picture paragraphs unloaded

At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough. No record of it needs to be kept and you don't need someone to share it with or tell it to. When that happens — that letting go — you let go because you can.

Toni Morrison.

"I allow myself to feel"

I never watch Mo'nique's show but I think today God brought me to it. I watched Jill Scott come out to talk about her current projects. And she just looked so full of God's light that I hesitated at the sight of her happiness. Her afro looked so confident... her face so beautiful... her voice so rich. And Mo asks, how are you inspired to write your music?

She replied, "I allow myself to feel." and with just that sentence, I wept.

I think society, family, friends, and myself have taught me to do just the opposite. when I sink into an impossible state of depression, i'm supposed to put on a happy face. carry on. live. pretend that whatever devastating thing that has happened to me didn't because, feeling- is weakness. and i wish i would have allowed myself to feel more often.

to respond to people who expressed concern for my family that i didn't know if they were ok and i can't watch the news without throwing up from anxiety. or to tell my mother my grades were so shitty my first semester of law school because i was raped two weeks before it started and was too ashamed to tell anyone. to say to the world, behind this facade is a severely wounded woman who does not know how to feel. twitter says, tweet the most wonderful things about yourself and facebook says only tag the most beautiful pictures... because the world only wants to know us at our best selves.

i feel betrayed by someone who i felt was my sister. my first love, was never in love with me. my mother hates her life and constantly expresses regret. my father told her that my graduation pictures look nice because i don't look that dark. and i never really felt any of these things. i never said i bust my ass because i constantly feel like i am not good enough. not for that friend who chose someone else and not for that guy who loves someone else.

my horoscope said tomorrow is a new moon. and with that, i just want to feel. and if i can manage to FEEL my way out of whatever i'm going through, i wont just be here. i'll be present.

wearing this mask, is what i've been taught to do for so long, i forgot it's ok to take it off when i'm home. and wherever we live... blogsphere, twitter, DC, our own minds-- we each deserve to feel. it's the only thing that makes each of us human.

"i tell you, I know everybody’s in the same mess. I’m telling you. We all are. I know that, you know, and I’m just, you know, I’ll be the first to tell you, you know, I’m a mess and God is dealing with me everyday. And everyday I’m trying, you know, how I can be less of a mess. Cuz you know, he showed me, Look Lauryn, you know, You’re the problem, ok, I’m going to show you how you’re causing the problem, and now I want you to be the solution"

and who knows better than lauryn?

Single anyone?

Still no internet! But here is what I could quickly type/copy/paste. Hopefully tomorrow we can get to the meat of things! Love ya'll and thanks for your tremendous patience.

xoxo

I’m just about my only single friend left. It seems relationships are perpetually around me. Usually my energy would be completely negative right now but I’m so fuckin happy. Not that fake I’m happy, where you smile around your friends and cry yourself to sleep at night. Nope. This positive energy is genuine. It is born because I have finally accepted my being single. I have given my happiness priority over my pain. I have too much going on to think about being single. WOW. THAT is a first. The more I find myself drifting from concern over my relationship status, the more I drift from caring about the people who avoided a relationship. I have never had a committed, long-term relationship as an adult. Had a boyfriend when I was 16 who cheated on me the entire time. And one in college I used to make the guy I wanted to be with jealous. It was long distance. It was superficial. I wasn’t committed. And now, years later, I have found comfort in my virginity. I don’t know what it means to be with someone for a year, or to have sex with the same person consistently for more than 3 months at a time.

But what I do know, is that, I have monk like qualities when it comes to sex. My body can sustain itself for months at a time. I never need to FIND someone to have sex with. I can have sex with myself. I do so very freely, and am very open about that. If you’re with a woman who doesn’t have sex with herself, you’re not with a woman.

Beyond the sex, I’m unaffected by the infatuation that clouds judgment in new relationships. I know the butterflies well. I know the rerecording of voicemails to make sure you don’t sound too excited. I know the 200 hits to their facebook a day. The memorizing pictures. When everything they say is the most adorable and hilarious thing you’ve heard. When you drift off in thought about them. Try to remember every story. Try to informally record all mildly significant moments in your lives together. And I know how much of that fades three months later. And if somewhere between the fantasy you were able to capture the true essence of that person; measure their ability to make you smile, to cheer you up and on, and to generally be present in your life in mind and spirit- then, maybe you got something.

