Proud of Myself

I did something this weekend that was more important than all of my accomplishments. It was more significant than graduation, buying my own house and starting my own business. It was smarter than any Jeopardy clue I've remembered, or any marketing plan I've cooked up.

I prayed in spite of.

I have never been a big church person. I am saved, and loved the Lord, just like anybody else. And I yelled and cried to God when I was sad and upset. But I had never used my faith, really. To quote Medea, "The last time I prayed was when I seen a cop in my review mirror."

Well, that wasn't exactly true. My boyfriend and I had been praying together and asking God to remove and reveal anything that was keeping us from being closer to Him. My goals have been changing slowly, from focusing on business, money and happiness....to being closer to God.

This weekend tested it all. Sometime Saturday morning, while most were fast asleep or hungover (which I planned on being) I was in the hospital, diagnosed with lymphoma, with talks of starting chemotherapy on Wednesday. This couldn't be happening. I am 28 years old, maybe not in the best shape...but a vegetarian. Sure, I stupidly started smoking about 6 months ago, but I felt I could stop that any day. I couldn't have cancer.

I cried and panicked. My life unlived flashed before my eyes. I don't have any kids. I don't even have money to pay for this ER visit. I have so many people I need to forgive. So many debts to be paid. I never been to Europe...or New York City. I haven't seen my Grandmother in months. I have nothing to leave as a legacy. I can't be dying.

So I started praying. I didn't ask God for anything. I just kept saying "thank you God" over and over in my head. My brain was in full panic mode. But something in my spirit was thanking Him anyway.

One day later my prognosis changed from cancer to pneumonia. Two days later, I am out of the hospital, in no pain.

I don't know what physically has happened to my body. But my mind, my spirit is changed. You relationship with God is not always this mystical, poetic thing. It is super practical. A pastor recently said, you have to stop being so emotional about your relationship with God, and get it in your head. If you believe in God and what He says, you just have to incorporate it into everyday living, in spite of any situation.

I am proud of myself for applying the Bible to my real life. I can't quote you Bible verses word for word. But I can do what God wants me to do. I think He is proud of me too.

to his mistress

I'm not saying I can never forgive you. I just need to say this first.

I was you, five years ago. Young, desirable, creative. I had men at my doorstep and baggage in my bedroom. I took no prisoners and asked for no histories. I bumped into so many relationships and never worried about the bruises I caused. Because nobody's bruises were like mine.

I am forgiving you because I do not believe that my man was the first, nor would be the last in your life you will use to mask your own insecuruties. I am forgiving you because in your youth you tried to do the impossible; you attempted to be someone you could never be. Me, in my happy relationship.

I am hopeful that as a woman, you learn someday that disrespecting another woman is a painful, embarrassing mirror that only puts you in a position to reinvent the pains you are already feeling.

I am hopeful that as a woman you decide to put your self before your pussy, your pain, your horniness and your power over men. That is a lesson that is slow to learn but will give you instant happiness.

I know you. Not because of our many hours together. Not because of your quiet disclosures about your life and your past. Not because we now have dick in common. I know you because that scared little girl peeking out behind all that pretend sexiness has a universal name and face. She is so many women competing for the hearts, mind and money of so many broken men. She pretends to be solace to an aching penis. She hopes that her trists will one day bloom into commitment.

That girl used to be me. But one day I decided that my life would not be a series of other people's dick. I decided I needed me whole, and didn't want to give away anymore parts of me anymore.

But you haven't been hurt enough. You haven't felt enough of another woman's pain to keep your pain to yourself. You haven't taken enough risks in love that have failed miserably. You haven't hit rock bottom. So you will continue to make mistakes until you learn how to love you.

You can never be me. You can never write enough poems and articles. You could never get your makeup just right. You could never be attractive enough to my man for him to want to leave me. You can give him all your pussy, but you could never have his soul. I know what it is.

There is no replacement for real love. When you try to replace it with cheap imitations, life rejects it. I'm not perfect. Neither is he. And neither are you. But please learn to keep you imperfections to yourself until you find someone to who wants to deal with it.

