the lust-filled air summons us,
our hearts bent on breaking.
I have reached my limit for
raising hell and you
throw up a white flag.
surrendering never looked
so sexy.
this is what I tell myself
as I watch your body
cascade away from me . . .
you are a rhythm I fear
but I long for too.
could I be falling for the image
of you?
we lie awake
aware of the tempest between us
and life saddles us with
a harsh decision . . .
lean in or run away,
I choose to surrender.
Tag: Women
Turn My Body Loose
A poetic rant
We, women . . . we cling to our bodies
our sense of self wrapped up in them
and warped to nothingness by the
White men who use their minds to
belittle and belie our truths at every
corner — at every junction.
How are we to live in a nation
full of vultures?
How are we to cope?
A balking group of people has
made it their life’s work to
strip the woman of the one
thing we had total control over — the body.
And what next? What will they
search and seize and lasso into
their slimy possession that
belongs to us?
We are yclept weaker or lesser
yet they use laws to silence us — to push
us into the closets of their making.
Is it fear? Is it egotistical? Is it bullying?
What can we say about the men
who have no desire to protect us?
What can we say about the women
who support them?
Turn my body loose. You have
no reign here — it is mine. I carry it,
I nurture it — grow it into the massive
mountain you wish you could climb.
Tread lightly, though, I can shake it
and rattle you at my will.
I can crush you if ever I feel the need to.
Were these your reasons? Is this your why?
Could you no longer take the
strength and representation within
something built of atoms and flesh and blood
that is not solely yours?
It boggles my mind how senseless
human beings have become
but even more so, how drunk with
power many men are.
If it were up to me, I’d rally
the world around us to bury
your tongues in the potholes meant
for them and turn the sun’s rays
up higher — burn, motherfucker, burn.
We’d stand by, fan the flames, and
call Lucifer to your collective side.
We’d let him have his way with you,
just as you’ve had yours with us.
Originally published in my new publication, soliloque, via Medium.
The Goods
A Rapid Rhyme (Audio)
He calls her up, one more time
for a memorable event
Blessing her with extras like
they do Jake cuz she’s got great rates
Put the money where it hides
tips her more than she desires
She doesn’t even count it anymore
lets it pile up like before
She’ll have enough for a new car
new house . . . new life
No more sticks
No more stones and absolutely
no more broken bones
He woos her with his lisp
showers her with special gifts
She pawns them at “The County Dime”
They pay her for her time
She leaves him empty-handed
Ole boy is whipped and stranded
She doesn’t even look back
Girl’s got moves to make
hijacks his heart and that’s the breaks
No one comes to his aid
this is what happens when everything
you want isn’t stamped “paid”
He searches for an exit
None can be found
None is at the ready
She keeps things nice and steady
Prepares herself for a new leaf
changes colors . . . changes beliefs
But still remains the same
You Don’t Come Around Anymore
Musical Selection: M.I.A. featuring Timbaland|Come Around
It’s another summer spent
without you waking up to
Nag Champa scenting my home
and I am growing used to
this empty space.
Someone said, “Just breathe
and be” and here I am breathing
and being without you and
it’s still hard and living ain’t
making it any easier, but
I am trying.
Isn’t that what you wanted
me to do — try?
A piece of mail from a junker
I am tired of seeing came with
your name in the recipient’s space
and I thought, “How odd? We
never really lived together. Why is
this coming here?”
Could you be tracking me?
What’s left in your arsenal of tricks?
I suppose you knowing where I live
and how often I check my mail
is an advantage or is it a disadvantage?
The mind wonders . . .
I will be relocating soon and
the memories of you left within
these walls will have to stay.
I can’t take them with me,
not this time.
I have a lotus tattoo on my
left wrist reminding me
that I am always at my
best when I come out of the muck
and when I was with you —
that’s all I did, come out
of the muck . . . over and over again.
I am done with being dirty.
I want to be clean, for now.
So you don’t come around anymore
and my mom says “Perhaps this is
best, baby. We ain’t made to
be living in the past.” She’s right.
I know she is.
But there’s a small part of
me still trying to climb up
out of the same muck and
reach out to you to get
down and dirty once again
with me.
And I have to stop this.
I want to stop this.
I can’t.
Originally published in Intimately Intricate on Medium.
After 6 Years, My Hairstylist Is Breaking Up With Me
I’m not ready to let go but I have to
It happened on Tuesday, June 15, 2021, around 5:45 pm. I texted my hairstylist to see what her next available date and time for a Saturday morning would be so that I could make an appointment. Her response to me was, “I’ve stopped doing Saturday appointments altogether.” I was walking my dog, Jernee when the response came through. Instantly, I stopped. I re-read the text.
