Posts from the ‘The Storms of Life Will Blow’ Category

I Know Why Too


I always want to call someone when I’ve been drinking. And I don’t even drink like I used to. Tonight I’ve had 3 glasses of Grand Marnier (80 proof) straight. I like Grand Marnier, but I didn’t drink it tonight to write. I drank it tonight because the Shock Top had sediment in it and I wasn’t down for the “beer pulp”. Barf! Tonight I wanted to call my grandmother. I’m lying on the couch, watching the Maya Angelou documentary on Netflix and I wanted to call her. There is a point in the movie where they show a clip of Ms. Angelou on a talk show (not Oprah) answering questions and a young black girl says “I just wanted to ask Maya…”. Whatever her actual question was doesn’t matter. What matters is that Ms. Maya Angelou said, “I’m Ms. Angelou to you”. She went on to say, “I’m 62 years old and Im your mother, auntie, grandmother, and so much more.” The girl understood and remained silent. She realized she was wrong. She realized she’d overstepped by calling this woman by her first name. It made me think of Grammy. I think of her often (though I’d never tell 😉) and I miss my Grammy. I miss her like the sun misses the darkness. I miss her like the ocean misses crashing into land. I miss her like the grandson she raised (but never really cultivated) misses his grandmother who told him that he was her most favorite child, but got shunned after he told her he was gay. I long for her. I long for the love she showed me when she tried understand me. I don’t feel that from her anymore. I don’t talk to her anymore either. She won’t call and neither will I. I miss her because she loved me once. But it was too late. It was too late because she chose to love and protect her son more than she loved the grandson she chose to bring into her home to raise. It was too late because the abuse had already happened. It was also too late because she still won’t own that it did happen and she was complicit. But I love her. I hate that I do sometimes, but even the defiant, grief-stricken, bold man that I am today, loves her. And I weep for her. She isn’t strong enough to own her mistakes, but I think one day soon I’ll be strong enough to forgive her. But me forgiving her is NOT to give me peace. It’s to simply let her know that I see the woman that she is. I see how her plight in this life forces her will to be steadfast even when she knows she’s wrong. I see her. I’m the caged bird that never SUNG his truths. She’s now the reason why I do. Her apathy is the reason why I’m so emboldened to tell OUR truths. It’s clear now that weak people can build strong ones. I learned how to speak up for myself because no one ever did. I learned that from her. I hope in her next life that she’s stronger. I hope in my next life I am too.

In Our Name


I binge watched “Seven Seconds” on Netflix yesterday. Didn’t get to bed until almost 6 a.m. It really broke me down. So many of you have no idea what little black gay boys in your families and communities go through just to be free. And I’m just so tired of white people and their brainwashed, ignorant, self serving black counterparts get to put us into a box and decide how much that box is worth. So many gay black boys have been forced to hide in plain sight. I never could. That’s why they started beating me early. Like Antwon Fisher said, “Who will cry for the little boy”? The boy inside of me and so many other black gay men never saw a tear shed in his name. Stolen childhoods, broken dreams, dreams deferred, stunted growth, and shattered hearts that we were forced to both endure and overcome never let us see or hear or feel a tear shed in our names. We are simply left with the brokenness that the world created for us. We are left with the aftermath of your hatred and disdain that was ignited in you simply because of what was created in us. For me, without justice, there can be no forgiveness. All of you people who exist in this world hell bent on hating people because of what God himself created in us deserve nothing more than the swift hand of justice and it’s fiery aftermath. And you deserve it mostly because you are too much of a coward to simply “say what you did”. Well, I know what you did and I hope you die screaming. And I’ll be sure to ignore your cries for help just like so many of you did me.

Safe


When I was a child, more than anything I just wanted to feel safe. I’m an adult now and that’s still what I want more than anything else.

Look at God (and Adderall)


I popped an Adderall (I have a prescription) tonight because I was completely flustered and my mind just wouldn’t be still. I have tons of work to do if I’m gonna find an agent and kick my acting career into full throttle. But just as my mind started to slow down, I began to listen closer to the music playing from my “Heartbreak” playlist on iTunes, and I started to remember where the lyrics took me last. I thought about where I was a couple of years ago and the inception of this playlist. Then I had a fleeting thought about a friend who lived nearby and typed her name into my phone to call her. Her name didn’t come up, but another name that I didn’t recognize did. I touched that name and it opened up a document where I’d typed the name in some note on my phone two years ago. The name that came up is very insignificant so we’ll skip that part. The other notes that came up were notes that I thought I’d lost forever after my purchase of the iPhone 7 back in September. Apparently these notes had been saved in some other format and in some other file and were not readily acccessible like most of the newer notes I now have in my phone. Nonetheless, I’m elated that I found them. Words I’d written while and about going through my recent breakup (the first time), words I’d written about my mother, words I’d written about my hopes and dreams and goals and setbacks, and words I’d written about nothing were all staring back at me now. The latter is what intrigued me the most though, because now those words mean something to me. I can now reflect upon the person that I was two years ago, my state of mind and the state of my heart back then. I’m not that guy anymore though. Not because my character has changed or even my ideals. But I’m no longer that guy because my environment has. The climate of my life has drastically changed and I knew back then I needed it to change.

Then a song by Mint Condition came on. “Unsung”. I love that song. I remembered for a moment that when I first heard the song a few years back it put my mind on my grandmother. Man oh man how I love that woman. If she wasn’t almost a thousand I’d call her up right now so we could talk about what’s on my mind. She’d love to hear it. She’s a good listener that way. Plus I think I intrigue her. I make her think about things in ways she’s never considered before, and she lets me know that. I like being wise for her because she’s always been wise for me. Okay okay, back to this song though. Then I started to think “damn, I hope that if the world never gets to know how great I am that someone will tell my story.” Maybe Mosiah and Myava could get together and write a dope screenplay about my life and all of its tumult. But then I thought, wait, “I’m gonna let the world know how great I am on my own.” That’s why God put me here; To be great. And I’ve got plenty of life left to live. So then I started to sing the song out loud… No one ever wrote the story of your life. And no you never won awards for all your sacrifice. Unselfishly you changed the world within us all. One by one. You were a hero, UNSUNG. Sheesh!!! It’s deep, right? Right! I immediately began to think of my mother, so then I started the song over. When I heard You make our world a much better place… So courageously you stayed when others turned away“, then another part went like Putting your own welfare aside, you took the risk and put it all on the line. You saw the lead, and there you were. Still you never asked for anything back in return. Mannnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!! That shit right there! It rocked me. And its not like I haven’t heard this song many times. It was just this time, I was like “Look at God”! I need to tell my mother’s story. She gave her life so that my sister and I could live ours. I think I owe it to her to do just that and to tell the story of her very short 31 years on this earth.

Then I remembered, I had already begun to write her story down. I started writing my mother’s story a couple of years ago while up during the wee hours of the morning at work patrolling the mean streets of the Third District in uptown Washington, D.C. And the words I had written almost two years ago, tonight, have been found.