If I didn't want to really forgive you, I couldn't have written all this. I am just telling you the things one of my exboy's women should have told me years ago.

poems at 3:28AM

i don't want to leave you
i want to look into your face
remembering every crevice and scar
left by impatient teenage hands picking at imperfection
you are so imperfect
so customized
so scarce
i can only remember you for being gone
you aren't here enough

i don't hear you enough
because i don't listen
i don't relish in your every word
i don't roll around in every syllable
like i should

i can't help but to drown right now
in sleepiness
because i can't take my eyes off of you
my fingers so creamy with each caress
i lick your slickness before it dries
i miss you when you are here
because i know you will be gone soon

if only i were fit
if i exercised you more
if i called upon you
in sickness and in health
i need you more
than food and shelter
i covet you more than
peace and quiet

at 3;28AM
on one of the coldest nights in january
with no other priorities
i jerk you off
until no more words cum

fight/love

she called me too much today
not enough yesterday
cried when the plains of my patience were flooded
and was barren like the desert when i needed a cool friend
it's not the end
even though the days since we spoke last
outnumber the days we've talked

we loved like girls
rigorous and conditional
she hated inconsistencies
hated that i smoked cigarettes because of boys
calmed me when i drank too much and cussed too loud
collected buckets of tears, each labeled with new boys' names
i hated when she acted yet didn't listen

we fought in the night
in silence and secrets
in resentment hanging over each others heads
like trap doors holding spears
aimed at an intruder's heart
i hated that her beefs were old and rotten meats
that had been thrown out years ago
why did she go to junkyards
follow past transgressions to swap meets
find the worst of me i discarded
and bring them to my doorstep?
she hated my jeans and t-shirt attitude toward love
i was too casual

we fought and loved but always remembered to love
but now im not too sure
that love was at the root of our love
i passively pulled
she aggressively tugged
at the right to have dominion over one another

i called her so much one day
my hoarse voice was muted
she answered so much the next
my ears are bruised
i don't know if either one of us
is dignified or polished enough to be christened with the title
"best friend"
compromises sometimes are like
answers to tests
when you don't know the question

miss me

the day was calm
the wind swarmed between
my arms and billowed
my new white cotton
blouse
i was sitting on the porch
outside my house
money's tight and
i was without a couch

he called
he took baby steps
made even smaller talk
he simmered with emotions
he fought his thoughts
he asked in spite of his hesitation
"you miss me?"

i brought laughter from a place
darkened by shame
reddened by hate
chuckles that were watered by wet eyes
giggles that were buried in lies and matured out of cries
i took a drag off my joint and pictured his eyes
he was squinting with fear,
i imagined
the smell of hyacinths filled my senses
smoke and flowers colored my response
"why"

"nevermind," he replied.
"I hope everything is cool with you and your guy."
the wind picked up but not for long
before i decided if i wanted to push the subject
move on his question like wind through plastic bags
i took another drag and
dead tones were on my phone
that and the songs of wind chimes
outside my semi-suburban home

just like when he was here
he was gone

Full of Excitement/Not One Lull

"We like Ruby Dee and Ossie, Martin and Coretta, doin' it to death no one do it better, when we leave our physical our spirits still together."
Gettin' Up by Q-Tip

jacks

he scattered covered smothered our hearts
across grounds across yards
but there was no play
just girls jagged shooting darts
all in hopes
to be a part of the game

he had balls
that he bounced between gems
all of them lovers
a few of them friends
he juggled more than any of his brethren
carried all his eggs in one basket
which made him a legend

sometimes he'd pretend he wasn't taking
advantage of them
he'd gain fans and mesmerize
the most glamorous sharped-edged spikes
into laying in his eyesight
girls hoping to be onesies
settling for twosies
often times so woosie at being swooped into his hot, greasy palms
it would happen so fast and wouldn't be long, no

he scratched his knuckles to snatch me
sometimes he had an achey back or ashy knees
sometimes i rusted on playgrounds just waiting to be seen
others were easier to hold simultaneously
he scattered me so far one time i never came back
i layed in green mangers until i was nearly buried, sometimes attacked
but one day i grew legs
turned rusted angles into angel wings
and flew away from childish things and
charming kings maurading as princes

he never grew up and
shot craps
he never gambled with one love
and closed gaps
he surveyed the fields and
kept his pockets fat with
girls who weren't dumb
girls who weren't ugly
but girls who were comfy
being asphalted until grubby-handed game players
take their pick
regarding these jewels as if they were sticks