3 AM RAMBLINGS & Indistinct Dreams

So I’m going to write everything until something makes sense. I read this tweet from someone that said something along the lines of “Pay attention to who comes to get you when you retreat inside of yourself.” There’s no one here.

3 AM RAMBLINGS & Indistinct Dreams

Self conscious and self aware are not the same and I happened to become both at once. I recognized that I needed to work on myself to find inner peace. I’d spent the first five years of motherhood learning that despite knowing who you are as a woman, your identity changes when you become a mother. It’s now year six and I still don’t know who “she” is.

I am a woman first because being a woman allows me to feel human. The woman I imagine myself to be knows how to cope with the white noise. As a mom, I feel overwhelmed, lonely, neurotic. As a mom, I should have all the cures and answers my children ask of me but I feel as though I’m coming up short; with empty hands.

My old friend battles anxiety and depression. I was her crutch. Imagine using a broken crutch. When I saw that I needed to pull away to be repaired, I tried but was discarded in the process so fuck her.

I have a friend who is negative. The world is negative. Imagine listening to a broken record. Even a broken clock is right twice a day so I keep her bc she keeps me.

I had a friend who lived in an old shoe. It turns out, we weren’t friends at all. I was her cobbler. Imagine being drained of healing properties you didn’t know you had.

3 AM RAMBLINGS & Indistinct Dreams

You owe yourself your mental health. I can’t help you if I don’t help myself. No longer unable to identify those that drained my mental health, I’m ready to dig into my deeper subconscious.

Night time, maybe even dusk. Think state fair in Central Park. Able to order plates from amazon. Ordered pizza bbq chicken and other random fare. Conspiracy theorist meeting nearby. People go up a tower and don’t come down. I went up the tower before my food arrived and returned without remembering the trip. My food was covered but the random ppl that ordered with me were gone. Saw a homeless guy run further into the park. I gave chase then woke up.

I am growing. I think.

I see him everywhere in everything. I wish I was referring to my higher power but I’m referring to my lost and late love. I wonder if this will ever get any easier.

My chest hurts. I wanna cry but the strength and stubbornness in my melanin will not permit me to do so.

I need you because I trust you even though it doesn’t seem like it. Again, blame the stubbornness in my melanin.

A woman who cried often taught me that the only real emotion or relevant emotion was her anger. I don’t know how to fix it. I heard this is called Black Trauma.

I don’t want to kill myself. I have so many stories to tell and trips to take. I just want to feel better. When I breathe, I don’t want the crack in my heart to feel like it’s bleeding. I don’t want it to feel like the bricks I laid around my emotions are eroding, taking my ability to love and be empathetic away in the winds if experience.

3 AM RAMBLINGS & Indistinct Agony

I’m tired but can’t sleep. My eyes are burning but they won’t close. My brain hurts but it won’t rest. I’m trapped in a continuous REM state and the entire show is a nightmare.

January 2020, my first property will be a building. This building will be transformed into a privately funded transitional shelter for single individuals and families. At least 10 apartments to begin. Hebrews 11:1

I’m tired. I forget to pray for inner peace and when I remember, the stubbornness of a born sinner won’t allow me to follow Psalms but I think it was people like me that Jesus died for. I’m hoping this is sufficient.

I’m so tired.

I am tired.

I miss him so much. I don’t think any of my friends understand why. He loved me through the mental break downs before we understood my affliction to be a mental illness. He loved me anyway. His family loved me anyway. They even liked me despite the burden my 14 year old broken spirit arrived with.

You are among my dearest memories. When my mother was thought to be hours from death, it was you, the person I knew least who comforted me the most. It was you who kept me occupied. It was you who visited my mother when I could not. It was you who watched me cry without judgement. Thank you.

I want an ofrenda. My father had one but it wasn’t called an ofrenda. It was simply the ancestors’ room.

I’m tired.

My phone is dying.

I can’t sleep.

But I must sleep.

Still nothing makes sense but I must sleep.

Master’s Masterpiece

He said he’d buy me a collar then we’d do erotic things.

I wonder what those things include.

Would he instruct me to gracefully kneel and lift my hair?

As he fixes the collar to my neck, would his rough finger tips graze the tiny goosebumps on my nape?

Before he walks around to stand in front of me, lifting my chin so he can see me

Staring into my eyes so he can see us


Because I am now his submissive.

A reflection of his dominance,

A result of his care,

His masterpiece.

:Random 57:

Our taste is on the tip of my tongue; our scent lingers on my lips and nose. A tingle remains on my backside to remind me of the way you popped my ass to correct my arch. I want to please you in every way.

:Random 56:

I’m feeling antsy in this heat. I should be in the nude. Your hands should be fixed in the crooks of my knees. My knees should be pressed into ribs while your phallus massages my insides. The sound of coqui add to the soundtrack of our love making.

