Tag: Relationships

Hello, God. How Are You?

trE

Remember me?

WordPress AI-Generated image of an African-American couple in deep thought, anguish, and regret.

I know you do. I ask
Not for a response, but
Rhetorically.
I received news that has
Broken me–torn my heart
Into thousands of pieces, so
I’m coming to you.

I always come to you–in
Sickness, health, during times
Of Sadness, and of joy.
This time, though . . . this
Time is different.

A feeling of worthlessness
Washes over me. I have
Been abandoned, neglected,
Rejected, and looked over for
Second bests and thriving
Environments are rising over
These selections.

Am I not worthy of coupleship?
Am I not worthy of a legacy?

Oh, God, the dog sleeps and
The tortoise has buried itself
Under its bedding in its cave.
They do not hear my cries.
The dog is deaf and the tortoise
Could care less, so I come
To you.

Four months later, he tells
Me of a baby girl he hasn’t been
Able to share . . . hasn’t been
Able to whisper to me of her
Name. Who we were stopped him.
We didn’t want marriage. We
Didn’t want children, but we
Loved them.
He married. He now has a child,
And four months later, he speaks.

About her . . . about the beauty
Behind her eyes.
My phone floods with pictures
Of this sweet and precious soul,
And I see him in her, his mother,
And his father, and then he says,
“We need to talk, but I’ll have
To find time to do so freely,
I didn’t want to
Tell you like this.”

And I break down.
Not from sadness about the
News. Not because I am
Not “The One.” But because he
Felt like he couldn’t tell me.
But because he felt like our
History–our trauma from our
Upbringings would crush his
Words.

How do you tell the
One you didn’t marry, you didn’t
Have children with because you
Both were afraid that you now
Have crossed off the second
Thing y’all never wanted to do?

I put on his shoes.
I take a walk in them.
I try to understand.
I take long, deep breaths, and
Then, I cry.

God, we are where we are
Because of the decisions
WE made. We ran. We felt
Like we would mess up
Just as our parents did.
We didn’t want to fuck up
Children–break the cycle,
Shift the curse . . .

Fear will make you miss out
On life. And it did. With us.
Keep him safe. His wife, too.
And now, his baby girl.
Please, God. I know you will.
I know you can.

And the pain I feel now
Will not be with me next year.
I will be free. I will accept
What is and what will be.
I know that my life as it is
Now will not be what it is
In the future.

Whatever you do, God,
While you’re remembering my
Prayers for him and his family,

Please remember me.

Everything Was Perfect but the Truck

trE

Our first date was on a cold and blistery winter’s night.

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It was a cold, winter’s night in December of 2005. I had just moved to North Carolina in June. I settled into the new life surrounding me and laid my cares and burdens down to pick up another day.

I ran away from Georgia the first chance I got. I was always running away from something, someone, or somewhere back then. Ran from Georgia to the Bronx. From the Bronx to Long Island. From Long Island back to Georgia, and then . . . the final marathon saw me running from Georgia to North Carolina.

And this is where I have been since 2005. And although I’ve lived in two different cities, I haven’t found the gumption to speed away again. Not yet.

The first few months in my new home were magical. It seemed as though this life was designed for me. At that time, the woman in my body loved everything she had to offer and yearned for others to see it, too.

I met him online. Facebook, to be exact. It was wild how we connected, clicked, and cautiously approached each other for digital conversation and the goings-on of getting to know one another.

My best friend was my roommate at the time. She was great “company to keep”, but I wanted more. And he was the more I was seeking.

After a few weeks of shooting the shit, we decided to meet in person for our first date.

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Which brings me back to that cold, winter’s night. I do not remember the time we agreed on nor do I truly remember what we did. My bones tell me we planned to do movies and then dinner. So, let’s say we did exactly that.

When he arrived at my apartment building’s front entrance, I smiled at the sight of him. I walked outside to our stoop because he called to tell me he was turning the corner and would be at my place shortly.

He was a perfect gentleman. He ran up to me, scooped me up, and hugged me as tightly as he could. It was a full embrace –a Grandpa Hug. I melted in his arms.

