in boldface.

all day, i thought about what i would write. some prolific, expansive, sweeping text that would move readers to tears and/ or action. i intended on changing minds and lives with some cleverness, something that even i could not anticipate creating. i was going to surprise and dazzle folks with my words.

but when i finally sat down to write, i felt like there were no words that could do justice to my feelings & thoughts.

i want us to be bold
be blissful
be brave
be better
be badass
be bountiful
be beautiful
be brighter

& in that we can heal ourselves and begin to pull it all together.

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being a bold, red winner today!

the phillies won the world series!

also:

today is be bold, be red day.

i’ll be back w/ an entry later.

i feel like i have to protect what’s mine

the sanity
the peace
the sanctuary
everything.

i’m less open to the bullshit. every day, my tolerance is less.
that does not bode well for the following:
assholes
abusers
know-it-all judgmental dickheads
haters
naysayers
& general ne’er-do-wells.

i won’t be laying with you, cosigning your shit, sitting idly by while you wreak havoc on the rest of humanity, or running interference for you.
your time is quickly drawing to a close.
i hope you got all your jabs in, because it’s just about over.
tip your bartender.

because i’m in a pep-talky mood.

jill scott, “sweet justice”

probably my favorite jill song. good for those days when you really do need to get your ass up & out, when you really need to motivate yourself, when it seems like whatever you’re doing is going to kill you instead of making you stronger, etc.

sweet justice
climb the mountain
though your hands may be weary
swim the ocean
though your legs may be tired
run the extra mile
though your stride may be worn down
fight, fight, fight, fight
never surrender

sweet justice

many sides to the same face
searching, wanting their hour
so many colors in the spectrum of life
with right lies the power
struggle, struggle, struggle, struggle
struggle only makes a man stronger
if he believes within his heart then he can find it
he will find it

sweet justice
sweet justice

freedom, the epitome of life
lay your down your burden, soldier
study, study war no more, no more
trust the soul that thrives within you
hold strong to your faith
continue, continue, continue on, on

sweet justice
sweet justice
sweet justice
sweet justice

he had a wife. & a girlfriend.

me.

well, they weren’t legally wed, as far as i knew. but they had a baby on the way. they shared a lease. that was enough for me. i’m the product of a roaming dick of a father, and as such i’ve always felt like i had to respect others’ exclusivity, even if they didn’t. because that meant i respected myself. i prided myself on holding myself above and beyond all of that talk show shit. he said he did, too. but that began to unravel before long. he looked at me too longingly, was too quick to ask me out for drinks after work. he was entirely too quick, with the baby due any day, to ask me flat out, “when’s the last time you had some good dick, girl?” i felt like it had to be the booze talking, we had been hanging out in a group setting, and he offered to drive me home clear on the opposite side of the city from where he lived, and we did decide to go cut a rug, and we both worked crazy ass hours, so why not take some time to ourselves to blow off steam? he’d just had too much to drink, and i needed a ride home . . . it was late. taking the bus home in january in philly . . . i wasn’t really dressed for night time temperatures, just my work clothes . . .
but i knew he was wrong. he was wrong. he knew better. i knew better. at the time, i was a believer that anyone with 3 years of age on me and the vast life experience he had should have behaved like the mature one. above all, i felt like i had to remind him that he still had something/ someone to go home to. he had a reason not to be out with me at 3 in the morning, and it wasn’t either of our obligations to work the next day. there was a baby that they had already named and prepared for. it was her possible entry into active labor. and what did i do?

