Tag Archives: Friendships

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

When We…. A Friendship Never Forgotten

The level of communication today

is why you are not so far a bay

Didn’t think I could see this present

When our hellos were hesitant, second to the addresses of president

When our love didn’t flow

and the contents of your heart I didn’t know

Not when we were sisters, not friends

Not when a I consisted of a we

when we were the three distinct parts of the holy trinity

When were nothing less than infinity

an eternity of love

a soul mate

a play date

a sibling when blood meshed thumb to thumb

when we were best

the knitted nest

the tie to vest

Now it is a longingly gone dry

a sad goodbye

a memory of desserted knowledge

Now just a story that begins

“This one time in college”

Love does not die

so why did we

the interaction

now just simple subtraction

there is a you without me

a divided we

a new part to you whole

our present a future past

a gasp, a ghastly silence

we were not literary

but an exact science

proven and hypthosized

Just when I realized that some heartbreaks

never die

the kind that doesn’t begin with carresses and obsessions of will they, who me

will she, but the kind that begin with us, you and me

so innocently


the days of the young in me that

is still living with all those memories you are apart

just a dart landed in at the bull eyes

Still wonder how and questions still end in why?

Yet the facebook is on my shoulder tweeting

and I am happy that I am apart of this social networking

for it networked me right back to you

so that I can piece together your present

now that our hello’s are hesitant

and the days no longer shared

for days lost

the cost

my end

my friend

my half of whole

my gaping hole

is left unfilled

others come and consume

but none ever you

known ever the five pieces of my youth

None to ever know completely my truth

cuz u have the proof

she has the proof

they have the truth to my youth

When we were girls

sitting up nghts

plaid uniformed skirts

lips pursed

phones hidden

hearts smitten with time

boys we called fine

and when my my heart didn’t seem to break so easily

when we defied the logistics of personality

and the true bond was the commonality that love was an acceptance

a forgiveness so bold

it was tangible. something to hold

never alone was I

you all were there

when life didn’t seem fair

we would share outside on dark patios

experimenting with the dark arts and holding on to each other

blowing tree’s, screaming lyrics from another

When we were girls

we didn’t know these women wouldn’t be sitting so far away

Didn’t know today would lend us seperately

or did we know but it ignored it with love and held on for as long

as the time permit

Life has a funny way of teaching doesn’t it

When we were girls

and things seemed hard

when we seemed fearless to scream let it ride no matter the hand dealt, no matter the card

brave, and loud

girls running lost

what women found

Miss those days of being a girl

Miss those days of you being my first call

Miss knowing that you will be there after all

or maybe I still do

I keep saying thank you

For being a part of me

You are apart of the root, not a leave, or even a branch

You are a the core of my tree, without you past and present

I wouldn’t be me



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Filed under a rant of love, women, Written Emotion

A Marriage of Us and the Denial of Me

So many days I look to the pictures in perfect position in the foyer of our imperfection

I see a dolled version of myself vowing me to a commitment annoited misunderstanding

I left the first love I knew, for a love that embodied us, yet continues to only produces conversations of you

If marriage is a combination of us, for a family of one, a unified front of the perspective of our desires

then why do I feel cold at the face of the fire

why does the blame reside in the the things only I seem to lack

So dutifully sitting at your side,

So many days with self blinded eyes,

I see ,consequence and denial, the place you reside

You have began to drain the emotion from the devotion I sacrificed myself to show

bleeding the energy of us

Your wounds, the distaste, disgrace

of your own face

the reflection of me, has now become the reaction of your self loathing

a designed negativity that was the obscene revealing that without me their is no you

when I left me to complete the void, that had been born and nurtured by your lack of conviction to the institution of self

I was born of love, nurtured in eyes of imperfect love that so perfectly molded my definition of what it is to love so

confidently, no Oedipus Rex at the edge of demands, no hand to add fear to commands

Seemingly have grown in reverse. Have settled for a passion of the flesh

instead of a yoke equally provoked by connection

if I would have taken the time to inspect the point at which we intersected I would  have looked to the calls of God

How he warned me that no should be the response

I am at the helm of firey pits of neglect. I no longer want to be penetrated by my own knife. Lacerating my needs to

treat the wounds of your denial. Let me go. with love and for once look to my heart and see the stains of the blood you

drawn with your hate, the shots from the pistols of you insinuation.