To this day, whenever I see him, I say, “You give the best hugs.”

It was lip-biting cold and we were freezing our asses off, so we decided to get into the truck and escape the monotony of the night. He guided me to the passenger side, peeled back the door, and held it with one hand while he led me inside with the other. Once I was seated, he had to summon the strength of The Hulk to close the door with both hands.

This truck was old. Nah, it wasn’t just old . . . it was ancient. It made a loud, clanking sound while we rode up and down the hills of Winston-Salem. I panicked the entire ride. The heat worked. It sputtered and coughed and he had to tap the dashboard every few minutes to keep it from going cold.

I sat in my seat and prayed we would not get stranded anywhere in this still new-to-me city. He reassured me, “It gets me everywhere I need to go.” While I thought to myself, “Yeah, but how safe is this vehicle, really?!”

He was the best date I had since an old high school-to-college love of mine. He was respectful, a lover of music and writing, the eldest of four children, and was soaking in the newness of recently burying his father.

Something in me cried for him. We dated off and on for about nine years–breaking up and getting back together. Finally, I told him, “We are so good to each other but we are not good for each other.”

Because no matter what we did, our schedules failed us. His grief failed us. My intent on writing, connecting, and running to other people failed us.

He traded in that clunker of a truck for a Jeep Cherokee one year after it finally died on one of our major highways. He traded in the recklessness of who I was for a lovely sweetheart of a woman who knows how to stay put.

We had an amazing life together. We just weren’t amazing together. You sit with that for a while. It’ll come to you.

Every time I think about my first winter in North Carolina, I think about him and that old clunker of a truck, and the strength it took for him to close the door to his broken down and beat-up vehicle, and the heart it took for him to finally walk away from me.

And honestly, I smile. Because really, everything was perfect but the truck.

NaPoWriMo #10

trE

Damage Control

He wasn’t built to
love her with his
whole heart–he’d been
damaged, and she was
saving herself for a man
who knew how to break the
walls of her hardened heart
down.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

She saw through his
cloudy existence, and fed
off his syrupy words, so
sticky and sweet, but
she wouldn’t reject his
advances.

She played nice with this
man who clicked his tongue
and snapped his mind
back into the now–willing
it from actions of the past.
He swallowed every image
of her and filled his
belly with lies.

For decades, he spent hours
dissecting his former self
from his present self, and
now that it’s time to love
again, the control he never
had sneaks up on him.

Forever changed. Forever damaged.

NaPoWriMo #7

trE

morning memories


you used to know
exactly what to say
to get me to fall
heart over head for you.

I don’t think I’ve been
as stupid since we
met. two college-aged
women floating through
the hell of living, just trying
to breathe.

I should have known you’d
grind me up into pieces
and leave me hopeless.
“but this is love,” I thought
“this is normal”– to have
my feelings go unacknowledged.

I didn’t know better.
but when I found better,
I did better.

it’s still during the morning
hours when I remember you.
your smile. your voice.
your poetic brilliance.

and now I don’t know
if it was your heart, mind,
or soul I was most attracted
to. I can’t remember.

is that normal?
do you know?
have you ever known?

what do broken hearts do?

trE
Pictured Poetry created by Tremaine L. Loadholt

This poem was inspired by a conversation one of my younger brothers and I had. He recently had his heart broken after not getting his act together to help propel his relationship forward.

This young lady meant so much to him; the first I’ve ever known to have him actually question his makeup/character, and try to figure out why he can’t seem to do this love thing the right way.

It’s only been about a full week, and he’s already found a therapist, is reflecting on what he could have changed & could have done right, and is looking deeper into himself and facing the nasty truth of it all.

And in all honesty, to me, this needed to happen, because as an older sibling, one gets tired of talking sense into their younger siblings until they’re blue in the face.

And I’m proud of him for taking all these steps toward betterment. Sometimes, we need to get that one heartbreak to set us on the straight and narrow for future relationships.

I’m prayerful this will be a journey he will not forget anytime soon.