Even If


Even if the rain never stops and the clouds don’t clear and the sun never shines again

Even if the music never plays

I’ll still love you always.

Even if time ceases to exist and there’s never again a space for our love

Even if we never again own the night

I’ll still never forget your heart.

Even if the moon never glows on the dark nights again and the gloom never fades

Even if the road stops going

I’ll still drive on through the darkness.

Even if the days never turn into weeks and months and years

Even if the tears never purge the pain

I’ll still never ignore what they taught me.

Even if the fears and wrongs can never turn into faith and dedication

Even if the love is plagued with condition

I’ll still never lose hope.

Even if the heavens stop abiding and the earth spins off its axis

Even if we can’t go on

I’ll still never lose sight of true love.

Even if we’re hurt and confused and can’t fathom finding our way again

Even if the light stops shining

I’ll still find it.

Even if we never find love again we own our own happiness and we own our plight

Even if it’s the end

I’ll always know this love.

At this moment, in this space, on the day my heart has changed

and my reason to love once more is because now

I know that love will always find a way to begin again.

Respecting The Process


I’ve never been in love like this. I knew I was capable. I knew it could happen. I just didn’t know that it would be with you. I guess one never knows. What I do know is that I’ve opened my once hardened heart in an effort to get you to understand all of me. I’m damaged goods, but goods nonetheless, and I’m a good man. I love God and thank him for placing you here in my life at this time. I needed to experience a love that could capture my soul. This love has done just that. It has lifted me up, torn me down, made me cry, made me feel, and now it’s making me understand the process. I’ve said this many times before… Life teaches us lessons sometimes and sometimes it has to reteach lessons we’ve already learned or ought to have learned. Maybe it’s because I haven’t loved or been in love for so long that I needed this struggle. I need this crucible to help me see what I’m made of and who I’ve become thus far. And maybe you had no idea that you’d be loving a guy like me either. Maybe you had no idea you’d ever fall for a man like me. Maybe you had no idea that we’d be here in this moment at this time loving and learning lessons we’ve never learned or ones that we had forgotten. But I love you for loving me first. I cherish your love, admiration, and adoration for me. I needed it right at a time when I had no direction. I needed it to shake me up and flip me over and force me to realize that I can’t and don’t want to live without love. And now, this love, your love, God’s love is teaching me (yet again) to be patient and to respect the process. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and my expectation of simplicity in a complicated situation is unrealistic and unfair. But understand this, I get it now. I can now fathom true love without condition. I can fathom having a love and relationship and future with someone who continues to prove their unrelenting dedication to me, to love, and to what we have begun build. So now, I’m gonna respect the process; Our process. We don’t operate the same way or think alike or even grasp the same concepts at the same time, but that’s all apart of the process. So each day, each week, each month that passes by I promise that I will make every effort to continue to realize, understand, heed, and respect the process.

Their History Of Violence, NOT OURS! 


LOOK!!! I’m sick of BLACK people hating on #Blacklivesmatter. If you don’t agree with the movement, don’t fucking support it. But know this, it’s not just about blacks vs. the police. It’s about blacks vs. a system that was designed to make them fail. It’s about the fact that the black community has been raped, pillaged, and discriminated against for almost 500 years AND THE SHIT IS STILL HAPPENING! The successful (or seemingly successful) black folks have the luxury of condemning others because they think “they made it”! You’re fucking fools!! Most of you idiots can’t see the forest for the trees. You think that if you’re silent and don’t offend your non-black counterparts (particularly the white ones) that you’ll be able to move through this world more easily. Fuck that and FUCK YOU cowards! Yes, black folks commit violent crimes against each other, but at the same rate as their white, Hispanic, Asian, and “other” counterparts. Check the statistics! There can be NO SUCH THING as “black on black crime” without first acknowledging that crimes are more likely to occur within ones own community and “White on White crime” statistically exists at the same level, but they own the fucking media! Rupert Murdoch just bought National Geographic; another fucking media company! Who noticed that? So rather than bring your own people down, which has already been done through slavery, housing discrimination (which in my opinion is just as bad), and discrimination through the media, learn what the fuck you’re talking about! WE ARE NOT CRIMINALS! We’re just a people at our wits end! And even when we try to come up, we’re just manipulated by others to bring our own community back down. It’s not the police that the followers of #blacklivesmatter hate, it’s the fucking system that creates the laws that give police officers the authority, autonomy, resources, and discretion to violate the rights of those they sometimes arbitrarily dislike, disagree with, or don’t understand. And that’s fucked up! I’m not a supporter of the #blacklivesmatter movement because I don’t agree with and/or completely understand its structure and organization, but I see the necessity in it, even if it’s a necessary evil. There is NO group of people in this country that has less of a right to talk to black people about civility than white folks. They beat us, rape us, worked our fingers to the bone, belittled us, taught us false doctrines, manipulated us, failed to educate us, and now they want to pacify us while they use different means to do it all over again. Blacks folks do fucked up shit, and we do it to each other, but the same goes for all races, but no race (including our own) has ever done more fucked up shit to black folks than white folks. So keep that in mind the next time you wanna say how violent blacks are or how destructive we can be or how we need to do better for ourselves because there ain’t a single black person on this feed who hasn’t reaped the negative repercussions of the violence bestowed upon our ancestors by whites in America. That history of violence ALL belongs to them.

#Thisjob #Thislife


The fact that sometimes I just can’t get it together pisses me off. I mean, I know I’m source of inspiration for so many people, but lately I just can’t seem to find my own. #Thisjob and #Thislife seem to have taken my mind by storm. My judgement is clouded. I feel trapped. I forget everything ALL the time and most of the time I can’t even see the forest for the trees. I started writing this blog back in 2010. I posted lots of things I had written over the years and started writing new things too. I found it refreshing and it was an outlet to sit down and pen my thoughts, my feelings, my hopes and dreams, my then. Having the type of career I have, you don’t just go airing your laundry, dirty or clean. I wanted to honor the only portion of the “Code of Ethics” from my police academy days that I can remember. “I will keep my private life unsullied as an example to all.” And I remember feeling that part. Like deeply. I remember feeling like I knew that I could honor that. I remember knowing that I had no ill will and that I wanted to always find a way to show those with less than me that they could be more. I believed in that. I still do. I honor that feeling. I treat people with the respect their character and attitude warrant. I don’t violate anyone’s rights. I don’t lie on people or abuse them or take advantage or steal. I treat every citizen that I encounter fairly and justly. But my private life, it’s definitely not unsullied. It is not pure or clean or without foul or indecency. And honestly, neither is my professional life. You see, in order to do what I do well, you must stoop to a level that everyone understands. You must break down to its most basic form your ability to communicate, to reason, to operate. And you must do it to survive. In order to survive #thisjob and #thislife you must strip yourself of your sense of pride. You must denounce the notion that you alone can change the hearts and minds of your community, coworkers, and supervisors into hearts and minds that equally respect each other. You must decide what side you’re on even when neither side is right and neither side respects you. You must rid yourself of the idea that you might get to have a normal life spent with family and friends on holidays and special occasions. You mustn’t get sick or injured or take “too much” of YOUR leave. You must learn EVERY administrative rule and regulation and be able to recite as directed And you must do all of this while being moral, decent, and legal.