:Random 54:

Lay up with me under clouds of weed smoke. Your fingers part my lips while you kiss the other pair.

3 AM

It’s 3 AM
Do you know where your lover is?
I do not.
Chances are i never will.

I haven’t written anything of substance as of late. Just blurbs in an effort to get my fingers moving. I’ve been going through a trying time in my love life and it’s all I can think about. It’s funny that I say “love life” because this part of my life was devoid of fiery love or passion. This part of my life was more about companionship and parenthood.

I want to write it all down and send it to the universe but I fear that once it is written, it cannot be undone. There is something in me that believes in order for he and I to get past this, I must not put it into the universe. I should hold it close to my heart where it hurts the most.

I have been keeping the details pressed against my chest where it seems to be causing a full body reaction.
It hurts to breathe,
it hurts to blink,
it hurts to sleep,
it hurts.

My companion is banking on me wanting to do anything to rid myself of this pain but this betrayal is a fine two edged sword sharpened with manipulation and deceit.

Here I am writing about how I feel but not about what has happened.  I forcefully pulled back the magician’s curtain and now the magic is gone. I want to rewind everything because the knowledge of the deceit is more painful than the speculation.

We’ve been down a similar road before and I managed through that. I just don’t know how in going to get past this.

Never Ending

I’m fighting against the stereotypes of being
a Black woman.
a single mother. a co-parent.
a plus sized woman or
not that big” woman.
a leader questioning mainstream ideals.
a follower that wants to feel loved.
a young woman with Daddy issues.
a woman with the “Mad Black Woman” syndrome.

I’m suffocating & grasping at freedom. I’m dying to break free or maybe I’m simply dying.

Drunk Texting

I sat at the bar alone. It’s late and last call is steadily approaching.  Just over my heart beat I could hear the hard gulps of my whiskey highballs banging in my ears. My lips were numb. See, I started with whiskey sours but the pangs of embarrassment weren’t numb enough so I dropped that sour part and started drinking highballs. Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Only the best whiskey for the best love I have ever lost.

I sent you another text about an hour ago – something that I’d promised us both I would never do again. But fuck it.

“Another shot,” I slurred, I think. My eyes were watery and my skin was clammy.

So u realky not gunag hit m e bakc?Another text.

My phone rang and eagerly I answered because I thought it was you but it wasn’t. It was my homegirl. She wants to know why I left the reception. What can I tell her? Should I be honest and tell her I left our best friend’s wedding reception because I’m in my feelings over you?

“I have to be at work early,” at least I think that’s what I said. Then I hung up on her to call you.

The phone rang twice then went to voice mail. Call me. That’s the shortened version. I might have veered off into a soft spot about needing you, loving you, missing you – et cetera, cetera, and whatever.

“Last call, my friend. Who can I call for you?” That’s the first thing the bartender has said to me since What are you having tonight? But it’s cool.

I couldn’t face my friends after this but I had to eventually so I pulled our old friend’s business card out and slid it to the barkeep along with my credit card. It would have been less expensive to buy the Brooklyn Bridge. But again, only the best whiskey for the best love I have ever had and ever lost.

With a heavy heart and light pockets, I headed to the bench outside to wait for him to pick up the pieces of my life. I leaned my head back to keep the blood from rushing to my face. I closed my eyes and I could feel your skin on my finger tips.

We kissed and our fingers link as I pull you in tighter. My fingers slowly caress your neck as I nibble on your chin before I bite your bottom lip. For the life of me I don’t know how you found out where I was but I’m grateful.

We sat in silence while you drove us home. I stole glances at the beautiful contours of your face in the night lights. My fingers lightly stroked the back of your hand while we sat at a red light. We stared at one another until we were interrupted by a horn.

We pulled up to your apartment door and I could feel the goosebumps raise on my neck and arms. I love you. I miss you. Thank you. Between the slow kisses were apologies and affirmations.

Off goes the tie and cufflinks. Slow and steady we undress each other. The skirt falls the floor with a low thud adding to the sound track of our oohs and aahs. And so follows the bra and the collared shirt, the undershirt and the socks; all taking their respective places in a trail of moonlight.

Panties, stockings, and boxer briefs remain, covering our least intimate parts. I kissed from your collar bone to your shoulder blade as your hands wrap around my waist. You back me into the bed as we foreplay like old lovers. We’re in no rush to end this moment of truth.

You placed soft kisses on the tip of my nose and deep kisses onto my lips. Your lips are so full and soft. I licked and nibbled on them while I traced your arms over your head. We rolled. You kissed my chin and left passion bruises on my neck.

