Must Do Better!!

The last year and a half were rough. I hit a really low point and the people I thought I could depend on taught me some hard lessons on top of the low. I have my steady handful and plan to keep them, they also, ironically, knew me before all this. It's the afters. I had to come to terms with a lot of things that shook me and made me want to re-evaluate how I relate to people. My loyalties were tested and found to be one-sided as I realized that there were people in my life that I considered priceless while they considered me optional or after thought. It messed me up more than I thought. Like abandonment issues weren't enough here's a nice big ass dose of trust issues, oh and here are some more ghosts to go with the others. So I took to the road as much as I could. Never in town long enough to be lied to, taken for granted or worse, a joke.

So I don't trust my judgement these days or maybe it's my heart I don't trust. As a result I am watching my life go by from the relative safety of the edge not even daring to jump in to the pool. I met someone a several months ago and after a few dates I caught myself running through the various scenarios, the hierarchy of friendship,  the lying about unnecessary shyt, the making up unnecessary excuses, the promises made just to be broken and what I might do to the next person who hurts my kid. That date ended badly. Not rudely, I'm rarely rude, just me disconnecting from the grid and making sure "Welcome" is not tattooed on my forehead.

I have recently been tempted and am standing in the shallow end of the pool. Just ankle action. I want to believe she won't hurt me, but I can't trust it completely. Not yet. She will have to come to me, that makes me nervous because, well, what if she doesn't?

I remember saying, years ago in response to someone who asked when I would settle down again, maybe in my 50's! Well, 50 is approaching and maybe uttering the words so long ago, manifested them at the time I defined when I put into the world. Or not. Until then I am on the move, busy getting my ankles wet from time to time.

I started this blog as a recovery journal when I had my partial hysterectomy in 2005 (I was having many moments back then). Since then it has been a repository for rants, heart to hearts, poems and can you believe this shyt stories. I stay busy to keep the loneliness at bay and I have very few folk to use as soundboards that haven't rendered me out of sight out of mind. So, I think I will use this space more in the future to recover and get through some of the lonely along with the occasional rant, heart to heart, poems and can you believe this shyt stories.
You know, like usual.

I am going to start a new blog for National Poetry Month. I'll try to remember how to link it to this one, or watch a You Tube video to figure it out.

This weekend all my kids will be home so I'm gonna love on them extra to stock pile the hugs, Zion's gonna hate that, but deal he will. My actor has auditions and this mommy knows, my baby is going to kick much artistic ass. She is just like her mother in that department.

SS

Don't forget to vote tomorrow!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=agKYmrekX_k

Get out there and vote tomorrow good people.

If you choose not to vote I choose not to listen to you complain about the outcome.

Happy Monday!

After Career Day

Odd Jobs

The absence of young men was palpable. 

I found myself torn between insult and interest

considered if I lived in a world where the arts was women's work.

Wondered if I'd slid off the world.

I learned later that eighth grade boys 

were guided into the careers they are already living

those missiles in a world that might ignite 

or disarm them.

As I move through to seventh grade the testosterone 

roamed the halls, rushed for seats to sit next to pretty girls.

Rambunctious bodies too fast for their feet.

Seems they have a year before they would be told 

about the job that picked them simply because they breathe.

I asked my eighth grader about the speakers chosen for him. 

The scientist, the psychologist, the police.

I wondered if they were asked the same questions.

I asked my son if they were asked the same questions.

The scientist was asked the same questions.

Not the psychologist. Not the police.

They instead gave advice on how not to look 

suspicious while being young, black and male.

When stopped by the police you don't ...

Never IF you are stopped.

Young black men have a tendency ...

Not SOME black men.

Avert your eyes when ...

Don't want to be seen as threatening.

Keep your hands visible...

Don't get hungry or thirsty or listen

to your favorite songs too loud.

He never got to ask the questions about the things he loves the most. 

Doesn't know more about the classes to take to be a programmer. 

How many different fields there are and the possibilities 

out there waiting for him so he can live his dream.

He believes it was helpful.

Believes if he is ever stopped by the police

(thank God he didn't say when)

he will not be shot.

Believes the tips from the psychologist 

will help him appear less threatening.

I believe that this world is afraid of his potential

wants him thinking how not to appear criminal

when statistics show pigment will do that for him.

My silence scares him.

Are you mad?

A question I can answer.

I am not mad, I am concerned.

Don't worry mom, he tells me through the phone.

