I Won’t Apologize For Loving Me

You Shouldn’t Expect Me To

Christina Morillo via Pexels

You came with your demands and like the lonely loner I used to be, I agreed to them. I washed my body in your honey-do lists from hell, neglecting who I was and what my purpose is in life. I fell in love, instead. I clung to the idea of someone other than myself loving me — connecting with me, and this, I thought is what made me whole. When the years became stumbling blocks, I realized somewhere deep in the crux of us, my world mattered less. Self-love was a thing of the past and you settled into the beauty that beckoned it. You had made your voice heard, your goal accomplished. I was half of who I was before you and less than half of who I should have been after you.

noun: self-love: regard for one’s own well-being and happiness (chiefly considered as a desirable rather than narcissistic characteristic). — Oxford dictionary

Do you know what it feels like to have the love of your life stop loving you? Stop making love to you? The damage was done and wading through those waters took up most of my energy and the rest of my twenties. I tried to give you more as we aged, even without your embrace — even without your love. I did not recognize the change in me until we parted ways, again. This time would be the end. The last chapter of our story built itself around our gloomy demise and I succumbed to it like a bee to honey. There would never be an us for the future.

It was for the best. It is for the best. I carried this mindset; moved with it, changed counties, cities, and states with it, yet you reappear just when I feel like I have moved on. I think this is your magic. This is how you draw me in. Two people — two great loves, neither of them willing to settle down with me. I wasn’t woman enough for one — wasn’t man enough for the other. And in my bold thirties, each of them plays see-saw in my life, taking me up and down. I am done with toys. I have no use for them. They wanted what they longed for — searched for. They have their “happiness.”

“Congratulations to you, what you wanted is what you got now . . . So you don’t gotta worry about me, you made it clear that you’re unhappy, (yeah). Go ahead and have your fun now, just remember what goes around comes around.” —”Karma”, Queen Naija


I notice that when I begin to love myself, to pay attention to myself and give my heart what it needs, old loves fall from the woodwork and make themselves known. I am left mentally screaming at them, “THIS IS MY TIME TO LOVE ME. DON’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME, PLEASE!” My voice goes unheard. People who know how to break you will break you. They know the right buttons to push. They have seen the storyline and played their parts in the ending — they wrote the manuscript. I have decided that I am not cut out for acting. If I hurt from it, then I’ll hurt from it. But, I am done going back to spaces where only half of me is being loved and the other half is avoided. That’s no way to live.

Two people — two great loves, neither of them willing to settle with me. I wasn’t woman enough for one — wasn’t man enough for the other. And in my bold thirties, each of them plays see-saw in my life, taking me up and down. I am done with toys. I have no use for them.

I Can Smell A Toxic Relationship

“By definition, a toxic relationship is a relationship characterized by behaviors on the part of the toxic partner that are emotionally and, not infrequently, physically damaging to their partner. While a healthy relationship contributes to our self-esteem and emotional energy, a toxic relationship damages self-esteem and drains energy.” — Thomas L. Cory, Ph.D

While I was in those relationships, no one could have told me that either of them was toxic. I would have countered with every excuse in the book. I would have placed my partner on a pedestal and shared with the naysayer that “things are just in a bad place for him right now” or “she’s struggling with some things, there’s a lot on her plate.” I was blindfolded. I also had a false sense of love wrapped around me and I wanted to keep that. Anything that felt like love from another person to me felt right.

Over the years, I have examined and reassessed these two relationships. I have processed memories, collected dominant scenes, and broken them down for better understanding. During those times, not only was I independent, I could be controlling. With memories of what I saw in my home, growing up taking over my characteristics, had I not changed, I would have found myself continuing a cycle of harmful behaviors toward myself and allowing the same from others as well. I was willing to take the bullshit of it all if it meant that I was loved. But, was I?

Now, I can spot the beginnings of a toxic relationship. I can smell it. I know it. Memories spring up from the past if a certain phrase is spoken — if similar behaviors are displayed. The first thought to me is to communicate what I am feeling — to share why I may feel unsafe. If the reaction from the person is one of anger, placing blame, and any semblance of violence, I do not stick around. It could be as subtle as belittling me or projecting their hurtful feelings on to me and I flinch. I know it will not end well and I voice this.

