watch your back Eve

Him: did u talk 2 your man yet

Her: we've had some running dialogues

Her: i'm gonna publish them next year

Her: don't be shocked when you purchase the book

Him: what, are we talking about the same thing?

Her: maybe, probably, and a little

Him: lol, you’re crazy

Her: true… the book will tell it all

Her: if more women wrote about their experiences... more dudes would be inclined to do right

Him: not really because the guys that do wrong wouldn't pick up the book

Him: and remember, a guy can only go as far as a woman will let him

Him: when u see something, nip it right then, don't hope for change in time

Her: but why must they try women??? why are men like puppies to be trained?

Her: personally, i’m over being Inspector Gadget and having to do this investigative research

Her: where is the integrity?

Her: be who you say you are and stop all the false advertising

Him: but it’s not all the guy’s fault

Her: why not?

Her: it's not the woman’s fault for believing lies

Him: most of the time women know its bull-crap they are hearing, they just want love too bad so they put up with anything

Her: why do they lie?

Her: women are just believing what they've been told

Her: it goes back to Eve

Him: everyone lies to a certain point

Her: why are men so deceptive to someone they allegedly love

Him: ehhhem…. what about Eve?

Her: deceived... she just believed what she heard. nobody told her, here the garden of paradise... watch your effing back

Him: but it was Adam’s fault, the bible said through one man’s sin, sin enter the world

Him: Adam made a choice to follow her when the man should lead

Her: i don't disagree... i just want to know why did eve have to get lied to... nobody told her she would even have to watch out for that

maybe this is payback

he lies

yet i still want him with intention

like a newborn wants a bottle

or a cook wants a stove

or cop wants his pension

i can’t seem to stop loving this… charade

i‘ve invested so much into this dream of a man i’ve made

i’m addicted i’m afraid

to an evil worshipping warrior/ heartbroken renegade

he counts each call i did not make

each promise to God that i had to break

each night i would not take

him

into my nurturing place

he’d push off my body and leave behind this cold, cold empty image of a face

for me to feel uncomfortable underneath

though he cuddled my breast

back to him, eyes open, feeling his chest,

heart beating, aloud, searching for

rest

sometimes i think i will never get any good

sense,

will

or power-

authority

strong enough to

cast him into his reprieve

you cannot know how i wanted him and cleaved and cleaved

it is me who

will not allow him to leave

me

alone

every new lie he tells is old, but i still believe

foolish- i believe,

i believe

and he cannot conceive

the anguish he’s birthed

the stress i’ve assumed

injected in the womb

i pray i don’t always,

always have to play a fool that is consumed

lie in the room

feeling embarrassed

about my state of

emp-ti-ness

i am always the pair playing with one less

though my companion is right there

who knew i’d love a man that would not,

could not

care

the whole time i am poured out like Shultz from an aluminum can and a brown paper bag

like the mom who can’t recall what she says so she nags and she nags

i’ve suddenly forgotten- i have no clue

i am absolutely at a lost with what i was called to do

more precious than rubies, diamonds and gems

why was i still there,

why was i still lying next to him…

then it hits me, like a high chokes a smoker

slow and easy, smooth and breezy,

i am positive

i have so much love to give

so many days i wanted to cook, clean and sacrifice for someone else to…

live

i have an immense heart that becomes even more immense

when dispens-ing

care

an endless womb that is damaged

and

bare

there…

i said it

i have so much love bubbling over to

share

and i know he lies…

i know he does not change, he does not grow

i know he hurts the love i desire to show

maybe this is payback for the relationships i watched myself blow

but i cannot,

can not

i want to,

but i’ve never

let him go.

What is God Waiting For???!