I have good practice with the reality. Not so much with the remainder. But I’m here. And single. And happy. Content that what I have to offer is more than a lot of men can recognize. Thankfully, I’ve been single long enough to know that I can wait a little longer, stay a little lonlier And further, relishing in the fact that I’m a relationship virgin. And we all know how much men love virgins ;)

on lies

it is said that a man's love is life and a woman's life is love. well i'd agree. nothing i love more than the feeling of being in love. and now, that i am truly single, and no longer in pursuit of the man i once loved, i find myself missing even the destructive moments. the tears, the arguments, the long emails- because they had been a part of me for so long. i miss the drama, i'm convinced it made my writing better, because there is beauty in pain. and now i feel cloud nine tickling my feet, things are so much clearer and the writing is not as raw. not necessarily a reality i want to change, but one i want to acknowledge.

so if a woman's life is love, then her life should include a love of manifestations of love, including sex. i believe women love sex more than men. we do not want it as much because you are usually not good at it. yes, even you... WE FAKED IT! women masturbate more then men, because you see, men tend to do it when they can't get any. We do it regardless. and she may say she doesn't, but she either does or wants to.

I think relationships end up so fucked because everybody's lying. if you are with a woman who climaxes everytime, she is lying. she wants your love. committment, attention, affection- and oral sex.... make her climax. that pumpin shit rarely gets her anywhere ('cept for a couple good days in 06) but if she came, she made it happen, not you. so before you pat yourself on the back, really think back to your experience and ask yourself, did i do all i could? anyless than your best, and you can guarantee she faked it. More than half of it is mental, I could do my taxes while you pumped till your appendix burst. but we won't tell you that- nope. we lyin to feed your ego cause you need to feel irreplacable to love. well my brother, my index finger alone has done more damage than you.

the next time i have sex it'll last for 2 days. and when you don't get it right the first time, i'll grab your hand and we'll do it again. we will watch jada, we will touch each other slowly and deeply. you will concentrate on stimulating all of my senses. and if we can't make love, we can make truth.

mmmm...

capiche.

one of my latest and most favorite pieces. sometimes you write shit and you make yourself pause cause penning it was an out of body experience. well that's what happened here. hard to look at yourself so openly and honestly. hope you enjoy.

He doesn't understand.

He's a smart man, but-
he doesn't understand

doesn't understand, can't comprehend

Why I want him to be my man.

How do I convince him that he can?

That he's capable, more than able-

to satisfy what I desire.

He's a man with vision

but can't see the scars across my chest,

where a rapist grabbed my breasts

where I let men rest

who could care less
 about. me.

he's a brilliant man, but he can't understand

how ignoring my calls

makes me feel small

like less than,

not equal to,

not me and you-

he's a diligent man,

but he never researched me

never looked me up beyond the maybelline

I may be lean, but my heart. is. heavy.

I am the definition of forgotten

he remembers my bed, remembers my head

but it slips his mind to see if I'm okay

He doesn't see how taking me out once a week

makes me feel disposable

late nights he recycles me

uses me over and over to reach his peak

and gets so high

he can't see the mountain on his shoulders breaking me

his friends know everything about him
--but they don't know me

which leads me to believe

that he doesn't think I am about him.

around him can't surround him.

with anything. but. my. body.

and he's an intelligent man

but he can't read my biography

he doesn't know I have a history

of dealing with men who only appreciate me

after. 3 am.

I have a father and I am ashamed

to tell him that his daughter

has let a man depress her- 
neglect her- 
forget. her.

not remember to respect her.

i am just a useful tool.

a screwdriver.

your screw drives her-- to make better mistakes.

He's a smart man

but he refuses to see

how his behavior reflects SHE--
his daughter,

the girl who calls him father.

he's a wise man

but too shallow to see

how deep his behavior reaches.

one day a man will leave her beaten. cheated.

treated like meat and-

he'll disconnect the pieces

of our broken hearts

he won't see it. won't see him.

himself in the selfish bastard

who broke his baby's heart.

you know where it ends,

but I know where it starts

my dad broke my heart years before it beat

and her dad would break mine before she'd ever speak.

