Lovefool

Today is the day, today is the day I'll tell her how much I love her

I say this to myself as I muster up the courage to look at her in the eyes and let my words spill out finally, I've waited so long that I am weary by now, weary from the heartbreaking moments of watching another have many more chances with you then I ever could, simply wishing I was closer , closer to you so you can see just how much you mean to me
My smile is bright as I type out the words beforehand like an elaborate novel, I want to double check, triple check and reread through everything, I want to see my confession through her dazzling blue eyes.
those eyes, that pull me in until I am sinking. I wonder what shes thinking
I finally leave her a message, something cute to brighten up her day, maybe she'll get the hint and I won't even need to confess
I imagined that thought so many times, I ran the idea that you might love me too through my mind. what it would be like if she confessed first, maybe she loves me too but she's too shy to admit it. I hope she thinks of me more then only a friend, I want her to love me, Love me like I'm her first love and her last. Like I'm the only one on her mind..the girl she always wanted to find in those fantasy stories of hers, I want to be the person she never knew she needed and the one she'd never let go of
As I wrap up my love letter in red and velvet and feel my heart go crazy in my chest, beating around like a caged bird as I come closer and closer
My tone is friendly and my eyes light up at the chance to see her again today, my palms are sweaty from the nerves, I take in deep breaths and try to relax, today is like any other day I tell myself.

"Hello" she says, a single word again and it doesn't feel like any other day, maybe today isn't a good time, maybe shes busy or tired, yes that's it, shes tired because of work and she might not be in a good mood, definitely not in the mood for a confession, I should wait until shes happier, wait until the perfect moment, I can wait again, I can wait another day. I can be more prepared next time

Today is the day I've waited, the day I've waited yet again
Tomorrow will be the better day.

Self-taught

Self-taught

The rain was cool against my skin. With each pellet came a tiny splash of relief to the heat radiating from my pores. The blood in my veins is scorching hot with resentment, guilt and sorrow. The rain helps to distract me from the sound of other people’s cries, simply closing my eyes isn’t enough. I need some distraction to keep my composure. Real men never cry, no matter the situation. That’s what my father told me, when he said it to me I was twelve years old.

I remember months before that I asked if he would teach me to fight like him but he flat out refused, saying no one had taught him to fight, he learned on his own. My father constantly reminded me of the time he entered a small time boxing match in his hometown when he was just nineteen and won, self-taught. He won six consecutive matches after but quit when my mom got pregnant with me. And so as my Dad put it, he “man’d up” got married; they got jobs and moved to a different town to raise me. Five years later my mother passed away and so my father got a second job, taking on all the duty in raising me.

My father never let a year pass without reminding me of the sacrifice he made to take care of me. Said no one had ever seen a kid fight the way he did especially without a trainer and had he had the chance he probably would’ve been a world champ. Over time I began to secretly watch him practice on the punching bag in his room. It was thrilling to watch, he was incredible. The quickest jabs I’ve seen moved in a blur through the air. He bobbed and weaved as if it were some kind of choreographed dance. His hooks were filled with so much power I was sure he would rip the bag from the ceiling with each blow. When he wasn’t home I started to practice on it myself, mimicking everything my father did. After months of relentless practice, my arms grew stronger and faster. I felt ready, ready to show him.

When he arrived from work one late summer afternoon I somehow mustered up the courage and told him I’d taught myself to fight. One corner of his mouth twisted into a smile and he asked me to show him. Instantly I charged at him, rapidly punching at his stomach. My arms never felt so strong and I just knew he was impressed. I kept going at him, my body was charged with adrenaline, it felt so powerful; lethal even. Then I decided to go for an uppercut, I turned my body sideways leaned forward and felt the strength of my shoulder as it carried my arm up towards the sky.  But suddenly everything in my body went limp as a jolt of staggering pain pounded the left side of my face. In a flash, the blood vessels around my eye felt as if they’d exploded through my skin. My eyeball felt as if it melted in the socket. I hit the floor hard, my flesh was burning, seconds later I exhaled and tears bust out my eyes along with my breath. I shuddered through the pain as I came to realize what happened. My father struck with a most unforgiving blow. That’s when my father said those all too familiar words, “Real men don’t cry". However, in that moment I couldn’t stop myself from crying. I sobbed along to the beat of my throbbing eye. My father walked out of the room leaving me to it and that was the last time I cried.