Feel it crippling your heart. Ooh baby, can you feel it tearing you apart? That’s right, that’s love. When it comes, you never wanna give it up. — “Let it Burn,” Jazmine Sullivan

I am learning that loving myself is far more important than any inkling or falsehood of love from anyone else. The depths in which I am taking are scary. I will not lie. It is both amazing and frightening to learn what you will allow and what you will not allow when you begin to truly value who you are and what you deserve. I had to make a decision: Do I want to experience what love is supposed to be or do I want to keep experiencing what I thought love was?

“If it hurts, it isn’t love.” — Chuck Spezzano

And I will tell you, I am tired of hurting from a false sense of love and the love I feel now — while loving myself, truly loving myself, is the opposite of hurt. I want to hang on to this for a little while longer. I won’t apologize for it.

No one should expect me to.


Originally published via Medium and featured in the Relationships tab as a piece behind the paywall. The link shared is a friend link. 

Young Minds of Medium

*Submissions Call (I am posting this here as well, just in case any of the young ones are interested). 

How Do You Sing The Blues?

This is a call for submissions. Young Minds of Medium — this is your challenge. I am looking for work from the young writers here on Medium, ages 15–25. Submissions will be reviewed and posted on Mondays and Fridays during the month of November. THIS IS YOUR TIME TO SHINE! I want to hear from you. I want to feel, connect with, and fall in love with the words you would like to share with the world.

Your theme: “How Do You Sing the Blues?”

What am I asking?

How do you handle moments of sadness? What do you do to ease your pain? Are there any favorite songs you listen to, any good books you read in which to escape? How do you move through the bad times that come in and try to take control of your life?

I am looking for:


•You will need to be a current user on Medium for this challenge. Request to be added as a writer by emailing me at acorneredgurl@gmail.com with “Please Add Me” as the subject line. For the young ones, ages 15–25 already contributing to ACG, please submit your work in draft-form directly to A Cornered Gurl for review, scheduling, and/or publishing. You can submit twice per week, your works will be published on Monday and Friday of that week.

Please have a suitable image for your work with notable credit to its source/artist (Please include the link!). You can find plenty of great images via UnsplashPixabay, and PexelsIf you are the source for your image, please caption that.

Please subtitle your entries “Young Minds of Medium Blues Call” and tag your pieces with the following: “Growth” & “The Blues.” CHALLENGE SUBMISSION BEGINS NOW!

The start date for publishing the YMOM pieces is Friday, November 1, 2019, and the end date is Friday, November 29, 2019. Other contributors to ACG, please, no worries. You can submit as you normally would to A Cornered Gurl and your work will be published as well, however, a total of three pieces will be published on Mondays and Fridays for all other writers, leaving the floor wide open for our young ones. I hope you will understand and accept this.


  • Please remember that A Cornered Gurl is a read-for-all community and there will be no metered paywall or locked pieces published here. Thank you.

Nod Your Head to Nas & Damian Marley|Patience


ACG Guidelines

Young people, this is the last challenge of the year for you — please, bring it!

The Moon is Envious

An Audio Poem

Adrianne Walujo via Mixkit.co

The Moon is Envious

you have more than questions that
need answers — you want to know
if the sun still shines on you, if the
jeans we purchased last year line
your curves without showing too much
and I stand there in front of
a seeking mirror watching you
watch yourself turn into this other
woman.

I trip on my tongue, forever lost
in finding the words that match
the situation. I want to write something instead,
but you are looking at me as I
fumble with my words in the air,
my lips — stuck in a temporary pause,
I utter, “I don’t know how to
tell you that nothing needs changing.”

I immediately get that this is
not the best response and again I
go searching for the right words while
you stare at this other woman
watching you watch her. The mirror
doesn’t change.

silence crowds the room — I part my
way back to you and offer another
response, one that could be better
than the last.
“Every pound is in its rightful place.
Even the moon is envious of you.
it wants to know why such a beautiful being
hides in the dark when she should be
outside lighting up the night.”

I’m no charmer, but you smile.
and my world shifts back into a safe space
because if you’re smiling — then everything’s
all right.
I watch you twirl around, pat your hip
with a quick slap, and flex your
heeled toes. You change your attire.
You model another outfit and
I flop my flimsy body down
on the bed. I am your audience.

the mirror invites you back . . .
you’ve wrapped your body
in a long, black dress. your naked shoulders
sing a somber tune.
slumped in front of this other woman,
you begin sizing up the inches of your waist.
I flit between clapping and throwing confetti.
my heart asks for an encore,
my tongue knows not to form the words.

still, you stand there. waiting for the other
woman to make you feel better
and I know that my words, applause,
confetti, charm, love, and analogies
carry no weight.

you are too busy attempting
to shed pounds — and the only
thing the other woman wants
you to do is notice that
she’s beautiful enough
to cause an envious moon.