The pregnant silences of love that were never the corner stone of this union have

now become the bitter taste of pity on my lips, the quiet resentment that was adopted when the children of love could not be labored from a bond of unity

we have never been a we, merely the result of you plus the idea of woman that you cast with the likes of me

for I seem to be the stranger that is in this house, foreign to my eyes, the image that stares back seems to be a clone, a stepford wife dolled and designed as wife

I earned and shall one day have the title of queen. the equality of a real man, adorned in his sincerity, wrapped in his physical masculinity

my friends have become memories, my memories just headstones in the grave yard of my past freedom to be me.

I will not die in the welding grasp of your arms

lose my favor in the pursuit of your religious doctrine of control.

My spirit is calling out to me

asking me to once again find the motivation, the fight, the moxy of my intelligence.

You killed the endless definitive gestures of my individuality,

it’s at this moment that I stared to you knelling, bowing, praising your Frankeinstein

Upon that lifted stand, idolized was a spitting image of my earthly dwelling. She so much as I use to see, wearing my face, my clothes, yet empty

a soulless lost entity…

you have stolen the light from me

standing outside my grasp

I want to go home to the face that got me here.

want to find the woman that would have never been enslaved by the need of a man’s embrace, to build a home without love, the woman who loved before and quietly just wanted to be someone that could be the mother who cared.

The bound copy of me sits somewhere in the library of this life and I want to dust the jakcet with a bare and unburdened left hand.

want to silently anull my thoughts and divorce my decision to stop breathing for me.

Born from the rib of humanity… the hu man love that is a miracle to this soil.

the inspiration of love, lives in the woman I was, not the woman I have become today.

Shame burns my flesh, and disdain causes the endless storms of rain to cascade to the cleft of my change

How did I allow this marriage of us to be the denial of me

When did l lose the case and instead accept the deal drawn to the defense of you.

release my pain, slay the demons of your heart, so that I may see me.

If love lived here in this home, you would see the sombering dull light in my eyes

you would ask, instead of repeat me, you would understand when I say, ” I must do this for me”

You would  embrace the love that lead me here,

you would see that same love that is just now a disquise for the fear

that blinds the road of light that leads down a path that enables me to leave

to once again believe in the power that started with me.

How could you love me when I have fallen out of love with the woman you claim

to love. She is no longer there or did you never love who lived inside of the shell.

The brown eyes that melt you

the vivacious storm that pulsates with the rhythmn of beat, and walks on small romantic feet

the woman you once labeled more beautiful than sweet

If I could track down the beginning… the day we meet, the first time the words of sincere emotion left full lips

the first time I allowed those large hands to grasp my hips

If I could restore us from that time, I would

Back to the future when our past was not tainted by false revelation

this destination has been met,

this end has already begun.

It began the day you admitted the application you submitted for husband was do to insecurity

The denial of another, being the man

that held my hand

the faces of my past began to appear in the way of my present

when the discernment of my friends

calculated the bankrupt divends of your intentions

The woman I was, loved you then

I was never a prize to win

I was more than the equvocation

of your validation

Now I whimper in pain

and shake in the cold of your eyes

when the answers

don’t match your key

when I continue to fail

the class of your perfection

you have created the person you loathe

with a voice that mimics mine

your self loathing transformed

the contract of our union

the will and testament of a love,

just a sacrifice of a conquered soul

Still with me at your side you don’t feel whole.

Did the torture of my Character, the assasination of my faith

the theft of my belief

Did it fulfill the terms of your agreement for the love of you,

that you could not seem to find.

Did my supply meet your demand?

The shackles of your self motivated promises have been broken and abandoned by the renewed faith in me.

This journey to the core of my existence was difficult with the awkward process of growing

Yet the benefit of that learning to love the flaws in my perfection

was the shield, the armor, the cannons of fire that allows me to once again defeat those who trepass against me

Even those cloaked in love of the wolfs closet.