Mom after mom, sermon after sermon, speech after speech I heard the same thing. “You’re not married, yet? Why? What’s wrong with you? But you are so pretty. You are so smart. You have a good job or you went to school or you are so talented. I just don’t get it. You must be…” strangers comment. People I haven’t known for 20 minutes would begin to analyze and trouble shoot my dating habits. And I would help them. “Well, I started dating late,” I would begin. If they weren’t impressed with that, I would tell them that I didn’t understand men. Or explain how my father died when I was young and my mother didn’t date again. Still no excuse ever seemed to be the right one for them. They never listen to me but always have a response, “Oh, I see. You know what your problem really is...”

And even though I went along with them, joined them and co-signed their hypothesis, I was really left thinking, what do you mean what’s wrong with me? I had my own reasons for not owning the title of wife. Like: It just wasn’t my time. But really, I didn’t know when time it was. I’m not the sentimental, sappy, romantic, plan-a-wedding type. But secretly, secretly, even I want to get married.

Day after day, special event after holiday or work occasion after community festival I would try to tell myself that nothing was wrong with me. I am perfectly the way God wants me to be at this point in my life. But after a few years, I began to question me too. What is wrong with me? Aren’t I pretty? Or maybe I’m not pretty enough. Maybe my arms and my waist are too big and my legs have too much muscle in comparison to the rest of me. Or maybe I’m not that smart? Who am I kidding; I definitely need to work on a few areas. Or maybe I don’t have the right job, education, look, portion of talent? Maybe there is something that’s really wrong with me?!

In my mind, I would try to rationalize my irrational thoughts. I could lose some weight. But my husband should love me for my virtue not my hips, or lack of. But I would continue, who are you fooling, virtuous?!! Please, you’re used goods. Or I would list my accomplishments. As if I have done something so great that I could impress God into my assignment earlier.

No matter what, my internal dialogue was it would always end with, ok, so if I’m not all that, but I’m not that bad, either. So tell me, what the heck is God waiting on? Of course the Maker of All Things knows that I would make a pretty awesome rib to protect a man’s heart. So, why aren’t I married yet? What in the world is God waiting for?

I would read these depressing books about singleness and its satisfaction, but I couldn’t believe them. As far as I knew, I was single and lonely. Single meaning just one; I’m just the o-n-e that sits inside the word, lonely. And this was no ordinary bout with loneliness, it was serious. The kind of lonely that creeps out of your garage at night and sneaks its way into the opening to the attic then crawls around creaking in your ceiling when you are lying in bed with the lights out. Or maybe it’s the type of loneliness that tells you that you are a giraffe standing in a field of rabbits. The feeling is uncomfortable, rejecting, frightening, and familiar all at the same time.

He Completes Me... from the hopeless romantic

I don’t care if you know how addicted I am to loving him
I’m not going to hide this anymore
Like a snag in pantyhose or roach in my kitchen
I want to get soclosesorightnext to him
That I can see what he is feeling
And feel what he is thinking
And think like he is loving
like he is the only thing in my life
And I cannot exists without him
And maybe I cannot
Cannot exists
Because his love
It the only real thing I have to hold on to
To belong to, and what exactly is love
Is it my credit card bills being paid at a lower interest rate
Or traffic yielding to me
Or is it the job everyone wanted- but I was offered
what I would give to feel his presence
inside me- again
Not in the emotional high, butterflies in stomach, love sick
I find myself addicted to, but…
Him truly being pleased and in joy and present with me
But lately we’ve had many one sided dialogues
A few fights- of which I started
With me begging and pleading for what I want
God, I want a new car… and a motorcycle… and a raise at work
And him sighing patiently and still looking lovingly and knowingly
And giving freely… most of the stuff I want
Because he never gives it all-I’ve noticed, at least not at one time
And for a moment
I am still as a rain drop
Happy… pleased… a slice of cold watermelon
In 3 year old fingertips at a summer picnic
Or so it seems… but as quickly as storm clouds form
I am insatiable again
I want more
I crave it, phene it, cough like I can’t breathe without it
So I ask, returning to the position of junkie looking for pimp
This is not the type of relationship I dreamt we would have
Each time foolishly I ask for more of what he has
And forget to request more of him
Which is what I really wanted in the first place
And the longing for him stretches further than the earth is
from the farthest universe
Deeper than the color black is dense
Wider than eye of a toddler in awe
I want more and more and more of him
I don’t want to get to him
I want to him to be come one with me
Me- the hopeless because I can’t stop
Effing it up, romantic
I want the passionate love affair
That reads
NO, she is not she without he
I need him
Like the blood needs the heart and the brain needs the body
He completes me
I am not alive without
All of Him.
And you know,
If God liked loved poems,
this is the type of poem I’d write for Him.