Maybe my life is sullied because I chose to try to believe in an organization that isn’t always moral, decent, or legal. It does not protect, or adequately and commensurately provide for its members. It does not cultivate or inspire, and it does not respect the people in its charge. And it breaks my heart to have given 8 years of my life to an agency that does not provide what it requires. My heart isn’t broken because I feel regret. My heart is broken because even though I know I’m not appreciated a part of me stills has hope that change is on the horizon. I hope that magically one day a new dawn and new regime will whip into shape what has long been broken and tattered. There was a time I thought I could be a part of that regime. There was a time where I wanted to be a part of the change because I knew I could manifest that change. Well, that time has come and gone. And because this organization doesn’t provide what it requires I can no longer risk life and limb and livelihood for a dream that was never really mine. I’ve had a number of ideas over the years of what I wanted for my life and career. I wanted to be a singer, and a lawyer, and an actor, and a writer, and at one point I even wanted to be Mayor, and while I did also want to be a police officer especially given the field’s rich history in my family, I never wanted to do it for my forever. As admirable a profession as it may be, I knew that I wanted more. The same more that I intended to show the less fortunate was possible. I still want more. I want to not have my voice silenced by policy or inferiority in rank. I want to defend what is right and good and fair. I want my life unsullied, but not because I’m obligated. I want to travel the world telling my story and hearing other people’s too. But here I am using crutches to walk, and nursing a concussion all from doing my job morally, decently, and legally, and not one supervisor, immediate or secondary has called to see if I’m okay. Not one has sent a card or email other than to require me to do more things outside of what is moral, decent, and even legal. And I’m not okay. I’m in pain, I’m frustrated, and I’m tired. I learned a long time ago, you don’t owe nobody more than you owe yourself. I’m realizing that again. #Thisjob #Thislife

Sometimes


Sometimes I just wish someone would feel sorry enough for me to love me back. That’s fucked up… Right?

I Can’t Change


Even if I tried. Even if i wanted to. I think often about how I’ve managed to get to this very moment in life and time. I think about the decisions I’ve made, the people I’ve played, the lies I’ve told, and all of the truth’s that made me. Some truth’s I’ve never told. Maybe there are some tales I’ll never tell. But whether or not anyone ever gets to know every detail of what’s shaped me, I still can’t change. I still won’t. I’ll always feel destined to live what has been one of the most complicated lives I could imagine. And I’ll still be great! I’m truly on the verge of realizing my destiny. You know, that ONE thing that will be your legacy. That ultimate moment in time when I’m really more than I thought I could be. So I’ve been thinking and praying and planning and traveling and trying to learn everything that I need to learn to prepare me for that moment. And I’m terrified. More terrified of time not existing as long as I need it to. Terrified that I’ll choose the wrong door and only be half as fulfilled. Afraid to love the wrong person, the wrong career, the wrong city. But not terrified enough to not try. Not too terrified to pick up and leave. Not afraid to face whatever comes or whomever faces me.

This…


I’m not one of those people who airs their dirty laundry, well not usually or regularly, but only occasionally I offer pieces of me to this blog. Tonight, I just feel like I’ll never find a love of my own. Or maybe I’ll just never realize it’s existence. And tomorrow I’ll be fine. I won’t even think about what I just saw tonight. I’ll probably just force myself, like I do often to dismiss those who dismiss me. I’ve broken hearts before, far more than I thought I could or would. But I always told them the truth. I always gave them an out. I always told them it would never happen. We would never happen. But when I got lonely they answered the phone. When I got bored they joined me for dinner or a movie. When I was sick, they made me soup. Selfishly I took from them all of the things I needed, and didn’t offer them back. Rather, I couldn’t offer them back. But they knew. They knew. So now I’m looking up at the sky wondering why am I so impossible. The ones I want won’t love me back and the ones that want me, I just can’t. This life…

I’ll Never Not Hate You Again


I’ll never not hate you again. Because I loved you. Maybe not first, but as soon as I could. But when I loved you, you hated me. You hated what you thought I’d become. You hated the thought that I’d become more than you. Now I hate you too. Because you broke me. You broke me in half. You broke me in two. You broke me in, too. Into this world of hate, lies, love, and condemnation. Now you can’t condemn me without condemning you. And you can’t even look at me without hating you. I can look at me now and see what I’m becoming. Still broken in two by all the hatred you infused. Half boy half man, and both hate you. The difference is, now I can do what you never could. I can become even more than what you thought I would. A real man with a voice not dumbing down to bums. And I can even hate you without fear of bad conscience. Cause my conscience is clear and yours is cloudy after all you have done. Knowing it was you where all of this hatred came from. I’ll never forget you or the way you taught me to become a “man”. And if the only way to win is forgive you and forget your sins, I’ll find solace in this and the fine point of my pen. Because you broke me I’m free. And free to never not hate you again.

Come Undone


In a week or two I’ll have to delete your number. In a month or two, your email. In a year or two most traces of you will be gone. But now you’re the new “compared to” no one else could don. It took five years to get here. We knew the time would come. Five years of love, hate, and a friendship come undone.

There’s nothing left to say anymore. We’ve said all we could. There’s nothing left to pay anymore. We’ve paid all we should. I broke your heart! I’m sorry! But I told you I would. You were in love and I wasn’t. I’m sorry I held you hostage, still in search of love. I know that was selfish. And with you I fell in love platonically, because for me there was no magic.

The friendship is over now too. We finally saw all of the signs. No more traces. No more spaces. No more twisted lines. I’m sorry you weren’t enough for me and I wasn’t enough for you either. I always thought love would be just enough. I used to think that if I tried harder, you could have been the one. Instead it was five years of love, hate, and a friendship come undone.

Tears


These days there are few things that bring tears to my eyes. I think it’s safe to bet that most people who think they know me don’t really know how sensitive I am. I’m sure many are thinking at the moment they’re reading this that I’m full of shit and couldn’t possibly be as sensitive as I claim. Well, that’s just simply not true. I feel, I hurt, I cry, I’m human.

So, I’m sitting on my flight to Las Vegas and a family of four Asians decides to occupy two of the seats in front of mine and two seats in my row. My best friend is sitting in front of me in the window seat and I’m in the window seat on my row. The children, a young boy and girl who looked to be about 2 years apart in age and around 8 and 10 respectively were seated next to my friend and the adults sat next to me. Shortly after takeoff the young girl whipped out an iPad much to the dismay of my best friend, as this little girl was not using headphones while she played a movie in Chinese.