This sheep is apart of a flock never left unattended, the path back to the kingdom of my worth

Is lit with the love of myself and I am prodigal no more, this marriage of us, did not and will not kill me

I don’t need you to release me

the moment the choice was me

I was free…

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Filed under The World, Written Emotion

Chosen Mayhem

In this life we meet several crossroads and for almost 60 percent of our in awaken states are at pivotal points of transition. I have been in a stagnant point of career transition and in an evolving emotional transition for the past year of my life and am feeling moments of eruptions bubbling at my core. I have dreamed of writing for most of my life and have been told that to do it is to write daily but mostly would never be a dream realized. I have been mostly inspired in times of overwhelming moments of unrequited love. Or I have been entirely inspired in states of a feeling I have identified as love and I have tired of just loving and have yearned to be loved yet now the most inspired moments have been in moments of intellectual and cerebral states of lackadaisical and lonely activities. But most of all for most of my life I have chosen dramatic Mayhem. In days of normalcy as the world has put it, I have been stagnated by the process of living and therefore have used likely moments to earn money. The jobs have been boring mundane versions of sales and customer service jobs that become catalyst to seek out the Mayhem of the unknown, the worldly unpopular and I had let the inner voice to write die within me but then I found love years ago with a she version of male roles and the dramatic mayhem arose from illicit behaviors and my pen began to move inside of my heart, my mind and then my hand. The stories that have come from titled experience is a contaminated puss of life’s infection and it’s gory and a chosen Mayhem that has labeled me a self destructive problem among my family and friends, yet now the dream to never be realized seems real and the emotional growth stunted years ago is in a growth spurt. The marriage of my heart, soul and mind has bore children of faith and confidence. Yet to be a winner among the eyes of the world I must produce something. Late this evening doing what others find as problematic I have began to think of ways to prosper in this world of calm a new type of productive chosen Mayhem free of negative influences, people and love unrequited. A new active force of myself that allows me this normalcy that world desires of me, a forgiveness of those and a unpolluted day to day magnet to what is good. I want to write and I have been doing so in states of emotional tyranny in states of inspired awe and in states of out of mind highs induced by narcotics, be it the wine from a store, the blow from a party, the grass from a freedom thinker, the speed from the forlorn doctor and I love all those different states of me as much as I hate thinking of rent, bills and days without a man who has chosen a woman for sexual sales over my faithful dedication to he and I am wondering will they applaud my “writers” honesty when my pages are printed or will they baffle their own perceptions of what they thought judgments to the point of hating the me that is revealed the girl who enjoyed her chosen Mayhem. The woman who has found a faith in a God so many use as a weapon instead of a common love supplier dealing his forgiveness as willingly as the neighbor dope man deals his dope. Will the world always see the different as crazy and will I be labeled and filed under that category myself.
I am of the crazed creative clan that feels music when it plays like vibrating touches, notes scaling the skin and words permeating the air inhaled like oxygen. I am a watcher of movies who sees the beauty beyond the words but in the depth of the lessons that love is the true currency in this life. The eyes that see the fear in the dialogue lost to monsters for they are products of true hate of the different and unloved. Jason killing for the desire to be taken to trick or treat yet left to the pain of youth, the freddy burned for his childlike innocence to the point of corrupting dreams yet most see just the killing the blood but care not of why? Walking the reality streets of our everyday world as the high rise building house zombies seeking only more green tinted number denoted pieces of paper for status so why is exhibited and never needs to be investigated. Yet the mayhem they have chosen is acceptable in the eyes of this world and still the homes of this fanatical currency chasers still desire what their why can’t create. Love and companionship. Their stereos blast words of bitter, brave, longing, touching, feeling lyrical prose that darkened hearts have bleed, sweat and cried to have heard while they down sweet darkened spirits, inhale green image provoking trees, inhale chemically crowning white clouds, to quiet the pains of those they pass, to dull the leech like fire of loves emotional and mental pulls. Then they croon, write, paint, create versions of emotions that these others cannot explain yet somehow relate to when see, heard, or even tasted as we starve for their comforts, yet smile more days, cry more days, draw from more faith then they. It was a chosen mayhem to walk among the emotionally dying, be lost to the darkness of misunderstood pain and just ask why? Why are you angry? Why don’t you believe? Why not me? Why did you? Why do I? Many laws with I didn’t comply. Many rules left broken. Yet many souls have called to me to just be heard, asking for my way with words to transcend what in me was broken, to be the gateway, their love the token to pay my way to entry into the minds of the zombies who ask me to chose the mayhem that can be noted acceptable, I wasn’t detectable so I rode alone until they asked me to share that sweet brown spirit or inhale they tree, and there is where the story began to seep free…

Find Me In My Written Word

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Filed under Choices