to forget you

i write
when the loneliness is too
loud
when the rain drops are too
soft

when the food loses its taste
when your voice loses its place
in my voicemail messages
from my neighbor and the people at direct tv

i wish i could direct your t- for time
and v for very warm embrace
that i can recall the place
of each muscle and each bone
and i alone
only took the time to memorize your body’s moves,

your body’s clues,
your moody, moody moods
i even adored the stankity, stank
from your attitude
and when your silence was crude
and you ceased to be the man
i thought that i would rather be beaten than leave
to the remnant of you I cleaved…
like even when i knew you were lying
i’d still believe

cause if you withdrew your kisses, i would thieve
them…
tie bright blue lights on them
and take them right down to the 33rd street jail
threaten to snitch your deepest secrets if they tell

hold them hostage like a terrorist…
and this has been the clearest
i’ve even thought... without,
without your hands on the remote control…
without your lap to hold me
without your throw pillows to console me,
without your cologne on my comforter
this is the dearest
clearest
closest
truest
i’ve gotten

to you,
while trying my best
to forget you.

if love was

i was waiting
for so long
that I couldn’t remember
whether i was waiting for
love
or inspiration
or you
to
swim up inside of
my womb implant
on the back wall of the
endometrium
and shake the belly loose
like sunlight dispels darkness
you were my psalmist
my warm blanket on a cold night
good man, woman honoring request
from God
to help me
meet Him
in all the places
that He decided i should be
giving the simple gift of me
learning that what’s priceless is always
free, knowing that real truth you’ll never see
and i must’ve been waiting on love
because you came
and i stayed the same
and if love was really real,
why wouldn’t he find
me, rescue me,
heal me, stay with me,
lay with me… stand in front of God and
pray with me
why wouldn't he?
come quickly
surely, greatly, purely come immediately
why, has not love come
to me?

Free.dom

Round waves of conscience direction
stir me across radical stands
to political plans
gliding on equivocal winds of so.cial policy

is there another word for crime?
you see, in my lifetime I have seen
the unfortunate slaying of beautiful brown skinned humans,
their bodies mutilated and rancid, smelling foul of counterfeit justice
and highly impartial li.ber.ty

yo- I’m looking for a nice way to say
ain’t no body noticed
that we are the only ones with kids
that walk past crack heads and joogs to get to school-
and if they are 11 or older they already
decided that they don’t have to learn how to read to create babies to feed

and can’t no teacher teach if our kids won’t even sit down
social policy in this nation
has caused genocide and economic devastation

Note: We are killing ourselves.

an African man called me judgmental
because I want a clear separation
they passed the laws to limit my children’s education
and my people let them pass without examining proper documentation

we got so many maxed out credit cards in our pocket books
that voter’s registration never stood a chance
one nation under God, indivisible
but only to the glance

like my hair, excuse me- your braids, shades and fades
are unprofessional, please cut your mane, like I took your name

and Shaquanda was just another child whose mother was searching
for authenticity in an epithet
finding only complexity in the fact
that everyone knew before they saw
that Shaquanda was black

and that is precisely what I’m talking about
an entire race of people limited, prohibited, restrained, denied and convicted
labeled a low down dirty criminal, in every town we rebuilt we were evicted

like a bunch of bad kids, they took a race of people and restricted
growth, opportunity, creativity
hey, this may be new to you, but its old information to me

that the revolution is not over
and there’s a struggle to continue
a struggle with no venue
so get your Cristal, X and tree off your menu

and pick up a newspaper, or better yet, write your own newspaper
and tell the world and the nation that we ain’t niggas no more

we ain’t niggas no more

not that we ever were, so won’t somebody tell all my people
yell to my people, raise the heaven, the earth and the jail of my people
for the east side, west side and the dirty south to see

ain’t nothing changed until we act like we’re free.