and she's a smart girl but,

when it comes to he- she doesn't think

doesn't weep, doesn't see...
how she repeats

like a scratched cd
before giving up and skipping to the next song...
And how many tracks will I leave behind
Before someone worthy finds me
And stops. Pressing. Play.
Ejects the mistakes my father made
Fasts forward to what will be his daughter’s pain
If only those visits to the gym
Made you strong enough to eradicate
The behaviors that made you this way.
And after all this time I don’t see results,
Don’t have a membership,
I just remember shit
Like the many times and the many things
You put before getting to know me
Not the bottom half,
But the whole me,
How Everclear reality is now,
It still stings going down
And it’s a hard pill to swallow,
But I’m a tough act to follow
And I almost dare you to find
A woman whose heart is as big as mine
Who is as willing to take the time
To deal with your emotional unavailability
You think I want to be before anything
I just don’t want to be after everything
Why can’t we just be... together
My mama used to say
If you’re too ashamed to introduce him to me
He’s not fit to be a part of your life
And I wish she wasn’t right
But when she asks about you, I lie,
I try, to deny that just like her I lie
Night after night in denial
Telling myself in time
Daddy will come home
And just like me
She wonders why
Every man in her life seems to be a failure,
To fail her,
To nail her to a cross roads
Somewhere in between love and giving up
Between giving her all and not giving a fuck
And I’m my father’s daughter
So if there is one thing I can understand,
I can understand, I do comprehend
That if he can’t hear me scream,
Then maybe it’s time to whisper
To ordain that the pain that encompasses me
Will miss her
My daughter
Who WILL have a loving father whose past won’t come back to haunt her
Who WILL be nothing like her mother,
Who WILL be far stronger
I won’t worry about her...
She will be ok.......
I know cause my mother ordained the same.

an ode to the district.

i've lived in DC for over 4 years now and if there is one thing i can say about this place, it is that for it to be so small, it is packed with some of the most beautiful history i have ever studied. i hope that my dc natives and transplants alike can appreciate this work and i hope it is an appropriate expression of the power that lies within these 8 wards. In honor of Emancipation Day I presented this to community partners at OneDC.

The only thing constant in the world,
Is change.
That’s why today I take life as it comes.

In the District of competition,
Where there isn’t always clear vision,
We rely on superstition
To explain the broken reflection of ourselves
Confused because our worlds don’t mirror
The presidential picture
And if you happen to be the Natasha
Whose last name ain’t Obama
You may begin to wonder if you’re in the frame at all
Constantly left to fend(ty) for herself
This poor little DC girl
Has had to forward her mail every year of her life
May your mayor make her a priority
Realize she’s the majority,
Skip the presidential tea parties,
To save the girl stuck in a rut between Good hope, and Kings dreams.
Writing letters from a Birmingham jail, in her cell on Alabama avenue.
If only he could see what D sees,
That behind Florida’s palm trees,
Beside the capitol lettering,
There are lower cases of affordable housing
Where we forgot that we,
Were supposed to be,
Lifting up our hearts.
If we could see what D sees,
Fight against the patriarchy,
Count the number of students at Gonzaga high
With sursum corda residency.
Watch the faces on the 90 change 180 degrees
Cause those on the S2 said FU,
The Hill’s in Southeast
And I signed my lease
And the landlord said it wouldn’t be that bad
Cause all the culture that it used to have
Fits nice and compact
Into Sundays farmer’s market.
Where Monday’s beggar plays jazz.
If only we could see what D sees….
That you street, ben’s chili and the naacp
Used to belong to her
But the pronoun has attached itself to someone else
And now there’s a bistro where she used to shoot free throws
A café where she danced ballet
And that low class liquor store is no more
It’s a wine bar now.
And now we have two memorials along the corridor
Both reminders of a civil war
That left black faces to be remembered
So long as we don’t forget,
our number of completion is eight
and the freed slaves who paved way,
are rolling in their graves today
cause the noise created by the freeway and suitland parkway
keeps them up at night
listening to others make plans to decimate
the community they purposely neglected in the first place
But if only they could see what D sees
That she is capable of creating wizardry
She is the same D, that allowed Nannie Helen B
Suburban Gardens, and H.D.
To coexist peacefully
The same D that gave Amtrak Ivy city
And though she don’t get much in return…
she returns some of the greatest black leaders of our time.
The history that D has seen,
Will always triumph over the misery
That attacks her self esteem.
It is freedom that wipes her clean.
The only thing, constant in our world is change.
And the only way to understand our future
Is to recognize our past
If we could see what D sees,
We’d hold on dearly to our city.
In the name of Anna J. Cooper
And William Birney,
I pray that one day we can all see,
What D sees.