Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free. – Rumi
Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book& Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback(only) yet?
I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing, as I discussrecent events related to my previous place of employment, including racism and discrimination, the growth I experienced after resigning from that company, and the foibles and overall experiences of life. I welcome your visit.
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 a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
Spending my last 15 minutes with my baby, Jernee Timid, while she was in the twilight phase of her End-of-Life process. At this point, we were talking about Jernee’s character and how she was VERY MUCH a DIVA, and I am clearly not. We took time to laugh, too. Friday, September 12, 2025. Photo Credit: Karlie B. Cornelius
you didn’t know we needed to do a thorough walkthrough of your apartment to make sure the dog you say is dead is really… dead? it’s in your lease–a clause; once your pet has transitioned, in order to reverse any pet rent fees, we have to verify what needs to be verified.
silly me, here I was thinking the receipt from the vet’s office with the amount it costs for the euthanasia services would be enough. it’s not. you actually want to come to my unit, lay eyes on my private space, and look for a being who is no longer alive.
be my guest.
I’d say inconsiderate. I’d say insensitive. but this feels like garbage–the icky kind that bulges up at the bottom of the bin and sticks to the corners of it when the city comes to dump the contents in their truck. I comply. after all, we must follow the rules.
I make the request to delete my information from the PetSmart app, submit my request to deactivate Chewy, and issue a note to PetScreening that asks you to select the reason the account is no longer necessary. “Jernee Timid has passed away.” “I have re-homed Jernee Timid.” “Jernee Timid has run away.” “This profile for Jernee Timid is a duplicate.” “I am no longer residing at the associated property.”
I select the first option. I am prompted to confirm what I have selected–make sure I’m not a robot. I click submit and watch the words flash across the screen regarding how this company will make my apartment community’s property manager aware of the information I submitted to them.
everyone wants to be sure my baby has zero breaths left…that she really is taking a dirt nap, and have I really lost the best thing that has happened to my heart since learning how to love?
I could not have prepared myself for erasure of this magnitude. Jernee’s not here, but she is. Jernee’s not here, but she is. Jernee’s not here, but everyone believes that she is.
and my heart knows she is not. but my heart has a special place for her where she will always linger… and the boot soles of capitalism may take her away from me on paper, but they’ll never strip her away from the lining of a muscle that beats strongly for her in life and in death.
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 a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.
I never wanted to be pigeonholed into a category ill-fitting for what and how I write.
I don’t know where I should be or why, but I do know I can write whatever I am assigned. I always have been able to create and build characters out of thin air.
Poetry is my salve. Fiction is sustenance. Nonfiction is time delegating a few memories to those willing to consume.
I am a bustling soul linked to ancestors who told stories about lifestyles and enslavement.
I am my great-grandmother’s twin; I have her eyes, her lips, her walk, and her mannerisms;
I’m the walking dead.
sidereal
she is out of this world–a sidereal creature crafted by the best God I’ve ever known.
a crush I’ve crushed on, and probably will until time leaves me breathless. we hang on every word that pours from our lips.
I’ve become complacent in the knowing of her presence–she’s steadfast in being here, and the moment I shift my presence, she glues herself to everything I’m connected to.
I would typically leave, a ghost with nothing to lose, but she has galaxies for eyes, and I am forever cursed by her.
I’m stone, unable to be chiseled, unable to break. and secretly, she loves it.
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.
a stranger cupped my hand in hers at the curb of the crosswalk, and looked at me pleadingly.
I am funny about touch if I don’t know you, and sometimes even when I do, but I knew something was wrong when I saw her eyes dancing like they were running away from terror.
I tilted my head and leaned into her personal space and smelled fear. caution warned me not to turn around, so I didn’t, but I could hear him breathing.
a cop–woman, stood by her cruiser a block away, and sitting shotgun was her partner. I looked at her, raising my tethered hand, and then looked at the silent woman, and the cop knew.
the man started running as soon as their eyes locked. the silent woman sat in the backseat, and closed the cruiser’s door.
I walked two blocks home, dangling my hand at my side, twiddling my fingers, feeling the lonesome lack of the woman’s grip.
I prayed for her safety as my pulse quickened.
This was my dream from last night. I hope it isn’t a premonition or a vision into what will happen.
if millions of breathing beings proscribed evildoers and those greedy enough to shake down the poor and oppressed, we wouldn’t be dancing in a pit of flames, trying our best to outrun the burn.
but here we are… walking on lit coal, struggling to stay sane, and clapping away fire that aligns itself with our truths. we had the tools to succeed politically, however, many were afraid to see how well they worked.
and now, we’re all drowning in this inescapable Hell.
a griseous morning
morning isn’t sashaying over to me as it’s done the past few days.
it appears sullen, griseous, and downtrodden.
I don’t have the words to heal the ache it feels, but I offer a few anyway.
it wanders around my home, anxious to see which one of us will break first.
I’ve got news for it… it won’t be me.
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.
A Cornered Gurl 
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