I am a woman

I am a woman

I was created to love

like winds were created to cool

or melodies to calm or

dreams to inspire

I am a woman

gentle and strong; soft and brave

I refuse to believe that a creature

crafted as carefully as I was meant to be

harmfully obtrusive/abusive or useless

I was, indeed, skillfully made to

need you

be warm, yet a refreshing glass of water in 88 degrees

even my laughter makes sunrays in the breeze

my tears birth kisses and my hugs

set captives free

I cannot contort myself into any shape more divine than me

I am a woman

A stream that’s ever flowing, a book that’s ever knowing,

A light that’s ever glowing, ever loving, ever singing, ever working, ever caring,

ever watching, ever praying,

ever waiting, ever staying

and at the same time, ever feeling and ever going

I am that one that you will leave at birth

and always long for ever knowing,

you’ll forever want more of me

always listen for cautiously

the silence of my voice, the character in my choice

I protect eternity/infinity everything around me

I am a woman

I was placed here purposefully

to love

you

kiss your boo-boo’s

you- who doesn’t need anything,

I was created to complete you.

the monkey

Hurt wakes me up in tears in the middle of the night. She waits on me, picks into my flesh, claws at my sanity after the sun sets. The hurt is my mother leaving me. She left last April, for death; as if it were a horrific appointment she was late for. And ever since then I have been remnants of my former self. I just never manage to get it all together. I’m distracted, I make poor judgments, I speak from the position of victim, each word coming out like it hurt a little more than the one before. I’m grieving, I know. But I’m so broken that I often feel it’s beyond repair.

Maybe I cannot be fixed. This is my confession. I think that God, in his infinite splendor, can or will not (re)member the mangled parts of me that were torn to shreds by this hurt that pulls me out of sleep at night. And I cover it up. I lie about it. I dare not confess to anyone of this pain that I sleep next to, this stranger… will not leave. He is not depression. I know that guy too… hurt is different. He makes words that come out of the throat flow from the vulnerable places in my heart. I absolutely hate him.

I imagine this is my lot. I look successful. Some days I’m so together people envy me, yet I pack the bag for my monkey and he comes along with me… quietly most of the time. He makes me pensive at work, hostile. I can only imagine what a joy I am to work with. Luckily, I’m an equal opportunity kind of gal, so I also carry him with me to church. As the ladies discuss how to be attentive to the members of the body of Christ, the monkey chimes in… be present and attentive at your own house, for your husband... he says you neglect him. I walk away from the coarse comments unscathed. Many of them are laced with so much truth, one cannot manage a response. Their come back decides to stay back and I rebuff more and more people from my restless nights.

Number 4 The Ex Bad Boy

He thinks my body only responds to him. Maybe he knows that it doesn’t, but he likes to convince me that he is the one that God fashioned me to fit. It’s a sweet sentiment but it reeks of his insecurity. It’s almost with the innocence of a middle school romance how we date. My girlfriends are envious of our friendship but he seems to sell me everything I need for a weekend and home and nothing I need for a career, a life, or a future. He sends me text messages on my phone at 7:30 each morning because he desires to be the first person I hear from. Though he is not the captain of the football team type, I must admit, he plays me. He’s smart, he studies my every move. Knows the details of my dreams and then offers them back to me in my own words. I thought I would love it, thought I wanted someone to listen so carefully that he could not lose my words.

He says I’m his first love. I believe part of that. I am the first he loved but we are not in love. We were in… joy. We spent late afternoons on the bed arm wrestling and reminiscing about TV shows in the 80’s. He remembers the theme song to Different Strokes and Facts of Life, you’ve gotta love a man that sings something like that.