For half an hour the boy and girl remained in their seats until the boy fell asleep. After another short while the father moved to the seat in front of me and the boy moved to the seat his father occupied. The mother then picked the boy up, placed him into her arms, and began to caress his head while he slept. I couldn’t help but watch them as this endearing moment played out. As I watched the mother gaze into the face of the boy and then kiss his forehead the tears began to stream down my face. The thought of having my own mother place me in her lap while I slept, as she caressed my head became more than I could bear in that moment.

I miss her so much and even after almost 23 years, I still can’t stop thinking about her. I still can’t stop dreaming about my parents and wondering what my life would be and what theirs would be had they not passed away in 1989. It stupefies me sometimes how a single moment in someone else’s life can dredge up so many memories from my own childhood. It’s difficult to fathom having so many emotions poured into the short time I was able to share with my parents here on earth. I still can’t believe they’re gone some days. It’s still so surreal. And as I approach the ages they were when they passed away, I can’t help but feel weird and unnerved with the idea of having to figure out what I want for my future and the rest of my life.

Each day I struggle with the thought of making a decision or several decisions that will shape the rest of my life. I know I want a love of my own and a family too, but then I think, “Where does my career fit in”. I think about the things for which I’m passionate, and I think about the reality of having to start a career when 30 is just around the corner me. Where will I live? What will I do while I jumpstart this new endeavor? How will I survive? While I’m still uncertain as to the answers for those questions, what I do know is that I’ve spent my entire adult life doing what I had to do to survive, and though I’m grateful, I’m ready to do what I want to do now. I’m ready to do what fulfills me, and I pray that the same strength that’s carried me through a troubled childhood and a tumultuous adulthood will carry me to true happiness. Another page in the book of my life is about to turn. I just have to get ready.

Making Better Choices


This evening I received an interesting text from a long ago ex. I mean like, more than 10 years ago ex. It was after a brief series of text messages about what area each of us work, here in the District. I told him where I was, he told me where he was, and I said “oh aight cool”. Approximately 30 minutes later he sent me another text expressing his interest in being cool and how I seem to be holding on to our sordid past and apparently have been angry, mean, and rude to him. He also stated how he’s been made to feel (by me) that I think I’m better than him.

Now, let me say this: He opened up a can of worms tonight so expect for me to digress all up and through this post.

My first thought was to lambast his ass, but I quickly decided against it because I really have no time to go back and forth with someone who will clearly never understand our plight. Long ago we both created a tumultuous situation that ended almost as quickly as it began. There were very strong emotions shared, but after all, we were teenagers; Adult teenagers, but teenagers nonetheless. He did some things, and so did I. I am no longer pointing any fingers most of all because I really don’t care. I don’t care about what we were then, and I don’t care about what we are now. I am not however, the one holding on to the past. He is! He never grew up. The same displays of immaturity he exuded 11 years ago, he still displays today. I am certainly better than I was at 18. He is gone because our time had come and gone. I find no purpose in even conversing with him but have remained somewhat accessible to avoid being rude, but no more.

I’m so exhausted with people’s desire to push their insecurities off on me. When most people look at me, they see a confident, intelligent, well spoken, ambitious, responsible man. When I look at me, I see someone recovering. I’m recovering from an explosive childhood. I’m also recovering from a series of poor decisions made as a young adult running the gamut from money, to relationships, to education, and the list goes on. While I’m far wiser now, I’m still recovering. However, few people have seen me sweat. Few people have seen my tears, and ever fewer know the things that I fear the most, because there aren’t ANY people who have seen me succumb to fear. You can be afraid and still persevere, and that’s all I’ve ever done. I’m afraid of rejection, but I keep pursuing. I’m afraid of heights, but I keep climbing. I’m afraid to have my heart-broken (again), but I understand that that is the risk we all take in the pursuit of love. I have been beaten, broken, defiled, and some more shit, but I aint no punk. I heal, and I press on. And if people think that I’m better than them because I can take a punch, or a beating and manage to repeatedly recover, then I guess I am better than them. What makes me strong is that I believe in endurance. I’ve never been the fastest, or the tallest, or the strongest, or even the smartest, but I’m still here! “Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!” (“If We Must Die”. Claude McKay, 1919.)

These days I still struggle to make better choices. I still struggle to stand firm in matters of the heart. I still struggle to stay focussed on one thing at a time. I’m still flawed! But I know better than to let this life get the best of me. I am far too intelligent, and far too perseverant to ever give up on me.

3:13 am


So… I’m just up thinking and should probably be working on the two papers that I have due this week, but I can never just focus on one thing at a time. Yet another gift and curse I’ve been blessed and doomed with. Anyway, I swear sometimes, my heart has a mind of its own. Who knew… Right? It’s just that, I recently celebrated another year on this earth and I feel like I don’t even know what’s next for me. I feel like stepping back from all of the things in my past that I’ve been holding on to. More specifically, I feel like I need to step back from all of the dudes in my past that I’ve been holding on to. Not that I’m out here being reckless, it’s just that I know I want more, but I know that all of the pieces have to fit. Like I’ve written before, everything that I write is about me first. All of the poems, all of the rants, all of the everything on Inmynativescribble.com is about ME FIRST. The only thing about that is, I don’t think I think about me first. So anyway this is where I seek refuge. This I can write what I want and not have to give anyone an explanation. I don’t have to break down what I mean, or care about who doesn’t like it. As much as I am a free spirit, and as much as I say things that many of you would dare not say or do for that matter, I am still very much strategic in the words that I choose, and the way that I choose to convey my feelings or thoughts. This may just sound like another rambling session of mine so I think I’ll just get to the point of why I am even awake at 3:13 am and what’s on my mind. I just want someone to love me back. I need him to just know what it is that I’m looking for and for him to just be it. I show people how I want to be treated. Now I just need everyone to get it.

Wednesday Night


As fast as it came, even faster it went.

The faster we drank, the faster we sank.

Oblivious to reason, we crossed a line.

Who knew I’d be so blind?

In my dreams, it felt like bliss.

The harsh reality is now it feels like shit.

You pulled me in too close.

Who knew you’d be so bold?

From the tip of a mountain peak we fell freely.

Like a cruise ship in rough seas, we sank deeply.

You were on the prowl right from the beginning.

Who knew I’d be dinner?

Conspicuously you tried your hand, and I swatted it again and again.

But as fast as we drank, even faster we sank.

You pushed me out the door.

Who knew you’d be so cold?

“Yo! Give me a call.”

“Naw, I’m good.”

I’m awake now. No more dream clouds.

Who knew I’d know?

No Beef


I ain’t beefin’, I just don’t care.

You didn’t when I was eight.

Now you’re hurting deeply, yet still, no apology.

Now the life in me, to you is oh so deadly.

The love you never gave, you now want to share.

But I ain’t beefin’, I just don’t care.

Life just ain’t fair, not even when you’re fifty.

And you only ever gave me heartache to bear.

