A Break

In a world of storms is this the calm before or after
Pause or break
Beginning or end
When your soundtrack is thunder and lightning, silence is the shock
Sanctuary razorthin between sanity and insanity
It’s a fine line to walk
When you’re used to feeling everything all the time
The winds, the rains, the hail
Being tossed here and there
Pretty soon you stop feeling things
And feeling nothing starts to feel like feeling something

The absence of pain starts to feel like happiness
Or as close as you can get
The eye of the storm is your heaven
When you live in hell any slight repose is a miracle
Anything to not be battered and bruised for a moment
Breaks can last moments, or days, or weeks.
Or one afternoon.
One afternoon with the sun shining on your face
And the wind whispering in your ear instead of wailing
And then you feel the beginnings of a smile
The beginnings of clarity. Of serenity
Before the winds pick back up

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Tiptoe around the edges (of love)

You were holding me like I was a life raft and you were adrift at sea
And I was holding you like you were a lifeline and I was climbing up a cliff
You were afraid of drowning
And I was afraid of falling

Holding each other tightly, so old wounds wouldn’t open
Where do my scars end and yours begin
A tapestry of love lost, love attempted, nothing gained
But pain and bad memories
A map of where we’ve been

Where are we going?
Are you as afraid as I am to got there?
One foot poised in the air, scared to make the first step
Fear of love. Inescapable, inconsistent, inconsolable. Love
Not spiders. Not heights. Not snakes or cramped spaces
Scared of love. Falling in. Falling out.

How did we get this way?
Who hurt us?
Who didn’t.
I wish we wanted this more than we were scared to want it.
Can we just enjoy this? Enjoy this moment?
The moment before the sunrises, before reality, doubt, and the past come rushing in like demons in the night.
The two seconds of relaxed anticipation before we are crippled by fear and anxiety.
Maybe I won’t hurt you. Maybe you won’t hurt me.
(Don’t hurt me ok?)

To Those Who Would Play the Victim

To those who would play the victim

Oh little actor
Yes you with the quivering bottom lip
And the flair for the dramatics
You who play the victim on the stage of life
For you do play it well
You are indeed a character
Such an actor to be able to step in and out of your role
You can throw off your costume
You can close your curtains and the drama is over
Final act. Exeunt.

I find it interesting that you have chosen to play a role
That many would love to be overlooked for

Oh great director I have been miscast
See I did not know I had the option to play a victim
Instead of always being one
Take these struggles and give them to this little actor
The one with the grass is greener complex
Or is it a need for attention?
A cry for help?
Actor you perform so well I cannot tell what is real about you

But I know what is real about life
I know there are those who starve
Those who cry (and not for attention)
Those who bleed
Those who die
Victims whose roles are permanent
Or at least feel like it
Victims with no curtain call
No stage
No audience to listen
No sympathetic ear
Victims who plead “No encore!”
Let this end
Let this end

So play on little actor
I hope play acting is the most you have to do
Because you may not be able to handle being
A victim
In the real world
Where the costumes don’t come off

Fin.

My Love Is Too Intricate

My Love Is Too Intricate

My love

It’s intricate
Multifaceted
A crystal sculpture
Shining and dazzling
Sparkling and pure

My love

It amazes
It’s awe-inspiring
Stare at it in wonder
Delicately pick it up
Examine it in the light
Admire its details

My love

Put it on a mantle
Treasure it
Respect its value
Know its worth
And please
Dear one, please
Don’t break it

A mother is/ A mother is not

A mother is/A mother is not
A mother is unique amongst humans
But she is still only human
She is not perfect
But she thinks you are
A mother is a hero
She should always be your hero
But she is not your savior

People seem to forget everything their mother did for them
The second she stops doing it
This is the person who carried you for nine months
For nine months she let you live in her body
She changed what she ate because she wanted YOU to be healthy
She chose to keep you

A mother is supposed to love
To love you unconditionally
Not to like you unconditionally
Because you are not always likeable
You have tempers, moods, outbursts
And so does she
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree
But don’t forget you are just an apple
And she is the tree
Without her where would you be?

