No matter how heavy & hectic my day has been or how the drama of the world gets me down, EJ never fails to make me laugh. And I love her for this!
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
All hail Ms. Sassy.Twins.Finished dishes.I just liked the way this looked. I’ll call it, “Mr. Teeth.”Swan love.
attempted to hawk my wares at one of the antique spots not too far from me.
a father & son duo–two local fellas pimpin’ old money into new money. I ain’t mad at them.
I walked around the hole-in-the-wall, snapped photos of my favorites, and chit-chatted
with the son who doted on one particular piece, but was saddened to let me go without an offer.
the first person I thought about who’d love to wear holes in this place’s carpeted floors was Mama.
I can’t wait to introduce her to our very own Antiques Roadshow and watch her lose her mind, fretting about ancient artifacts and dope pieces neither of us can afford.
Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-BookandPaperback) yet?
I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak aboutthe most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.
From the beginning, I’ve been happy about the choice I made to loc my hair, and I still am.
The journey is an interesting one, and I am learning more about myself and my hair with each passing day.
The beauty of going natural is watching various changes with the roots of my head and the blooming of my hair itself; it’s a wonder to witness.
How can something typically seen as dead be so alive? As my cousin interlocked my hair and found difficult locs with which to fight, I smiled recognizing not only am I stubborn, but my hair is, too.
4 hours and 35 minutes later, I walked away with a clean head and a new style.
I cannot believe December of last year was the start of something special — the start of a new me — a changing me.
8 months later, the growth is on track with how I envisioned it would be around this time of year.
I am still eager to see what my hair will do, yet I am patient, too. A blessed head knows its place and remains there. I know myself more since I am following a path that allowed me to shift my life slightly — progress is our lane.
And the paths to the destination set for me are purposed for my excellence. I am healing in a way that words cannot accurately describe.
and I am beholden to her, bathed in a glossy light of her intentions. could she just be flirtatious — plotting on playing, picking sides, and pursuing nothing?
I am cautious in her presence, boldly, she creeps. she creeps. and when she does, I stand aside and mimic a child looking for her lost toy. I must find it. it needs me.
I can’t figure her out. I keep telling myself, “Tread lightly. Watch yourself. Be careful.” there could be danger ahead. I want this danger. I don’t want this danger. this danger is linked to her — I want her.
But I want to be safe too.
I hear an older church mother in the back of my mind shouting, “Pick your poison, baby. Can’t have your cake and eat it too!” And I understand her words of concern. I know the memory of her will play on — she knew what she was talking about.
Age and wisdom and experience.
I ask the dog, “Why me? Why has she chosen me to beat around the bush with when I need consistency and clarity and comfort? women know what they’re doing with their ways. they do. keepers of lust and desire,
I will not pressure her.
I will remain in a lane of my own making — happy to gallivant effortlessly in a world of her design. I see what she cannot. I hear what she cannot.
I do not want to damage the goods she flaunts in my direction. boldly, she creeps. she creeps. and when she does, I stand aside and mimic a child looking for her lost toy. I must find it. it needs me.
I count my blessings . . . I know the worth of a strong foundation in a friendship–one that stands the tests of time–that outlasts the bullshit that can build up at a moment’s notice.
We can swim through anything; come up for air, pace ourselves against the waves, and find the much-needed shore for rest. I do not take it for granted–I’m aware of my luck.
For how could I speak of you in such high regard without experiencing this state of bliss?
Others have tried–some waltzed in with their fake acceptances and lack of sensitivity, and I know their type now–I smell them from miles away. Trust me, I keep my distance.
At my age, the beauty of friendship is a gift that keeps on giving–a treasure to be found each day. We sparkle and shine and light up this world with our presence.
And there is no way I’m ever going to let this go– to do so would be foolish.
I’m no fool.
Thank you toKern Carter for allowing me to gift a poem to you. I really enjoyed writing this one.
To learn more about the Your Poem From Me: The Giving Cause, clickhere.Let me write a poem for you. I can give it life.
A Cornered Gurl 
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