Now you’re hurting deeply, yet still, no apology.

Your venomous rein’s pierced my soul, and tainted my destiny.

All I ever wanted was to be more than your spare.

But I ain’t beefin’, I just don’t care.

Your head is pounding now from the beat of my snare.

You can only think of me. I’ll always be in your head.

Now you’re hurting deeply, yet still, no apology.

After all of the beatings, and all of your hypocrisy

Now you feel the fear that you once instilled in me.

And you’re hurting deeply, yet, still no apology.

But I ain’t beefin’, I just don’t care.

When Do Men Grow Up? Part I


When! How long do “they” manipulate emotions for sport? When do they realize that true love is far to precious to lose, or better yet, to never even know? I mean, WTF! When? When do they fight for the love that’s been in their corner from the beginning? When do they learn that love takes time, and true love NEVER fails? When do “we” see the writing on the wall, and mature enough to take heed? And the answer is…

When “they”, “we”, and yes, even “me” has to.

Men learn through experience. We learn through trial and error, and fuck up after fuck up. And only when we’re forced to choose, are we finally able to grow up. See, I know I’m grown, and have grown up because I had to. I had to learn far too quickly that love is far more powerful than I am. The pursuit of love can burn your heart and though sometimes it’s only slight, damage to the heart can be irreparable. But when do “they” grow up is more of my concern. I’m tired of fighting to teach things “they” should already know. I’m tired of damaging my heart in an attempt to capture theirs. I’m tired of wasting my time, energy, and even my money when “they” won’t just wake up, and grow up. What makes them grow up is probably the question I should be asking, but damn, I’m just so confused. When you’re nice, they step on you. When you’re mean, they hate on you. When you’re there, they ignore you. And when you love them, they don’t even love you. WTF!!!

 

No More Gentlemen


So… Today while at work, I’m chatting with two of my colleagues about random things. One of which is having a text conversation with a guy she recently met who lives in Los Angeles. They must have been discussing when they’d see each other, and then he told her he’d buy her plane ticket to Los Angeles from DC. Not really knowing this guy (having only met him once), she was a bit reluctant, but thought “hey what’s the harm”. Then I mentioned to her that I used to live in L.A. briefly and have been dying to get back there. We decided that I would go with her and we’d get a hotel room so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable staying with the guy. Soon thereafter we kicked it in to overdrive and started looking for flights and hotels. Eventually we found a flight and a hotel that were reasonable priced for the dates we discussed and My colleague called her friend to let him know what we’d found. He told her that he would purchase the ticket for her in the coming days and they got off the phone. Shortly after he sent her a text that said “I’m tired. You should come cuddle with me.” We both looked at each other like… WTF! How did this get there? Then I told her something that I learned some time ago. That is… “All men come for something.” She sent him a few more responses and then in the end she told him how disheartening it was that most of the men she meets seem to be so quick to get women to sleep with them, and that she wasn’t that type of girl. This made me think many of my own experiences with men, and dating.

Let me be the first to say that I’m no angel. I’ve done things that I am not proud of and have been involved intimately with guys, probably sooner that I should have. But I’ve been wondering lately… Are there No More Gentlemen? What happened to dating? Has the information age taken us so far from taking the time to get to know someone before sex that we just can’t go back to that? We’re now a part of a generation where emails, text messages, and pictures are our primary means of communication, and I believe it has pushed true romance to the back burner for the sake of our own impatience. Many of us, (yes this includes me) seem to have been lured into the phenomena that is the INTERNET. I wish, more often than not these days, that we could go back to having dinner, going to a movie, and then parting ways without any sexual expectations. I wish that we could go back to controlling our sexual desires in hopes that we’ll truly find something meaningful in a lasting relationship with someone, rather than just enjoying the immediate gratification of sex. Where are the gentlemen? You know… the ones who take the time to get to know you, meet your friends, ask about your day, and actually listen when you tell them what’s going on in your world. What happened to the talks about your hopes, dreams, and goals in this road of life? What happened to career and family ambitions? What happened to marriage and the sanctity of it, and fighting until your last breath to preserve it? I read something on Twitter recently that said “I’m single because I don’t make permanent decisions on temporary feelings.” That tweet struck a chord with me, having been single for over 8 years now. That’s pretty much the bulk of my adult life. But I just won’t settle for a date without respect, a life without love, a love without passion, and a home without heart. I guess, to some degree, my colleague and I are the same. We’re both disheartened that there seem to be No More Gentlemen.

But I’m still waiting…

Friends and Kin


I guess no one can hurt you like true friends and kin. You know, those who, deep down in your heart,  can always be forgiven. The ones you love, even you when you’re mad or hurt.  The ones you care for even with their dirt.  All can't be close daily, but always know where they stand.  But those whose heart connects with yours know they're always your friend.  A friendship even in kinship remains the closer bond of the two.  Because a friendship is something you've chosen to grow into, and kinship is not a choice and very much something you simply do.

The raw emotions range from the bitter to the sweet, and the thicker to the thin. But knowing that your love for them and theirs for you helps to maintain your status as friends. Even when you're still hurting from something in the past,  a friendship with depth and one in truth will always and forever last. 

 

2010 Blog Year In Review


The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

Healthy blog!

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

Featured image

A helper monkey made this abstract painting, inspired by your stats.

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 1,900 times in 2010. That’s about 5 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 25 new posts, not bad for the first year! There were 2 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 11mb.

The busiest day of the year was October 8th with 202 views. The most popular post that day was Stay .

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, Inmynativescribble.wordpress.com, WordPress Dashboard, mail.yahoo.com, and Inmynativescribble.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for inmynativescribble, “no thanks given” poem, site:inmynativescribble.com “no thanks given” poem, inmynativescribble.word press.com, and inmynativescribble no thanks given.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

Stay October 2010
5 comments and 1 Like on WordPress.com,

2

About InMyNativeScribble (The Blog) September 2010
3 comments

3

Resentment September 2010
8 comments and 1 Like on WordPress.com,

4

Their Darkest Knight September 2010
2 comments

5

The Love You’re Compared To September 2010

No Thanks Given


Not this year. Not to you. Not another year looking at your faces and seeing straight through you.

Not over dinner, not even a fat turkey. Not over drinks, and not even if you’re hurting.

Not because it may be the last, as it was 21 years in the past.

Nah, I aint doing it. Not with ya’ll ass.

Not if I’m off, because really I am. Not if you’re lost, because really you can’t.

And I can’t even look at you without being mad. I can’t even think of it without being sad. I can’t even trust you because of the past.

Not this year, not to you, not with this family. You can bet your ass!

This year, there’ll be No Thanksgiving, and No Thanks Given because I’m still bitter, and you’re not yet forgiven.