Your tongue swirled down my stomach and to my pelvis. My hands played in your hair and guided your head further down. There are sloppy kisses are followed by loud slurps. Moaning and humming with minimal use of your hands – you know that drives me crazy but I can’t let you have all the fun. In my drunken stupor, I was still alert.

I pulled you up to kiss you. I can taste me on your tongue but I wanted to taste you more. So I tasted, enjoyed, and lingered between your thighs. I love you. I miss you. My tongue said the things my slurred words were unable to.

Slow strokes followed from every position. I was on top of you controlling our rhythm. I had your hands pinned over your head, once again. There’s nothing that turned me on more than every angle, freckle, and tattoo on your body. I could spend hours counting and memorizing them.

….to be continued…

Meeting J. Cole

I was up next to perform at the open mic night showcase in Brooklyn. Taste the Stage had become my second home after attending for a few months and I was ready to greet my guests. I stepped on to the small stage after a warm welcome and proceeded to belt the first verse to “Canto a Yemaya.”

Ya le recé a Xangó 
ya le imploré a Oyá 
también pedí clemencia a Olofín 
y hoy le canto a Yemayá 
y Oxum caridad del pobre 
Yemayá, mi guía espiritual

Virgencita, yo que soy tan pobre 
sólo clamo por la tranquilidad 
de mi familia, de mis amigos 
sólo clamo por la tranquilidad

The band and the crowd fell silent as I continued to sing without the music. This song I listened to every morning and every evening had become my bread and wine. I didn’t practice Santeria; hell, I barely knew what it was but the lyrics of this song and the beautiful Afro-Caribbean rhythm speak to my soul. I had to share this feeling.

I squeezed my eyes tight and held my hand to my belly. With every word I could feel a weight being lifted from my chest. My hips slowly began to sway to the beat and then my feet started to join in. I felt like I was dancing with someone. Towards the end of the song, I finally opened my eyes to see that some of the members of the audience got up to dance as well. Once I had finished my rendition, there was an eruption of applause. I thanked the crowd and hurried back to my table.

I was so flustered that I didn’t even notice him sitting in the booth next to the table I was sharing with my friend. She and I made Wednesdays our date night away from our kids; I was eager to hear her thoughts on my set. Before I could ask her anything, she pinched my arm and nodded to his booth.

I had no idea who this guy was. He looked a little familiar but I couldn’t place him. He grabbed the notebook and introduced the next performer. Once they stepped up, he reclaimed his seat in the booth next to me and my friend. I don’t know, maybe it was my imagination or maybe it was wishful thinking because it seemed to me there was a connection between us. Our eyes kept meeting and you know, we would smile a little bit. There was something brewing.

When I told my homegirl about this connection, she laughed and told me his name. J. Cole? Never heard of him. He’s a rapper. She also made a point to mention that he would never be involved with a brown skinned beauty like myself. That’s fine. I’m not truly interested anyway, right?

For the rest of the night, I crushed on everything about J. Cole from his knowing smirk to his laid back demeanor. His presence spoke for itself without the loud and excessive jewelry. I chatted with my homegirl a while longer while keeping a steady eye on J. He was laughing and speaking casually to his entourage and a few others between sets.

This is when he blew my mind. He stepped to the mic and began to perform a spoken word piece. It was so sexy. I loved to hear him talk about his struggle. There is so much power behind his words. So anyway after his set, it was time for band games. This is when the band played tunes and we, the audience, had to guess the song. I saw J. lean over to NJOB, the host, and whisper a request for the next tune.

No one got it. The band kept performing the same snippet and BAM, it hit me what the song was and I jumped up screaming the title. He smirked. I guess I was too excited but the audience was pleased and most importantly, so was he.

All in all Taste the Stage was amazing as usual. I was picking over my catfish nuggets when a rugged voice with a subtle southern accent whispered in my ear. In the flesh, shoulder to shoulder, I sat with J. Cole. He spoke to me like he knew me for ever. His smooth words were so hypnotic and of course, I can’t get into detail but his words sent chills through my body.

I mean at the end of it all, I left with him. His boys went their way and my homegirl went with them. We hopped in his car and drove to the Westin in Jersey City. It was around five in the morning at this point and I was tipsy and tired. The conversation was sexy but polite. J wasn’t crude or disrespectful, he put the moves on just right.

My life started to imitate art once his song about morning sex whispered on the radio. I couldn’t turn him down now, could I?

To be continued…..

Step 3

Waxing isn’t so bad, is it? I think we should go shopping next. We’ll get some make up and a few dresses. Practice this facial expression. We’ll call it a “sex face.” Lower your eyes a bit and think Color Me Bad, I Wanna Sex U Up. Did you just fall asleep? Oh. Your eyes were closed all the damn way. Alright, honey. I’m going to introduce you to Charo. He’ll fix this.