Tag: CRY Magazine

21 Years Later — We Still Support Each Other

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I’m blessed to have her. I hope she’s blessed to have me, too.

Photo by alex starnes on Unsplash

If you know what it feels like to be walking on what you think is your last leg — limping on worn-out shoes, tortured feet, and trying to carry the weight of your body with the world resting on your shoulders and a special someone is right there for support . . . then, you are blessed. You have been given a gift God handpicked for you, and you should cherish it.

I have someone in my life who has been a force — strength when I have waded through rough waters with little breath to give to anyone else, and she still hangs in here with me.

She has accomplished so much. I am motivated by her ambition. Her managerial skills impress me. Her presence when she enters a room demands the attention of everyone around her, and it is a sight to witness.

I feel nothing but happiness when she is around. We can laugh for hours at the silliest thing or the corniest movie. The older we get, these things do not change.

When you can find peace in the presence of someone else that also lends peace to you to share with someone else, that is the beauty of life that knows no bounds.

Just like any two best friends, we have had our trials. Tribulations came and attempted to conquer. However, we stood firm on their rocky paths. The shakier they seemed to get, the mightier we became. Nothing could shift our spirits and move us away from who we were meant to be.

When you have seen someone at their worst and what you gain from being a witness is strength and revelation, then you hold on to that person. You hold on to their love. You tie yourself to the very thought of their existence and you thank God for thinking about you in your season of need.

A lot of us will never know the beauty of this love — this kind of friendship. Many of us will not allow ourselves the vulnerability we will need to strip down and be our naked true selves to someone else in order to gain this type of understanding — this bond.

I am happy to know I have moved through embracing the hard parts of me and willing them to become soft. Walking through this time of my life opened up doors for me and my best friend. It strengthened our communication skills and made us tap into growth factors, too.

21 years later and we are stronger than we have ever been. Together as one, we have skipped down dusty roads meant to break our bones. And we are continuing on a journey that seems to be a settled place of welcome with an overwhelming dose of calm.

I do not want to know a world without her in it — without her standing by my side and lifting me up when the gloominess of life is pulling chunks out of my heart.

Whenever we see each other, we pull one another into a hug that says, “Hey, girl. Just stay right here for this moment in this embrace for a while longer. Don’t let go — not yet.” And we rock and we sway and we step back and look at each other in awe.

We’re still here — still making each other’s days — still sharing laughs and joy; still being who we are unashamed and with no excuses.

Stronger together, come what may.

©2023 Tremaine L. Loadholt

This piece is in response to the CRY “Stronger Together” writing prompt.

Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.

The Things I Am Not

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And who I am and who I’d like to be

Simple. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

I am an open book with a tired spine. I am not an only child — the eldest of seven. I creep beneath the sun’s shadows on cloudy days and savor a subtle breeze as it blows haphazardly in my direction.

Not a smoker. Not a drinker. Not a person who cares if you do or don’t, as long as you aren’t bringing harm to others — do as you please. I won’t sit back and keep my tongue on pause when a situation/action/ordeal rubs me the wrong way.

I am not your best friend’s best thing. Not a visual artist. Not a fan of everyone merging into one another. Where is the ability to be unique — to stand out from the crowd?

The bandwagon is toppling. We need to lighten the load.

I am not a night owl — not a club-hopper, can’t tell you the last time I’ve allowed someone to get within six feet of me if they weren’t family or a close/best friend.

I am not interested in cryptocurrency, bitcoin, sales & marketing. I don’t want to know how many ways I can flip a house.

I could care less about social media. You won’t find me on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or TikTok; hell, I’m barely tolerating LinkedIn, and it’s lightweight entertainment on a good day.

I still listen to my favorite artists on CDs, others on vinyl. I have zero shame in pulling up YouTube to venture down memory lane.

Nope, I’m not addicted to Spotify, Apple Music, or any other app that gives me hundreds of thousands of artists at my beck and call.

I can write until my fingers bleed. I give birth to stories that have spent more than nine months in my brain. I am a healthcare worker leaning towards 20 years in the field.

I am not heterosexual.
I do not lack love.
I cannot stand what this world is becoming.

I am not in a relationship — don’t want to be “hooked up” with your boy or “set up” with your girl. Keep your friends where they are — they’ll have way too much to deal with as it pertains to who I am now.

I can say that openly without stuttering. I can say that and feel no shame. I know where my lane is and I stay in it.

I am me. Flawed. Fearful. Forgiven. The things I am not are exactly who I am.

This is a response to the CRY “Who Are You” prompt. Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.

N’Dambi, Can’t Hardly Wait

On: Loving What I Create

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A free verse poem

My apartment leasing office. Every season, it’s appropriately themed, and this one . . . made me smile. I figured I’d share it with you. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

it wasn’t a when it was a where . . .
I moved hundreds of miles away
from my home state and fell in
love with rolling hills, vast mountains,
and four seasons. 
I knew I had several lives within me — dwelling
in comfort and begging to be set free.

before this change, I could write.
I could tell tales, weave poetry, and
set into motion articles of any kind,
but this change . . . changed me.
I won’t tell you my struggles
disappeared, no — instead, they further
shaped me and lifted me to a place
I needed for comfort.

I had to get away from where I
was to get to where I am. 
I’ll repeat . . .
I had to get away from where I
was to get to where I am.
I had become a shell of myself,
cracked on every edge, yearning
to be seen by anyone who would
widen their eyes in my direction.

I wrote my way out of traps I
placed for myself — wrote my way
out of arguments with my baby brother
over our (at the time) drug addict of 
a mother — wrote my way out of 
cells built for my kind . . . I learned to
push my anger into the deepest pit
of my belly and create . . .
I learned to pull myself out of 
the pits of hell and create.

I began to love this gift.
away from you — where I could
grow — away from all of you — where
I could stretch myself up and out.
I am touching the clouds now.
I am breathing clean air now.
I am comfortable in my skin now.

this jungle of a world sinks its
teeth in, one by one, and I have
had to run away from the bite marks
pressed into my flesh. 
I wear layers, always prepared for
winter even when it’s seasons away.
God has been kind to me, overall — I’m
still able to cut a finger or two 
and bleed willingly.

I am giving my gift to thousands.

I pray I’m changing someone
and even if I’m not — I’ve changed.
I’ve changed.

I’ve changed.

and I love it.

Originally published in CRY Magazine via Medium.

Musical Selection: Drake|Jungle

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