Tag Archives: loyalty

Mama’s Baby… Daddy’s Maybe Bayyyybbbeee

So Here it is in the land of what ain’t right, try as we might to not hold the grudge to judge. Not snare a nose up to the others in falter of steps. Yet today I will follow my heed and complete the need to speak freely on the heffa population who make it hard for the true love, respect and loyal to the man in her heart female generation.

I try my best to stand with God and hold my head high and forgive those who bruise my spirit, those who have stolen from my light. Yet today my heart is wounded for another, for my from another mother brother.  His heart is breaking and caused a wave and quake to my soul. For a minute I was ready to catch a case. Ready to dock my wholesome change and rearrange my alphabet and teach a lesson old school style. Pulling my hair in to a ponytail, donning the heels and slipping into some running shoes.. Vaseline lining my pecan hue skin. I had a fight on my brain. Her face was wearing my fist and calling it by name. Begging me to release my fury. It wasn’t just for him, but for me as well. So many of us girls are looking for a man who loves us, will hold our hand if we ever have to sit on the edge of mattress love nest, and spill a truth that life grows within, especially if the daddy is not a husband, more just the lover kind. The kind that leave us unsure if his words and his actions will met up in the court of mutual affections. If the man is one day away from saying goodbye and the period that is suppose to conclude the sentence, and identify that this fate was just a date gone awry.

Many woman have been beaten with the expectations of a man’s desire to do the right thing. So many have lost that war the consequence of single motherhood, aborting the decisions of new life with a knife and others have been unselfish and given those children to other homes, yet many children are left in the arms of social workers who usher them to houses of love unwanted.

So you would see the bitter taste of disdain and disgrace as my phone rings to find my favorite guy friend calling to conform what I unfortunately already knew that his ex girlfriend, ex problem had lied about the new born baby he was told was his was indeed not and like that we are experiencing the in real life Maury show’s… You are not the baby daddy finale show and I could feel my heartbeat quicken as I begged of him to not take on this heart ache this deliberate heart break and lose faith in the us kind, the female kind, the gaping female intrusion interlaced fascination.  While I heaved and wanted to penetrate her understanding with slanderous words and murderous verbal slayings he just says, what can I do, and what would hurting her do with words of malice and hate. I thin cried silent tears for my old friend. A young man adult and fine, my best friend… a man who had picked me up on low days with words of support and love, the friend that my old bestie loved more than anything else back in our high school days. IN the midst of the anger and pain I felt, the hue of hate that lingered for this woman, I felt pride and admiration. My best friend had become a man wonder, a super hero, a model type pristine type fella for whom I would take bullets, for whom I would vindicate. My pulse quickens with the thought that some beautiful soul will miss her soul mate because one woman was selfish, unkind, unjust and just plain wrong, so i play him a song of love and a prayer of faith. Don’t leave love at the front door I beg to God for him, because a man like him deserves a woman wonder, a woman better than me, but who loves him with that same intensity who would not allow pain to reach his heart. For love is truly a lost art.

So this is for the mama’s with babies whom daddy is still just a thought of maybe he or maybe him. Be kinder to your body and be kinder to your soul. Most of all remember you just upped the ante, a dealt another card of life to the Poker table and your importance has become less. If you cared  a little more for you, and less for what… maybe a nut… you wouldn’t need to be victim or hero, demon or saint.  Even if you have to do it alone, make the least desirable of places  a home, even when it seems like tho you laid in a bed not by yourself but might have to raise the baby alone, that the baby, the child, that new life that beats is the one that will be casualty of the ware you rage…. So not just to the baby mamas who have lied to a man but the ones where it started off all love like narcotic style vibrations and invitations, ore even the accidental night of heat.. these men who actually do what’s right with all they have, and all their might… be kind to them, be honest and be true… Cuz I am not so forgiving to you… for you are a reflection of women kind and I don’t do mine like that. I want to love a man, be his ride or die chick, and if I am the one that he ends up with, I am snapping the whip and no child be used as a pawn… and you don’t one like me around… because if it’s to see my man… it won’t be, no the only face you will see is mine, and don’t be mad if your child is wondering where I am instead of you. For in truth, here the child is the first place and never a competition, there is no superstition with this… To God I give my truth… and I am not lying I hate this type of shit.