A mother is supposed to pick you up when you fall
But not always
How else are you going to learn to get up on your own?
Arms grow tired from always having to carry the same burden
You have legs. Legs that she let grow inside of her.
Legs that she felt kick.
Legs that were ashy so she lotioned them
Legs that were bruised and scraped so she bandaged them
Stand up on those two legs that she gave you

A mother has to worry for 2 people (3,4,5,6)
Herself. Her child(ren). Her man(child) if she has one
She has to worry about whether you are eating
And remind herself to eat
She has to worry whether you are healthy
And remember to take care of herself
She has to worry if that one time she forgot to hug you
Will be the one time you remember forever
She has to worry if she prepared you for the world
Are you prepared?

A mother is a healer
She kept you alive
Think about that
She kept you ALIVE
Every cough that she poured medicine on
Every mucus filled chest that she rubbed
Every drop of vomit that she wiped up
Every fever that she cooled
She kept you alive

It may be your life
But she owns equal shares
She is your top investor
And all she wants is for her investment to make good
She wants you to profit
She wants you to grow

So she can let you go
And watch you grow on your own
Without her
And be glad that she did it
She made another apple tree

But it is up to YOU what kind of fruit you bear
The apple tree is for the apples
She is not responsible once your seeds take root

So grow apple tree.
GROW UP apple tree.
And be glad that you fell from a tree that gave you a chance
To be your own.

Curved

I listen to men
From my friends to my brothers
From my bruthas to my fathers
I listen to men
And I hear the things they say
I hear them talk about women and it makes me smile
And it makes me cry
I hear them admire the swing of hips
The curve of lips
The lilting voices
And the high pitched screams
The gentle croons
And the throaty moans
I hear them place stars in eyes
And the moon in hands
I hear them praise the curves
Worship the roundness
Embrace the softness
And speak of melting into the warmness
I hear them speak of watching the walks
The struts
The sways
They speak about legs for days
And behinds
From the bubble to the high and round
The wide and the dimpled
The soft and the firm
I hear them whistle
I hear them sing
They write songs about beautiful, curvy women
Long after she has walked away she is the topic of discussion
They would drink your bath water
They would be your slave
They bow down before you
They’d pay for your gaze
I hear the admiration
And the lust
The love
And the fierce desire
And it makes me smile for my beautiful, luscious, loving, loved sisters
But then I look down at my willowy frame and I frown and I’m sad
Because I listen to men
And the things I hear them say
Do not pertain
To me…

Respectfully Yours

Respectfully Yours

There’s a line there
You see the line
You acknowledge the line
You respect the line
You don’t take it as a challenge
You don’t take it as an insult
You don’t view it as an arbitrary boundary
You know it is not a border to be crossed into a land to be conquered
You have high esteem for my line
But oh do you walk as closely to it as you can
You go beyond just toeing the line
You finger it
You caress it
You kiss it
You taunt it
You tease it
You are having a love affair with my line
You have no wish to move it
Or to erase it
You love my line
Because it is a part of me
A part that you feel an innate responsibility to show affection to
You’re so affectionate to my line
You kiss it
You massage it
My line is carefully tended
The adoration you show my line…
Lets me know that one day there will be no need of it

__________________________________________________

Children are empty vessels

My mother loves to nag us. “Y’all are selfish” “No one likes to help me” “You’re so unfriendly” “You’re so stingy” “Y’all are so mean”
I used to just pretend I didn’t hear her, or roll my eyes, or comment with a sassy “Yea,yea.” However now that I am an adult with a child of my own I have a different reply: You raised us. Occasionally this ends her tirade, but usually she will blame our nature, our father, or just us for whatever character flaw that she’s ranting about that day. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my mother. She was/is a good mother. She cares about us. She loves us. She would do anything she could for us. Yet, she is/was not perfect. She damaged us. All parents damage their children in one form or another. I think I read a quote once that said the goal is to keep the damage to a minimum. Now in my mother’s case, she tried her hardest to be SuperMom. She was a single parent for most of our childhood and she worked to fill the gaps of both mother and father. She worked all day, she cooked and cleaned all night. She spoiled us, trying to do everything for us. She was unselfish, totally. Thus the result is a bunch of self-centered brats, who think that things are supposed to be done for them. Sorry Mom.