Originally published in P. S. I Love You via Medium. The link shared is a friend link as this is a piece behind Medium’s paywall.


*“Take your time and your talent and figure out what you have to contribute to this world, and get over what the hell your butt looks like in those jeans!” — America Ferrera (Cosmo for Latinas in 2012)

Scream-catcher

Flash Fiction

Wallpaper Stream

Wendy agreed to join Ryan and a few of his jockey friends for a night of gallivanting through the “Haunted Forest.” Halloween was right around the corner — the last thing she wanted to hear was her boyfriend’s whiny voice if she chose not to meet them in the forest with three of her buddies from the dance squad.

“Whose brilliant idea was this anyway?” She found herself talking to the reflection in the mirror as she propped and defiled her cheery face with black makeup, red lipstick, and white eye-shadow. She gently placed the novelty fangs in her mouth and practiced a pronounced lisp while donning a witch’s wig atop her brunette waves.

The plan was to meet up at the forest, pay the $10.00 fee, and enjoy the haunting put on by a few of their classmates. Wendy was sure many of the props used were older than her parents, including Dracula who was appropriately placed in his coffin on the creaky porch of the haunted house.

Moss hung from the old oak trees, fog hovered over the grass for half-a-mile into the forest, and a rank odor filled her nostrils as she worked her way to their meet-up spot. Streaks of bloody handprints lined the outside of each shed. “They’re really playing it up this year. I bet Ryan and the boys are enjoying this.”

She reached the spot where they were to meet. Her shoes were damp from the sudden wetness of the ground beneath her. The incessant echo of a drip, drip, drip filled the forest. She felt those drips land on her shoulder. She touched the cape of her costume and rubbed her index finger and thumb together. “Raspberry sauce or ketchup.” She placed her fingers to her nose and sniffed. The smell of copper and dead skin was strong on them.


She looked up . . . Ryan, David, Josh, Sonja, Hallie, and Beth were hanging above her in the trees. Pieces of them were cut off and tied to the person to their left. Wendy felt her throat lock up. The slow roar of a scream escaped. As soon as she heard it, she covered her mouth. But that one scream was all it took. The shadow of her late boyfriend appeared before her. Its hand waving a bloody knife.

Wendy tried to run but her body began to sink into the ground. Ryan’s shadow cut off her left arm and right ear. Wendy howled before a lustful moon. One more flick of the knife to take her lower lip and she screamed with a might that could wake the dead.

Her once pretty frame had been dismembered. Her beautiful hair laid limp on her head. Her incomparable scream echoed throughout the forest. To her left was Beth, still flinching — her eyes stuck in an astonished look. Wendy screamed once more and Ryan’s shadow was there to catch it.


Jarred Screams

Dracula studied the menu for tonight’s dinner. He looked at Ryan’s Shadow and placed his order: “I’ll have your best scream of the night.” Ryan’s Shadow disappeared then reappeared with Wendy’s severed head. Her face was permanently distorted — her eyes popped out of their sockets. They opened the jar and the sound of her scream pierced their eardrums.

Dracula was satisfied. “Yes . . . Yes! I’ll take two.”


Originally published in The Weekly Knob for the Halloween Trope Challenge via Medium. The friend link is shared as this is a piece behind Medium’s paywall.

TV Trope used: Screaming woman

The Simple Things #8

Every Saturday, I will share three things that I believe to be the simple things in life, yet things that make me extremely happy. I invite you to do the same.

Person sitting alone, relaxing with a hot drink
Supriya Bhonsle via Mixkit.co

1. (hot) decaf coffee
2. a comfortable chair
3. sleeping in on Saturday mornings


Now, it’s your turn! Share with me (in the comments), three simple things in life that make you happy. Please reblog, share this post, and give others a smile and a little bit of love. If you reblog the post, please ping or tag my blog and use the words Simple Things” and Happy” as your blog entry tags.

Are you ready, folks? Can we keep the love flowing by sharing the simple things that make us happy? This is our The Simple Things Share Post #8. Have fun and let the happiness begin!