Little Girl


Yesterday, while at work I received a call in the station from a concerned aunt. She was calling to have someone assist her in checking on the welfare of her young niece whom she thought may have been involved in an abusive relationship with her estranged husband. When I arrived at the address she gave me in N.W. Washington D.C. to assist the young lady she was nowhere to be found. However, her “husband” (who knows if they’re truly married) was on the scene. He allowed myself and the other officers there to assist me, inside of the residence to talk. Shortly after I was able to get the young lady on the telephone and she began to describe how this man continues to threaten her life and physically abuse her daily. Astounded, I immediately placed the man under arrest for Domestic Violence, of which he’d been arrested before in during a previous relationship. I urged the young lady to come to the scene in order for myself and the other officers to make sure that she was okay, and she obliged. After another brief interview of the young lady, I transported her “husband” to the police station for processing. It was then, that I discovered that not only was he abusing her physically and threatening her life, but he was also forcing her to prostitute herself in order to pay the bills in the house. A man she’d only known for about 3 months was able to manipulate her and force her into a world of which many young girls rarely escape.  I’d like to be able to say that I couldn’t believe it, but it’s something I’ve seen far too many times during my tenure as a police officer. Having worked with young girls in prostitution in the past, I knew exactly what direction this needed to be taken, however, initially I’d not bargained for this case to go this far. After collecting all of the witness statements, and other facts and data, I was able to charge this man with the felony he had committed in order to detain him before he’d be formally charged the next day.

I arrived at court this morning to speak with the attorney and to “paper” this case. During my conference with the attorney (a woman), she decided that we needed to call the young victim in order to “verify” her story and to move forward with the case. From the beginning of the attorney’s conversation with the young girl, the attorney was very impatient. She was simply a “just the facts” type of person, who clearly didn’t understand that with such trauma this young girl had experienced, she needed to be handled with kid gloves and be allowed to tell her story. It didn’t take long for the girl to grow extremely upset with the attorney and to disconnect the call. I immediately tried to call the young girl back to get her to talk to me, of which she obliged. Later, I was able to allow her to speak with another attorney in order to get her whole story out. The things she described, the sexual acts she mentioned, and the many men she had sex with, was truly disheartening. I had to stop and think what could have happened in this young girl’s life to make her so weak, vulnerable, and naive. I learned through this interview that she’d had her first child at 13 and her second not too far behind, and now she’s only 21 years old. How devastating is this, I thought. As I continued to listen to her story, I had to walk away. In part because, she was such a weak soul, and couldn’t grasp the concept that she’d been brainwashed, and the other because her grammar was poor, and I couldn’t grasp everything she was trying to convey. I listened to her say that she thought that every relationship was supposed to involve physical violence, as this was all she knew, and all she’d ever experienced. I listened to her tell us how this man exploited her, and placed ads for sex on different websites in order for her to perform these sexual acts for money. And the whole time I thought, what will she become? How can she ever be more? What about her children? Where are they now? Who stole her innocence?

A poor little girl inside and out. She knew nothing of the real world and how to move passed one’s past. She only knew that she had a pretty face, and a slim waist and that the only thing she was worth was a fuck. She had been beaten over and over by men, and those around her who were supposed to love her, and she never learned to love herself because of it. And I just couldn’t believe it. I just didn’t want to think about it. But I knew that she needed someone to fight for her, and I knew that it had to be me. I find it such a shame that people are so broken, that they think they don’t have a way out. These people think that they have nowhere to go because they’re ill-educated and have been broken into pieces. Today, in a small way, I was able to give her a piece of peace. I was able to show her a way out. I only hope that she see’s the light, and finds her path. Because this pretty little girl didn’t deserve this.

“Little girl, little girl. Wonder are you listening. Little girl, little girl. Struggling with your confidence. Little girl, little girl. God made you so beautiful. Little girl, little girl. I just thought that you should know.” (Thanks Mary Mary).

 

Just Wondering…


Just wondering when you don’t feel it anymore, when you’re not hurting anymore, when you’re not angry anymore, when you’re not bitter anymore.

Just wondering when you’re not resentful anymore, when you’re not screaming anymore, when you’re not crazy anymore, when you’re not pissed anymore.

Just wondering when you’re okay to move on, when you’re not crying anymore, when you’re not lying to yourself anymore, when you’re not tripping anymore.

Just wondering when you’re able to live once more.

I was just wondering.

Stay


Will you just Stay?

Even when the path ahead looks a little bleak

Even when we have a fight, say you’ll still speak

Speak to my heart with your words, my soul with your passion, and speak to my mind with your own

Promise me you’re here to Stay and you won’t ever leave me alone

Even if I snore sometimes, or pass gas in my sleep

Even when I’m moody and sound angry when I speak

Even when I get sick and need you to Stay with me

Even when I’ve lost myself, help me to get back to our beat

When I yell for no rhyme or reason, just hold me close to soothe my soul

All I really want to know is if you’ll be with me through the cold

When I cry myself to sleep some nights, don’t turn the other way

Wrap your arms around me to take the pain away

When our children get here and sometimes we disagree,

Tell me it’s not about you or me, we’ve got to do what’s best for our family

When the world is against me, please Stay by my side

Remind me that you’re not leaving, and you’re here to ride or die

When we’re old and gray and wrinkly too

Say you’ll still love me the way that I love you.

Truth


So… Lately I’ve just been reading things that I’ve written in the past, and this piece of a poem was re-discovered. I wrote this quite a few years ago, and remember feeling so hurt and broken. There’s nothing worse than feeling like you’ve invested your time, and so many other pieces of you into someone or something, and then to realize that they’ve done nothing but take advantage of you. How cowardice is it for someone to lead you on and destroy your innocence and tear at the very fabric of your heart? Who knows why people do what they do? Who knows why we can’t all just face our fears and live in Truth!

 

 

 

You couldn’t just be honest, and couldn’t tell me the truth

You would rather say nothing and leave me feeling so confused

Like the fool you tried to make of me, the fool you will be

My fury you will feel, and my wrath you will see

Why not just be straight up with me, as I have been with you

Why not tell me what was going on, so that I could make my move

You took my truth and ran, and never even looked back

You left me without closure, and thought you could just relax

You’ll reap what you’ve sewn, cause it’s only fair

You will face the truth, and the truth you will bear

Resentment


“I’m crying, can’t stop crying, can’t stop crying.”

I had a dream last night. In it I was being chased and attacked by a Rottweiler, of which I was desperately afraid. In an adjacent room was my grandmother, my sister, and my aunt watching me as I was mauled with every misstep by this Rottweiler. They all sat there as this dog and me destroyed the house. My grandmother said nothing. She made no moves, and didn’t even bother to acknowledge my cries. After it was over, I was lambasted and ordered to leave the house. My grandmother started screaming at me for “destroying” her house. I started screaming back because I had literally just evaded what could have been my death. I screamed “WHAT ABOUT ME!” This dog just tried to kill me and she just let him. She just let him maul me. She watched me in excruciating pain and agony and did nothing to protect me. She did nothing to stop him. Then, in my dream, my aunt jumped up trying to push me out the house and we started fighting.