My point is we have to be careful, how we raise our children. My goal as a parent is to make sure I don’t forget to make sure my child turns into a decent human being, while also making sure he has everything he could ever need or want. I try to be more involved than my mother was. I try more nurturing, than the “hard knocks” approach. Why learn that fire is hot by getting burned when mommy can just teach you? Why fuss and yell at your child when you can talk to them and listen to what they have to say? This is not a criticism of my own mother. We all turned out to be fairly decent, though a tad overly self-absorbed people. However I don’t think parents realize just how much children absorb. We turn them into who they become. Good and evil. Children are a direct result of what you put into them. Every time I witness a child exhibiting less than desirable behavior, I wonder what the root of it is, and I question whether I might casually pass on bad habits to my own child. Having a child is like having a living, breathing mirror that  shows you what kind of person you are. If your child starts swearing, you realize you swear too much. If your child starts sassing, you realize you may have let your sarcasm get out of hand. If your child is rude to others, you realize you might not be as friendly as you think you are. Parents must be careful what they put into their children.

A recent example of witnessing a child’s behavior that scared me as a parent:

I was playing outside with my 2-year-old son, walking around our cul-de-sac neighborhood while throwing his football back and forth. He accidentally threw the ball into a neighbor’s yard. The neighbors, who we do not know, had just pulled into their driveway. Their (I’m assuming) 6-year-old looking son retrieved the ball and threw it at my son. The ball hit my son on the leg. It’s a foam ball, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. However what bothered me was the child’s reply. “You should’ve caught it,” was his immediate response. A 6-year-old child. Who already knows how to displace blame. That’s very worrisome for me as a parent. I make it my goal to teach my son accountability for his actions. Accident or not, I teach my son to apologize if he thinks he may have hurt someone, whether physically or emotionally. Yet here was this audacious child who was attempting to make my child feel bad for being hit. Now I know some of you may think I’m overreacting. I am not. Because this 6-year-old did not utter these words innocently. He sneered. There was contempt in his voice. That scares me about the type of adult he could grow into. We will not be playing near their house again.
Now not to turn a molehill into a mountain, but I am a huge advocate for rearing your children to be decent human beings. Parents are responsible for everything that goes into a child. Children are empty vessels. Bad people do not just sprout out of the earth. They are made. They are damaged. They are taught. Be careful what messages you put into your children. Because a 6-year-old who says “you should’ve caught it” to a person he hits with a ball, can grow up to be a cop who thinks you should have put your cigarette out. #message #SandraBland

I am EVERYTHING

So you texted me?

Am I supposed to be ecstatic?

So you’re thinking about me?

“Forgive me for not leaping for joy; bad back, you know.”

It is ironic that I quote Scar.

As if I am the villain in this scenario.

I find it hilarious that you think we are in a universe in which you are the sun,

And I revolve around you.

That I should consider myself lucky that you bless me with your shine.

This may shock your sensibilities,

But I exist outside of the moments that I happen to cross your mind.

This is MY universe. I am the sun, planets, moons, and stars.

I AM EVERYTHING.

You are only in my universe by invitation

And you are slowly starting to wear out your welcome.

And when you are no longer here, I won’t even have a scar to remind me that you existed.

You leave no mark. You are inconsequential. Insubstantial.

Because I am EVERYTHING.

You are not in your universe.

You are in MINE.

Remember that.

Am I She? Is She Me?

Am I She? Is She Me?

She loves men.
She loves the way they smell.
She loves the way they feel.
She likes to slide her hands over their chiseled chests.
Touch their sculpted arms.
Entwine her legs around theirs.
Lie on their strong backs.
I don’t even thinks she thinks of them as people.
They are hard bodies to lay next to.
They are late night trysts.
They are moments of ecstasy.
She remembers their names the way you remember your favorite brand of ice cream.
And with as little emotion.
She does not love.
What is love? Who has time for love?
Love takes time. A long time.
An orgasm takes a few minutes.
Is She really me?
Is She some defense mechanism that I can’t turn off?
My response to the callousness of men?
Instead of being beaten, joining?
Joining in the casualness.
Because sex is just physical.
I still get to keep all of me.
No pieces given away.
Just sex as sex.
Because it’s the style right?
It’s what men want?
No strings? No feelings? No love?
And that’s what She wants.
That’s what She says She wants.
Is that what I want?
Sometimes.
But sometimes I just want someone to spend the night…