I have an hour before bed he tells me

I'm going to do some more research on programmers 

and if I have time I'm going to write this new idea 

for my book. I think it's almost done.

I breathe a little easier. 

Make sure my feet are no longer floating.

My son is very aware that he is young, black and male.

He knows the world knows it too.

He also knows that living is a job but waiting to be profiled

is not his career.

He's got games to make 

and books to write.

21/30 The Accident (part 5)

the birds keep on singing

the vacant smile I wear

to hide what is hidden falters

no one notices 

not even me

if I come back from where I’ve gone

will it be noticed

will I notice the return 

of my parts 

things never happen in a straight line

some happen dark as dried blood

you can never deny

what has never been said

20/30 The Accident (part 4)

after the talk

after the voices screaming in my head

reduce to whispers

I sip sweet tea soaked in whiskey

looking over my shoulder

in hopes to glimpse the others who left

I should be surprised

but nothing surprises

not any more

19/30 The Accident (part 3)

early in the morning

when it is still dark

sweat pools

could be tears

in the dark no one notices

not even me

when the sun greets

there is no evidence

what might have changed things

a stronger truth

a little more faith

when my train went off the tracks

the wreckage of me broadcast

on static channels

no reception between the scrawl 

18/30 The Accident (part 2)

spiked tongues talk

then vanish without a trace

I could use the company

can’t remember how to ask

could be the weak in me

without anchors insecurity rises

the taste of anxiety burns my throat

17/30 The Accident (part 1)

in the process I learned

a lot of things

some hard on the muscles

some camoflauged, remote

none the worse for it

sitting in the dark

wondering if this body could

carry me across the room

without my anchors 

I float away

no one notices

not even me

16/30 In the Kitchen

it started as a giggle 

turned into gale force hilarity 

tears streaming from squinted eyes 

hands on hip and belly 

barely catching a breath 

which is only more funny 

the neighbors are offended 

how dare you be happy 

in this April snow storm 

this life of rug pulled from beneath feet 

arms pinwheeling themselves 

an effort to stay upright 

how dare you find joy 

when fucked up is happening all around you 

did you see the news 

don't you understand the seriousness 

don't you get how 

this is nothing to be laughed at 

who can fight back with weaken willow legs 

softened by frivolity 

if you are talking to the living

in real time face to face

how you gonna like there statuses

do you hear anyone else having fun

if I ever lost my ability to find joy 

in the mist of fuckery 

I'd be unhappy 

always 

and the body count would be high so 

let me enjoy my laughter 

my habit of being in the company of pulses

you enjoy you complaints and pessimism 

I'd rather weep with joy in a room full of friends

than wallow in whatever you are wallowing in 

I'm ok not being welcomed to your pity party

but you are always welcomed to laugh with the living

find happy in the beat of hearts

and belly laughs so real

they sound like love

15/30 False Hoods

she never says what she means 

always eager to please 

even when she doesn't want to 

even though she knows

the person being pleased 

does not care 

and neither does she 

but she takes the rejection in

calls it something else 

calls it challenge

regrets the attempt 

even as she attempts again 

she sees the broken logic 

as a way to be engaged 

in any 

all 

conversations 

wants to be a treaty line 

wants everyone to pretend 

they want to be here 

like she is pretending 

she wants to be here 

fireworks of mad shoot off in her brain 

her heart has lost its keys 

no music lives in her body 

as she veneers herself stuck 

rooted to a spot 

she never wanted to be in 

she never means what she says 

knows that if she unleashes 

the flame of her tongue 

she may burn the bridges 

that lead her to what she believes 

could be home 

14 And the Cranberries Lead the Way

what you refuse to understand 

is my desires have nothing to do with you 

but I have entertained this train wreck interaction 

believing the conversation would be 

well, not this 

not this simple 

not this you trying to degrade me 

make me feel less than

but what you don't seem to get 

is that in order for your words to sting 

for your teeth to make purchase 

you have to bite harder and mean it  

plunging you blade of stupid in my back 

only works if you are sharp 

which you are not 

but you think you are 

which is sad 

but there you are standing there 

wrapped in cluelessness 

trying to school me on shit you don't know 

your thrift store psychology fails you 

and as you lose confidence in your own brand 

of bat shyt crazy 

you decide to go to the bottom of your dumb bucket 

attempt to crab barrel drag me to your level 

And your only come back is 

"only lazy women become lesbians 

it takes work to find a man"