Did I just read what I think I read?!
I did. I re-read it again and the response did not change. She was no longer taking Saturday appointments. This meant my routine of every three to four weeks of a wash, cut, and style would go right out the window. This also meant all the bonding, growing, intense conversations about faith, love, and gainful employment would crawl behind my routine out that same window. My other place of peace will possibly be no more.
The boulder had been drug out, rolled toward me, and it landed . . . hard.
After I gathered myself, I responded by informing her that her new schedule, unfortunately, doesn’t work with mine and I’d have to take a day off to come and get my hair done and at present, my next day off is Tuesday, August 03, 2021. I asked if I could go ahead and lock an appointment for that day since I felt as though many of her clients are having to move their schedules around and her weekdays will probably fill up sooner than later.
This meant my routine of every three to four weeks of a wash, cut, and style would go right out the window.
We agreed on that day — 12:30 pm. It is safe and secure in my digital calendar as an “event” I don’t want to miss.
I applaud my stylist for being able to make a decision to move away from doing something that essentially eats up her entire Saturday and having the courage to step forward in another direction. But without saying it, she has broken up with many of us and for those of us who will not be able to consistently keep up with her new schedule, this means I would have to find another hairstylist.
It means moving on.
My intention is to seek a recommendation from her to another hairstylist within the salon who can manage my hair. It’s unruly and thick and wavy and grows funny in the back and I have a blonde patch that she has trimmed so perfectly over the years that is now shading itself a dirty grey. All of this, I love, but who else will?
I trusted her with my hair. Who can I trust to do what she has had the full capability of doing for six years?
But without saying it, she has broken up with many of us and for those of us who will not be able to consistently keep up with her new schedule, this means I would have to find another hairstylist.
Finding a hairstylist who proves him or herself worthy of taking your time and money is a hard task. It can also be a stress-filled one and I want to avoid any new stress factors at this time or in the near future. A recommendation from my current stylist is what I feel deep down, will suit me best.
I feel like I’m being asked to sign divorce papers and I didn’t even agree to a divorce. It feels like another act of abandonment. It reminds me of the pain that comes with leaving bits of yourself with someone you have come to love, respect, and look forward to seeing but now . . . now you have to act as though none of that exists. You are beckoned to put on a happy face, suck it up, and allow these new changes to comfort you.
Eff these new changes.
This is what I want to say but the adult in me knows acting like a three-year-old will get me nowhere. I implore myself to make note of the positives:
1. I’ll get to meet new people.
2. I can work on enhancing my trust meter.
3. I could get new hairstyles.
4. I would still be able to see my old hairstylist and chitchat with her from time to time if I agree to stick with the current hair salon.
5. I can take back my Saturdays as my regular hair appointment days.
As I call these positives within earshot, I feel better. I am not a fan of change especially when my comfort level is secure and I feel safe in the bubble designed for me. The moment that bubble is deflated is the very moment I have trouble seeing what could be beneficial for me behind my cloudy vision. I have to be reminded of previous positive changes. I have to remember how much their influence and impact had on my life and how I have grown for making those changes.
You are beckoned to put on a happy face, suck it up, and allow these new changes to comfort you.
After six years, my stylist is breaking up with me. There will be no fanfare or party or gifts exchanged. I do not look forward to inquiring about a recommendation — it feels like stepping over a line — like perhaps, maybe I should not ask. But she is also the perfect person to ask since she works in the same building with the same women and men doing exactly what she does on a daily basis. Someone there should be open to taking on new clients and perhaps they will be interested in taking on me.
Cue a-ha, Take on Me (this is still one of my favorite videos, btw).
2021 has been full of surprises so far. I guess if there was any year to jump into a sea of changes, this one is the perfect one in which to do so. Good thing I usually don’t have much trouble swimming. Let’s hope I can stay afloat long enough with whoever will be my new hairstylist — let’s hope I won’t have to change again after landing the new one or in the near future.
The moment that bubble is deflated is the very moment I have trouble seeing what could be beneficial for me behind my cloudy vision.
Six long years have come and gone. More are ahead of me if I am lucky. Six years from now, maybe I’ll even have different hair or a different way of addressing what my hair needs and what I want for my hair. For right now, one step at a time.
New hairstylist, here I come. Please, be gentle.
Originally published via Medium.