I woke up, looked at my clock, and started crying. This is why…

“I wish I could believe you, then I’d be alright. But now everything you told me really don’t apply to the way I feel inside.”

I woke up this morning in hysterics, crying bitter, semi-sweet tears. Bitter because of what its taken me over 20 years to figure out, and semi-sweet because I’ve finally figured it all out. I’m told often, almost weekly, and sometimes even daily, that I appear to be very angry and aggressive. My disposition, my voice, and even in my writing seems to convey a sentiment of anger or aggression. It comes out when I’m driving and I have a bit of road rage. It comes out when I have bouts with authority. It’s even expressed through my constant change in mood. I hear it so often that I’ve grown to accept that its what I exude, and although its never been my intent, I AM ANGRY! Before today, I was absolutely unsure of exactly where it came from. Therapists have told me that it’s a direct result of post traumatic stress syndrome stemming from the loss of my parents at such a tender age in my development. I was almost 7. But today, this morning, before the sun came up, when it was still dark outside and only an occasional car could be heard from my bedroom window, at 5:15 a.m. I awoke from my dream, and it hit me like a ton of bricks, rocked me to the core, and now I know why.

“Loving you was easy, once upon a time.”

It started immediately. The day after they died was my seventh birthday. My uncle had taken my sister and me to his house after we were briefly questioned by MPD. He had an apartment uptown on 13th street around the corner from 4D. I can’t remember if his new bride was there that night or the next day or at all. But the next morning; Saturday December 2, 1989 was my birthday. I remember that he gave me Cap’n Crunch (my favorite) cereal for breakfast. Afterwards, he took me into the bathroom in this tiny one-bedroom apartment, sat me on the toilet, pulled out scissors, and cut my rattail. My father started letting me grow a rattail a few months back. I guess now that he was gone, this uncle needed to show me, a seven year-old, on my birthday, the day after my parents died, that HE was in charge now. He told me that only sissy’s wear rattails. Slowly my uncle started weaving his ideals into fabric of who he thought I was going to be. I remember one night after I’d just finished dinner, I was stuffed and my stomach was in knots. and I began to have what I thought felt like a stomach cramp. Now, I was a little boy living in a house full of females, and far too often I remember hearing talk of pads, and tampons, and “periods”. I quickly learned exactly what it was, its symptoms, and its effects. But anyway, I had just finished eating, and I remember my oldest aunt and my cousin being there. I started walking around the house holding my stomach, and like I’d heard the ladies in the house say before, I said, “I got cramps, and I feel like I’m about to come on”, jokingly. My aunt overheard me and said, “little boys don’t say that.” At that very moment I glanced over to my other aunt, the youngest, right as she looked at me with disdain, and mumbled, “faggot” underneath her breath. I quickly looked away from her trying to pretend that I didn’t hear what she said. Then, my older aunt said to me, “you better not say that again or I’m going to call your uncle.” So, with fear in my eyes and heart, I shut down. A short while later, while still feeling the pain in my stomach I walked towards the bathroom and mumbled to myself, “It hurts. I feel like I’m pregnant.” But I didn’t realize at the time, that the other person mumbling in the house was standing nearby and overheard me and announced it. The older female immediately got on the phone and called my uncle. OMG! I’m in trouble now, I thought. But my stomach really did hurt, and I hadn’t said anything that I didn’t learn from the women around me. “Why do I have to get in trouble?” Shortly after, the uncle arrives to have a “Man to Man” talk with me about men and what they should and should not say. After his tedious monologue, I shook my head and let him know that I understood and walked away. I remember thinking “Whhhhew! I’m glad I didn’t get a beating.”

Time went on, and occasionally I’d still, unbeknownst to me, say things that “little boys don’t say”, but there weren’t anymore “Man to Man” talks. The “Man to Man” encounters became “Man beating little boy ” encounters, cause there weren’t gonna be any faggots in this family. But it seemed like every time I got a beating for whatever the surface reason was, I’d think to myself… “Everybody keeps calling me a faggot though, and you’re trying to beat it out of me, while you and the rest of the people around me keep saying it.” I knew I didn’t say it. I hated the word. It was an epithet that rivaled “Nigger” in my eyes, but I couldn’t control people saying it to me. They said when I was at school, and they said it when I was at home too. Everybody in my immediate family, at some point, used this dreadful, pejorative epithet to castigate me, and not one of them ever protected me from the others.

“Why did I deserve to be treated this way?”

No one stood up for me; not even the very person who stood beside me while our parents died in front of us. What had I done, at 7 years old, to be treated this way? I mean… Yeah I was nosey. Yeah I had a smart mouth. Yeah I got into fights in school. Yeah, I talked back to the teachers. Yeah I was running around, and always into something. But then again… Isn’t that what “little boys” are “supposed” to do? I was a FUCKING child! And I’m sitting here typing this shit on the verge of tears yet again because now, I’M A FUCKING ANGRY ADULT! Did they ever stop to think that I was fighting in school and a smart ass because I was being ridiculed? Did they ever stop to think that I was always into something because I needed some attention? Did they ever stop to think that I was nosey because I was all alone, and even amongst my childhood friends I was still called “faggot”? Did they ever stop to think that I needed someone, anyone, to show me the love that I had lost? Nope! Not one of them considered what obstacles in life I faced as a child. All they knew was that I was their faggot nephew, brother, cousin, grandson! When I got in trouble in school for talking back or fighting, there was never a question of who was to blame. It was always me! And how do I say, “well they call me faggot everyday,” or “they pick on me because I’m smaller than everybody else”? I didn’t even want to acknowledge that word because I hated it so much. I didn’t want to be embarrassed even more by allowing myself to dare utter such a word. I didn’t want them to look at me and say “well, you brought it on yourself, because you’re a FAGGOT!” So instead, I took my punishment. I took the beatings, and the television restrictions, and the suspensions, and even an expulsion. I took it all, because I wasn’t gonna let them see me sweat. NO TEARS!

“I know you’re probably thinking, what’s up with” me? I’ve been crying too long. What did you do to me?”