my first thought was 

what the fuck is wrong with this person 

my next fuck this person 

when I stare this time I am imaging 

the exhausted hamster wheeling in your brain 

you know what you've said makes no sense

but you hold on to it like an ugly baby 

trying to protect it from those who might call it what it is

I tell you more than I should 

two marriages three kids a leap from the closet 

later and I am oddly pleased and not surprised 

to learn that I am no longer as lazy, 

like that, 

but the men I found were not good men 

grinning in the direction of the man who talks down to you, 

cheats on you and whose wardrobe is the definition of misogyny 

the same man who hit on me 

then showed his entire ass 

when I suggested he introduce me to his sister 

she'd have a better chance

When I grow bored of the no longer 

even slightly entertaining conversation about nothing 

I tell you I'm done going to take my lazy ass 

to the dyke bar 

a little karaoke and beer 

you gush tell me how you've always wanted 

to go to a gay bar grinning at me like I just issued an invitation

so you want to be lazy with me?

I lie 

tell her it's like a club  

there are secret handshakes and shit 

and I decide to not have conversations 

about sexuality with people who don't 

even know what that is 

later

a cold beer in my hand

I sing my favorite Cranberries song 

thinking how I spent most of my evening 

then it hits me

the zombie apocalypse isn't the eating of brains

it's the people who don't use theirs 

and the Cranberries had been saying this for years

it is in your head

in your head

zombie, zombie, zombie, ie, ie

well played Cranberries

well played

*insert guitar solo*

 

13/30 Shit I Been Through, In No Particular Order #1

straight A truancy 

French honor

graduation early 

gives thanks for not having

to return after thanksgiving 

first job hunt

in mainstream America 

fills out application

naive newcomer changing the world

my observation skills  

always aware of surroundings

arc du triomphe, le tour Eiffel 

tri-color everywhere

honor student
conducts interview in French

new comer excited
cosmopolitan meets urban

newcomer unfamiliar with racism here

hired

working
Neiman Marcus secret

underground plantation style

17 years old 14 dollars an hour

only black faces busing tables 

or slinging sweet tea cocktails

newcomer mistake

mistook the south for southern France

cosmopolitan forces urban

employs me 

black face hostess

southern bells offended

refuse menus 

just place them on the table

refuses pens to sign their checks

just place it on the table

refusing to place money in my hands

they just place it on the table

staff pissed and enjoying masters return

black bartender watching seeing my future

training two weeks 

halts two days in 

you closing tonight 

you never showed me closing

question

no instructions given 

no keys to lock doors

bartender steps in shows me how

locks cash in safe

locks doors checks twice

next morning unscheduled 

still there before the sun

waits for explanation

accused of theft

calls for supervisor

safe open cash in hand

hands over
explanations
fire at will

I will fire back

transferred new department

shipping and receiving 

refusing pay reduction

8 dollar difference

you looking at my paycheck?

causes a problem

calls supervisor

transferred again

tis the season wrapping gaudy

overpriced ugly

they commission

me refusing pay reduction

tips for ostentatious meets tacky

up to two hundred every shift

you looking at my paycheck?

causes a problem

calls supervisor

cosmopolitan stretched 

thinner than our first meeting

17
bank account healthy

refuses transfer

takes money and runs

first job
successful

ready for more

12/30 Cleave

12/30 Cleave
Cleave means “to join” and “to separate or divide”

We began twins connected
Driveway saints and sinners
Waiting for fault lines

I long for the hold
The meeting of minds and hearts
Begin again, new

11/30 Crop

Crop means "to plant or grow" and "to cut or harvest"

11/30 Crop

She spoke of organs
Of separating him from his essence
Harvest


I remember joy
Bountiful behind his eyes
Now covered with tape

10/30 Grave

I wrote a few of these when I was in the dark and lonely that was February and March. I am fascinated with words that mean their opposites and are synonyms of their meaning. That last kind I only think makes sense to me. They are a little morose, even for me, but I can't deny my darkness. It happens. Hell, it may happen again in an hour, day, week, or month from now and don't let me get started on the seconds.

