positivity, preception, relationships

Answering Questions

This morning while the rest of the world sleeps I find myself with my earphones covering my ears and music taking me down a montage of emotional experiences that shaped the last 24 to 48 hours of my life and I am checking my timeline on Twitter when I realize that my days of Facebook have become less and I look to my timeline for the confirmation that it is filled with the things that make my heart open, my eyes widened and I realize that for the first time in social media, I am not just joining the crowd but creating my own collection of things that inspire me, touch me, arouse me, attract me and actually define who I am as a person. My Facebook is still me of course but I don’t play games yet I allow app permission to favor the friends who are really people that I have crossed in my short life time and I realize that while that book that carries my face, it is my history, my love “the people” who have joined me and effected me and now a job does not have to be lost to lose the faces that shared lunch with me, or old classmates who also experienced learning and evolving with me. We may not trade phone calls or talk each day about the things that touch us but we can “like” an enlightened comment or experience with the news feed and that makes me see the good in all the ways to control us as people. I find that love is the fuel for all good, and with that understanding a rant of rejection has created a new portion of history and we say hey you know, I enjoyed this conversation, lets stay in touch as long as I don’t deactivate and you can add me to my friends list. For Facebook has brought back families old loves, lost classmates and then I look at the people who tell me there movements, thoughts and I realize it is my own personal yearbook. My own trip down memory lane. Pictures appear that I thought have died with the original camera and memories of high school become vivid as old friends reminisce on times that we knew we would never forget. Facebook helped to coordinate my ten year reunion. It makes me smile so I still go by and say hi, and sometimes I am able to make a note. A moment where I need to purge the congestion of thoughts that sometimes try to overwhelm me. Then I can like my likes and dislike my not so likes.
Yet the reason for this blog was about Twitter. Twitter was a long awaited add on for me, to many alerts on my blackberry and hey people where tweeting about their toothbrushes. Yet earlier this year I gave in and tried again and now I love my twitter, I follow people of whom I admire and I am able to laugh at the antics of old friends, and I get to share my movement. Twitter is my heart and soul. It is my poetry and I realize like Dawson’s Creek back in the tenth grade I have the second thing in my entire lifetime that I really do love. A guilty pleasure that somehow gets me through days. Rev Run always has words of wisdom. Fellow poets and great minds are right on point about aspects of life and then me. I fight the causes of my passions and without going to much into detail I can yell. YOUR WRONG… YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHO I AM OR WHAT YOUR SAYING.  Just enough characters to get it done and if you know me, you know I am long winded. So I am able to teach myself how to get to the point.  And like most days that I find myself up with the rising of the sun, screen flashing before me, my book growing by day, my confidence increasing,,, I see a tweet from a new person I have chosen to follow.
So In Response:  ThatWritingChic 


I am inviting positive and adaptability into my brand. I am going to be a movement, an energy of thought and love. I wake each day with the same thought. How can I love today? Who can I entertain, share my time with that will teach me something new, something different, something insanely mentally invigorating. I live for the moments of understanding and debate. I invite the ability to be a an avid learner. Using each day to instead of allowing the feeling of inadequacy and sadness about what I do not know, and what pains from naivety to allow me to lose focus, I will see it as a gift to place under the tree of my lifelong experience. I will be a passionate soldier for the bringing together of Men and Women and helping them to embrace the love in their hearts for another, which will also advocate the building of more families and the miracle of love. I will not allow people to take away from my individuality my ruff and ragged edges. Even my flaws will be used to demonstrate what I have forgotten to accept or tackle for the fear of falling victim of it’s emotional toll. I will not change my behaviors do to the actions of others and I will also forgive. I invite the presentation of GOD in any manner in which I that day choose to present him, which will not only teach yet also learn. This will also result in me to making decisions that lessen the influence of my worldly surroundings and it’s understanding. I choose to close doors of the negative forces of the devil, making room solely for God, Love, Community and growth which will allow me to evolve. I will be a writer, a poet, a common comedian and a daily cheerleader. I will no longer run from the ability to feel the emotion of others instead using it to do as I was assigned to do in this life and I will never shut up. My words, my voice, my selection and delivery of content is apart of my unique gift and I belong to an army of rebellious hearts made of GOD, loyalty, trust, kindness, togetherness and perseverance that bind them together creating armies of spiritual soldiers.

One of things that really influences me is myself. Not the person who is reflected in the glass, but the me that lives inside of my outer shell. The woman who insists that I embrace my two totally conflicting thought processes. The little girl who was told that her beauty was nothing more the breast encased in a shirt. The daughter who lived with a woman with stern words brazen confidence and tales of survival. The first year student who was taken to the new world of an HBCU in a place she was foreign to yet never let her fear debilitate her. I influence me, for I am made in the image of GOD. GOD is love, a miracle in human form.
 
People who write influence me. From a little girl, clean paper was a place of illumination, imagination and invention. My mother tells me that when there was  a clean piece of paper before I knew the concept of formulating the written word, my pens, pencils, crayons would sweep across the sheet hoping to create a documentation of who it was to be me. People who write are artists of language and have the ability to see inside of the frame , the shell. They can see beyond the seen to feel the unseen. Creating the place, the time, the journey for the common person to experience it along with those who were their inside of the experience itself. They can teach lessons with film, and be the therapy to hearts in songs. They can be the political activist in poems or they can be the members of God’s clergy with spiritual enlightenment.
A friend in my life I met a couple of years ago influences me…. It’s very seldom in this life that a person comes along to us individually that seems to speak the same language as we do. Yet they are the version of life that we did not know, experiencing different avenues and streets, exploring different homes but arriving at the same destination to the point of being your compatible opposite. He is the brilliance in my words, and his vision of me, is one of growth and a continued quest to be the best version of myself and that influences me to strive in my pursuit of my own happiness, completing goals, and living the dreams of my heart.
God influences me, for his vicious, ferocious and ever accepting love for us as people encourages me to be the type of person who not only lives for my heart, belief, but to allow my soul to experience this experience among humanity as a lesson of gratitude. For it must be so hard to watch as your children praise the acquisition of financial prowess, vigilant mistreatment of people for reason of difference and misconception. God has given us an innate guide yet we not only falter in our faith for the higher deity regardless of the name, yet we falter in our faith in ourselves to be victorious in overcoming obstacle. 
Books are the cornerstone of my world. The binding, the setting, the characters who emerge from the impression of those who author them. I read everything. I continue to read for each book that I pick up seems to be chosen just for me and I learn something each time. From fiction, to self help, romance, Science fiction, Erotica, Fantasy. Art imitates life and I feel from the depths of my most core, that art of all kinds is how God shows us the true meaning of life.
I follow writers, I follow motivators of positive thinking. I follow the essence of femininity…which I define as the heart of the womb. Women love, for we were created to nurture and embrace difference and teach tolerance. So If it’s putting down quotes about relationships, love, friendship.
And I RT @thewritingchic, @damnlovetweets, @rafaelcasal, @damnyo, My friend Shayna… she is gritty, and loud. I love that. Of course… RevRun… almost daily and BishopTDJakes, I also RT myself, for sometimes I am quite clever.
My twitter is the true collaboration of who DualityDefined is.
   


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