I fought back! That day when we were in New Jersey, walking back from the store, you called me a faggot, and I called you a BITCH, and I meant it! But I wasn’t gonna tell anybody what you said, because I didn’t wanna face it, so I lied. I told them you called me Mother Fucker, and still got my mouth washed out with soap. No one stood up for me. Then when we got back to DC I got a beating too. But who cares… right? That day, around Christmas time when you were washing dishes, and you told me to leave you alone, I got smart, you called me a faggot, and I said Santa Claus was calling you when he said “ho, ho, ho”, I meant it. But I wasn’t gonna tell anybody what you called me, because I didn’t wanna face it, so I lied. I told them I never said it, and still got my mouth washed out with soap again. Then later that week, I got another beating. That day we were fighting after you told me to leave you alone and get out of “our” room, you called me a faggot, and I fought extra hard that day even though you were a little bigger! I wasn’t sad. I was bitter! That day you were taking me to Camp Schmidt and I left something behind and ran back to get it, I got back in the car, and you told I ran like I faggot, I REMEMBER, and I’ll never forget it. The Christmas in the 5th grade that I didn’t get until February of the following year because I talked back to a teacher, I haven’t forgotten. The time I accidentally locked your keys in the trunk of your car, you told me to figure out how to get them out, and then told me that if I scratched your car, you’d kill me, I won’t forget that. That day you dropped your keys on the sidewalk while we were walking back to the house at Fairfax Village, I ran  back to get them for you, and you told me in that same teaching voice you used with me before when you said “little boys don’t say that”, you said, this time “stop running like a faggot”, I remember that too! That day I got suspended from school in the 7th grade for fighting, you took me back to your apartment and beat me for hours, trying once again to beat the “faggot” out of me, I haven’t forgotten!  That day in the 8th grade after you’d picked me up from school shortly after your son was born, you told me that I better not ever be a faggot, cause you aint no faggot, and my father damn sure wasn’t a faggot, I haven’t forgotten that either! The time, during my junior year of high school when you allowed my therapist to tell you that I needed Paxil for depression and anger management, and then bought it in bulk, I didn’t forget, but I damn sure flushed it all! I didn’t need medication to manage my anger, I needed you to love me. The time in the 6th grade when your husband punched me in my face, blacked my eye, and then threatened to kill me and my sister, I haven’t forgotten. And I’ll never, ever forget how my own uncle went over to talk to him about his attack on me. Huh??What the fuck was there to talk about? My father and even my mother, for that matter, would have killed him. But maybe my uncle and your husband just sat down, talked, and compared notes on beating my ass… huh? The many days I cried myself to sleep, the days I listened to music and sang loud enough to wake the dead because you’d hurt me again, the days I used to change my clothes in the hallway at Karate School so that the other kids wouldn’t see the bruises, and the day I finally showed you all that you couldn’t destroy me. I haven’t forgotten any of them, and I never will.

“I only give you a hard time, cause I can’t go on and pretend like, I haven’t tried to forget this, but I’m much too full of resentment.”

I pressed on through life, making my own way. With a hardened heart is how I dealt with everyone around me. It’s how I deal with people today. My heart has softened in some areas because on the surface I’d moved passed the details of my childhood under your “tutelage”, and the dynamics of some of our relationships have changed. But just as soon as I scratch away at the surface, it comes back, and all of it comes crashing down. I’m grown now! You people can’t do to me what you used to do. These days I don’t let you. I don’t let anyone! I can’t go on pretending like I’ve forgotten about all of it though. It’s just been eating away at me for so long. So now, you’ll have to face it, because I’m tired. I faced all of you, everyday from the time I was 7 years old. I faced the shame, the ridicule, the physical abuse, and more than anything I faced the fact that not one of you were in my corner. Everything someone else said about me, you took as fact. You never fought for me.

“I thought I could forgive you, and I know you’ve changed. As much as I wanna trust you, I know it aint the same.”

I really did think that I had forgiven this, and that I could move on without having to address it with everyone, but there’s no way I’m gonna keep hurting myself and my future by carrying it. We’re cool now; no beefs, no arguments, and we even talk all the time, but this was bound to come out one day. Who knew that it would take two years of these dreams about fighting and arguing with family for me to figure this out. IT WAS YOU! You’re the reason I’m angry. You’re the reason I’m bitter, and guarded. You’re the reason why I push people away. YOU! When you should have been caring for and nurturing me, you abused me. You tarnished my innocence. You beat me down over, and over again. You never protected me, and you knew all along what was being done, but stoic and unaffected, you let it happen to me. YOU! And you never, not one of you, ever apologized.

“I’ll always remember feeling like I was no good… I know you didn’t wanna hurt me, but look what you done-done to me now. “

When I started my first relationship, I remember him telling me, at sixteen, that I was too much to handle sometimes. My doing too much eventually pushed him away. Then came the next one, who dogged me. I guess it was easy because I was sixteen then too, and he was nine years my senior. When number 4 came along, I was still only eighteen, but he was the one who showed me a love that wasn’t easily broken. He was my protector, in a way that none of you ever protected me. He wasn’t comfortable with his sexuality, but he never shunned me. Even if every gesture I made, or word I spoke made him cringe, I never saw shame in his eyes. He protected my physical being, and more importantly, he protected my feelings. He never told me what to say or how to say it. But guess what…? I pushed him away too.  I felt like I was no good for this man who showed me love no matter what. I thought he was tired of me, and maybe he was. I knew I was tired of doing everything I could to push him away, so I finally just left him. You see? Look at what you’ve done to me now. I’ve spent the larger part of my adult life single. I never let anyone get too close because my expectations are too high. Since you never loved me the way you were supposed to, I look for it in people who can’t ever measure up, and they shouldn’t have to.

“I may never understand why…”

I may never understand why I’ve had to endure this, but at least now I know where it came from. At least now I can work on fixing what has been broken. For so long I’ve just been doing what had been done to me, but I can no longer continue to perpetuate that cycle. My greatest defense has been my offense. After years of having my family beat me down I turned it around, and I’m angry. I’m angry because I don’t know what to do with what you’ve forced me to become. I only know that I’m done carrying the anger that you gave me. I didn’t deserve it, and shame on you! But now, I know that I’m going to have to save myself from myself, so that I can heal.

I Remember Daddy


I remember daddy, the man I never wanted to be

I remember daddy, the man who could never be me

No one ever saw the things I would see

And no one could believe the pain that I hold so deep

You see, this man he wasn’t my daddy,

He was just a man who tried to be

I guess it made him feel like a man

To beat me until he bruised my whole body

Beat me while I stood, Watched me as I fell

Beat me on the bed, made me hold on to the rail

He tried to make me a man, Oh well I guess he failed

Cause if a man is what he was

I’d rather take the “L”

I remember daddy, the man I never wanted to be

I remember daddy, the man who could never be me

No one ever saw the things I would see

And no one could believe the pain that I hold so deep

Now I’m all grown up and left his evil clutch

Now I have a voice,

So these days he doesn’t say much

We go on as if there’s no tension there

But the tension’s so thick it clouds the air

I guess now he knows, I’m not scared

But now he must face it

The truth, He will bear!

I’ve waited so long for his respect,

I’m sure I have it now,

Cause now I make him sweat

I remember daddy, the man I never wanted to be

I remember daddy, the man who could never be me

No one ever saw the things I would see

And no one could believe the pain that I hold so deep

Life for me ain’t been no Crystal Stair

But growing up, I learned to grin and bear

I got out alive, and made it this far

I’ve come a long way, with only a few scars

And the life I once lived will always remain

But the life I once lived did not make me insane

I remember daddy, the man I never wanted to be

I remember daddy, the man who could never be me

No one ever saw the things I would see

And no one could believe the pain that I hold so deep

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