10/ 30 Grave
Taking someone off 
life support prepares you well
For losing others

9/30 Strike 3,I'm Out

In the land of no expectation 

there are no surprises 

no wishful thinking 

no I should have, would have 

no love lost 

you can never lose what you never had 

and lies by omission have no weight 

or maybe the same weight as obligatory face time 

what was owed was never owed 

and what was believed was never true 

I am always weary of the word best 

three times it's been thrown in my direction 

three times it meant goodbye 

some goodbyes hurt worse than others 

thank the goddess this was only three years 

not two decades 

that one still fucks with me 

but less and less 

with each chance encounter 

she drifts a specter 

showing up when 

I'm second guessing myself 

out of the blue 

offering change for the meter 

the only other love of my progeny 

growing like weeds up up and away 

believed in and probably alway will

I was surprised by what wasn't felt 

maybe I knew this was some twisted duty thing 

it was difficult to hold your eyes 

because I once loved them so much 

know I can never love them again 

a disappointment of a different kind 

same kind 

I have learned so much 

about myself this last year of last chances 

and test of true 

not liking all the answers 

but trusting the results 

as you offered no better 

my appetite not accustomed to crumbs 

and I am far to polite to stay 

where I am not wanted  

8/30 Anti Social Media

I grew up in a time where there was no internet
where social interaction meant
you were socially active
speaking one unto another
knowing the shape of another’s face
their speech
when on-line was outside
mud cakes and kick the can
where neighborhood meant
you knew the people living near you
when block parties
were keystone
a place to foster community
when the village raised the child
called out bad behavior
and the neighborhood was family
when social meant interaction
and media was the news
these days the news is how you feel
and whether I like that
where is the dislike button?
it doesn't exist because
these days if you don’t like something
then you are shaming it
making it less than
the fact that we don’t know each other
in this new land where everybody knows
each other it’s an interesting thing
when the people you thought you knew
become veiled in a book of faces
chirp like birds
and no one knows even remembers
when they did
they knew one another
face to face
once upon a time

we have become our own fairy tales
stories read
some believed
others discarded
truncated text the way of life
we are laughing out loud
to everything and nothing
I do miss facing my true friends
knowing they knew me
only to find out that these days
they find comfort in
distance

7/30 Mirror, Mirror

You look at me hoping to see more
than I can show you
we are not three dimensional
this is flat reflection
you face me
I face you forward
not back
can’t see the demons chasing you
can’t see the full scope of what you allowed
others to do to your self-esteem
can’t work out the incantations of magic
you refused to learn
believing what was said to you
forgetting truth doesn't live everywhere

I can only show you what you see
your vision no longer 20-20
you have decades under
your frayed belt but
but, you always lead with your heart
target practice
you hopeless romantic chasing crushes
not hearing the crushed in your future
this is not the worst I have seen

different

because of the collateral damage
you put in its path
but those are your soldiers
they live in your army

command

those days you stare at our reflection
whiskey soaked in sadness
smile and doubt

you shake your head
wonder how you got here
hangovers long gone
but the memories make so much noise

I can only show your surface
not the stumble in your pulse
or the panic attacks you hide from view
but when you talk to yourself
it all makes sense
and I mourn for what I have never seen
never want to
the last time you wiped condensation from my face
I noticed you had grown an inch or two
stopped folding in on yourself
accordion
no music
no beat

I love the way you reflect after purges
after the recognition of those empty calories
we look good standing face to face
I know the sad will come again
you will show it to me
when you are not looking

but I savory these times
when I can just make out your wings
looking over your shoulders
I want you to know they are there
but we are not three dimensional
but they are perfect
your wings even though
you've never
seen them

6/30 The Diet of Invisibility

a shaky jerk of eyes
taking in the whole picture of herself
this girl losing weight like patience
holding on to the hurt
even as it gnaws on extremities
time
space
and forgotten
unrecognizable
her clothes no longer
hold the shape of her
she layers her logic
hopes no one notices
how much of her was lost
searching dirt roads
looking for the crumbs
broadcast
longing to return
home

5/30 Mass Communication

You and your complicated mouth 

drinking whiskey and shooting up the room.

We've become something and nothing at the same time

absorbed in thought between moments of mutual distractions.

A reenactment 

a pause 

an accidental backtrack 

on the sidewalk concrete growing beneath our feet

a lie in the pulpit.

Your hug 

an uncomfortable chair seeking 

shapes me awkwardly 

I have drowned in your shallow.

A well timed spit 

after a blow-job gone 

premature ejaculation 

you want all the space in the room 

I comply 

show you my retreating back 

my slow migration to somewhere else 

but I think I love you with this ticker-tape heart 

all float and no real direction.

So many things fall from the sky

never to be found again: swallowed whole.

Tragedy never comes in the form we predict

sometimes they take the form of dropped calls 

falling from some other time

like nightmares wanting operator assistance 

for their return.