nothing. let it progress. because i wanted, very badly, to feel admired. i am a sensation junkie. he stimulated my mind more than anything else, did a damn good job of it. most importantly, he represented an impossibly pleasant distraction (oh, the text messages, the myspace wall posts, the crazy ass emails!) from the madness surrounding me. at work. transitioning from my mom’s (probably for the last time) to cohabitation with a girlfriend of mine. drama at work. there was so much to process, so much to ignore . . . the endless drinks (and nutritionally deficient “meals” at the bar) impeded the flood of madness that threatened to drown me. i had to move out of the old apartment in north philly and high-tail it to the land of trolleys and ethiopian restaurants. i was having what some may call a spiritual awakening in regard to my study of the yoruba faith. i was learning, growing, changing . . . and still shaking off the vestiges of old beliefs about myself. i don’t say this to say that i didn’t know what i was doing. i knew, but had no way of gaging the impact on myself. getting to know him was getting old, fast. but i wasn’t quite finished. i have this thing where i always have to double and triple check even when i know i’m right in the first place (conversely, i never double-check the possible missteps or bad fucking ideas). so as i double checked and triple checked, it got uglier. things deteriorated.

i learned the hard way that a mutual friend (trust, i now use that phrase lightly) took my confidence in her and turned it into something it wasn’t. all of a sudden i, the fiercely independent, perpetually single one was that bitch. hungry, needy, trying to get in anywhere i could for the sake of validation. it was a play upon fears and a major exaggeration of words that, in context, were more consistent with my real self than this skewed portrait she’d painted of me. at the time i wasn’t even aware of the weight of it. but i became more clear on it after a while. a bunch of shit she was into, which is completely inconsequential to me at this point, had her acting like she had zero home training.
but, back to me. cuz this is my blog & it’s about me.
i was in the early stages of picking the whole mess apart. i didn’t wanna fuck him anymore. the one time we messed around left me feeling like anything further would be less than satisfying to me. i had already moved into my new place. i didn’t need to vent to anyone anymore about the bobby & whitney ass shit my roommate was into. i didn’t need him for the distraction anymore. just as i was figuring out exactly what purpose he served in my life, we had this mindblowingly unilateral conversation (i let it be that way, i know when to shut my mouth) & that was that, for the most part. some other shit popped off months down the line that is not even worthy of note here.
years removed, i’ve gained a lot of clarity. i’ve lost contact w/ most of the folks associated with that mess. and i rather enjoy the distance. i have no regrets. i know now: the first time should be the last when it comes to being offended. you can’t trust anyone who’s afraid of the hair that grows out of her own scalp (at least, i can’t). if he’s dumb enough to bring you up in his house after the fact, you need to make that the last interaction. follow your gut instinct; call a spade a spade.
above all: no matter what they say or do, they are only human & therefore no more important or special or favored or loved by the most high than you are.

polishing my gun

(a stream of consciousness)

for every woman left alone to labor
for every child damaged by those who should be giving care
for every man who fits the description
for every person who’s been watched more closely or ignored altogether for being brown
for the birth trauma survivors, mothers and children both
for every hottentot, jezebel, mammy, hot-in-the-ass teen mother and bust it baby
for every person who’s simply trying to practice love, regardless of a religion
for every unnamed man with his nuts in his mouth and a noose around his neck
for every person who’s ridden a train, hidden in a vehicle, or walked endlessly to come to this side
for every girl who aspired to become a boi, and every boy who ever aspired to become a gyrl
for every woman who couldn’t rhyme along anymore because when they got to that part of the song, everyone was looking at her booty instead of ol girl in the video
para los antepasados (iba ara torun. mojuba awo egungun! modupe-o!)
for everyone whose life is worth it
whether they know it or not
i choose to fight
i wouldn’t have it any other way
because the love motivates me
because the love is reflected to me
i’m a humble servant of the people
red black & green
these are the colors that don’t run

in my dreams again.

him. the crush.

this time, there was lots of touch. some good jokes. skin-to-skin contact. we were sitting in my bed. a few times he climbed over me to get something off the dresser. other times he walked into the kitchen to get me something to drink or eat. i wasn’t sick, but simply the center of attention.
and the last time my alarm went off, i was waiting for him to come back. i was expecting a kiss. anticipating our fingers to be entangled and our foreheads to touch, for there to be some whispered compliments and some sharing of extremely private jokes.
but i had to wake up.
to nothing but a wisp of a memory.

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