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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

Truth in the Untruth

They call it spit

when a poet, hits the mike giving the gift of their spirit

I call that truth

they call it truth

when they use the proganda of experiece to to influence the youth

of our thoughts and belief

the mind accustomed to the grief

of lacking honesty in the communication of the “NEWS”

so lost in the blues

of money lacking, domain hacking

and subtracting our part in the history we create

Let us contemplate

the different hues of our industrial money making systems

and the role we play

in the delay of better living

the misgiving

that “we  are not the powers that be”

that shit don’t have nothing to do with me

I did not shoot the gun that killed those innocent women, men and children

to whom we have conquered in the pursuit of the resoucres

if not you, then who are the sources

of this human pain

what reign

of terror is to pay

the fines of life?

The wife?

Thousand of women who lose their men to fight the wars

that we endure

on the soil of their physicality

the guilt of our mentality

At least mine

My mind see’s with the eye  of my heart

and  the souls lost to greed superceed

the  “NEWS” called truth they tell to me

the untruth lives in the youth of so many of our thoughts

slavery was not reserved for the colored past, it last

now it’s an enslavement of mind

all the things that we forget are real

The deal, the deals made in the back rooms of justice

brothers killing brothers, mothers lost to demented intentions

minds sacrificing love, the untruth in the truth

that c hildren are their human extentions

added on to their fate,

after they breathe the first air of life, it’s to late

to save them….from this  battleground, earth we call living

the terrorist  we call Media, help to dull your active consciousness

The viewers of their demolition the average American continues

to ignore

The acts of terror, the war we live right at home, we willingly submit to

their hypnosis

I aked before

What side to you represent?

Who do you answer to?

What are these soldiers fighting for?

what truth do you promote?

What will be  left in the sleeve of your book? What note?

Have you stopped to take a look?

At the reflection that looks so much like you

I am American

many are so proud to yell

yet the hearts, respect and understanding of foreign tongues, repel

Snare noses in disgust

Instead of embracing the truth in the untruth

that they haters, maybe they are emancipators

Maybe the truth is that look in their eyes

Hoping to free you with there glances of disgust

Disquising the pity they feel

not not hate,

the truth is real

that we have the power of love, which has the power to heal

We are the doimoineering hands of catastrophe

A bully

that agregious, infectious conqueror

Being a bully is the rust that conjures and deposits it’s ugly on that shine

that once represented beauty

on that cent called penny

that shone love when collected and created many

those pennies of love, of beauty don’t exist when

they are stolen by  hands of tyranny

The infantry the followers of cowardice

the digust worn by the forlorn, born of the bitter

after taste of the dinner served by the executioner

we americans travel to their side to possess the experience of their

towers of eiffel, their beaches of black sand, their epic wonders identified

by books in stores, the creations of their influence that dress the manniquens on

show floors.

Mentally we have subtracted our minds from the crimes

of our heichary, yet we ridicule the monarchary

when at least the choices are made, set and confirmed their in that home of royalty

the loyalty

displayed to the people in which they rule

are not just rules set and enforced

their is no divorce of leader and people

no document read in city hall

Leaving the conjuctions to blacked out statements leveled “Classified”

Right in your face

they are marking you infintile. yelling outloud “KNOW YOUR PLACE”

The fight is not about the tent of your skin, the difference in the culture… it has nothing to do with race

When will you educate your mind, through the eyes of of your heart,

leave behind the infantry of “it don’t effect me”

What truth do you promote? Are you fine being fed the untruth when the truth is there

for you to engage and spread, be a leader, don’t be led

evacuate your mind of impressioned thought

Shake free of the hypnosis of the news

instead of singing, living, and engaging these blues

that with each view, is stealing the individual in you

Be the truth in the untruth of the land in which we reside

show those ignorant to the American way

That the way of that reflection you call American is walking the path of true freedom

The freedom to love, the freedom to fight for what is truth in the youth of their perception

Allow your intention to be the active movement for change… by making the label of American

Live up to the address back in Gettysburg that states that each man be treated equally

those men are not just the ones born of this continent , man is the kind

we all can check on the application of life

Freedom would include the truth in the truth, not the truth in the untruth

Not the moderated, edited version of the NEWS

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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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