For nine years my father tested me and time and time again I took the pain like a man, never letting a single tear drop. Until finally one summer, the last summer, my uppercut rang true. Unfortunately, my victory was short lived as the very next day my father put my things outside and said since I thought I was such a man it was time for me to go. I didn’t ask him any questions, I just left. I didn’t know how to live on my own but I knew if I asked my father he’d just tell me, no one taught him. So I left without looking back. It’s been 36 years since then, for 36 years I was real man, on my own. For 36 years I’ve worked hard, I got married and had my own son and made it a point to teach him everything I know in spite of my father.

Only now, well...now,  my fathers coffin is being lowered into the ground and I can’t stand the sight. For 36 years I’ve proved to him I was a man. But for 36 years I’ve never realized how much I missed this man. I look back down at my right hand watching the cool rain hit the back of my knuckles. I stare as the liquid trails down my skin, I stare until my hand becomes blurred. I shut my eyes closed just as I feel hot droplets splash across the backside of my hand.   

How's your dating life?

How's your dating life?

That's why women plaster pics of their body on the gram
With these unnatural waists, tits, hips, and ass
Women that didn't need all this extra tightening and plumping
Until People magazine and them made us feel like nothing compared to the Kardashians, Rihanna, Yonce and all the rest
That need all the money and beauty professionals in the world to look their best
But we often forget

Read More

The Angel in My Heart

"Hold still Angel, keep me close into your heart
and remember me in your mind, the memories should be kind.
I can be your moon
And calm your sea.
You're everything, my entire galaxy.
The stars above shine so bright, they guide me to you in the darkness of the night
Honesty would be the only words that spill from my lips.
Hands on your hips, as I pull you closer into my embrace
Fingertips around your waist,
As we dance in candle light.
I promise to love you, morning to morning and night to night
I'd walk across the sky for you, I'd live a thousand lives for you
I'll give you my love, forever and always"

Dear Black Women

Dear Black Women,

We are sorry,

Sorry for allowing you to be raped with hate, anger and fear with a white man in your ear asking you why I'm here and not there

It wasn't fair, 

We are sorry for the long nights we made you work after you were raped to take the crumbs off the white man's plate to nourish our bodies only for us to spit in your face

We didn't respect you

Sorry for allowing our pride to console our emotions and our rage to put us in convulsions and construct abuse with the misuse of our words going heard not only by you but by our sons and daughters to birthing the next generation of dysfunctional segregation 

We were blind

Blinded by the blood in my eyes, from the whips to my backside I got when I stepped out of line trying to protect you.

Protect you from the psychological abuse the white man used to separate us, brainwashing you to believe that you were me and needed to be the head of our family . . . But you're not a man you see. 

We're so ashamed 

That I've stood by and watched as the clock ticked tocked and 400 years later we are still being degraded and our great grandchildren are no longer debating but formulating rap songs, and our grand daughters are shaking their ass in thongs trying to find the richest white man to get on. 

We're appalled 

We did see this coming

But while I was being beat I did get to sneak a peak at who was whipping me . . . and it was you. See you were inflicting the abuse with the use of your tongue which influenced our young and lead us to the destruction of many generations to come. 

It was and still is their plan

To use your actions to blind me with anger and destroy what's around me which is my home, my friends and my family. Causing me to seem like the ape or over aggressive thing causing the depopulation of our lives you see. Leading to the visual perception of our sons and daughters to act stone cold hearted which leads to fatherless daughters and sons without mothers because they can't love one another. 
We didn't know what to do

So I let you beat me

Afraid that if I fought back I'd push you farther away. And watch that disgusting smirk grow on that white man's face because he knows that he won either way. No check needed he HAS my mate possessing you in every way. 

Dangling you In front of my face, while I sit and stare and wish away knowing that the future won't change in the better way.

So when he set me free . . . I put the shackles back on not because I was ignorant . . . But because without me in the picture in some shape or form our hope would be gone. 

We are sorry.