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.

Being a leader…

…a tidbit for my daughters

To be a great leader, you have to learn how to be an excellent team player. You are able to turn your team’s weaknesses into strengths instead of leaving weaker individuals at the bottom. Replacing people because of their weaknesses before attempting development will only leave you with new people and new weaknesses. Where are you going without a strong team? Being trusted and respected results in an everlasting union between a leader and her team. If people fear or distrust you, it won’t be long before they are seeking your replacement!

Dear Dad

Hey you. I’ve got something to tell you and the best way that I could see to do it was by putting it down on paper. Don’t misunderstand what I am about to say, not every child raised like me will be just like me. After all, once I hit 23, I have to take the blame. We all won’t be single mothers with multiple fertilizers to our seeds. We all won’t seek fathers in lovers or settle for less than what we deserve because we don’t know our worth. We all can’t be what I have become because I have two and what will they become? What you have done to me! And what have you done for me?

The disdain between you & mother, mother & you was far greater than your love for me. My smile wasn’t bright enough, my laugh wasn’t sweet enough, and my hand wasn’t warm enough.

“Later, later, later. When she’s older, it will be better. I will tell her how much I love her and that it is her mother’s fault we couldn’t be together.”

“Later, later, later. One day I will be older and I will tell him about all that he’s missed. I will tell him how much I love him and one day, I will see how it is mommy’s fault.”

But later never comes, it just becomes later and while waiting for later, men twice my age told me what you never did. And then I told them everything I never told you in return. I laid in their laps and had my hair brushed, my blouse straightened, and my bedroom eyes were complimented. “They’re my daddy’s eyes;” and they were Daddy’s eyes indeed.

I did not know it then but I sought you out in bedroom after bedroom whilst I tumbled, skid, and fought thru dysfunctional relationship after relationship improving my craft. And here we are. I am writing you because after twenty-six short years of my unguided life, you have changed your mind. After twenty-six years of later, you have decided that you don’t want to be my father and all I can say is, “later.”

A Lesson in Vernacular

Hi guys..

I gotta get something off of my chest because the more this occurs, the more annoyed I get. Here’s the thing I am educated, I am Black, and I am a single mother of two babies. I have to say that I get so tired of people splitting hairs over what I decide to call myself because of the negative connotations that surround whichever title: Baby’s, kid’s, or child’s mother. When you get down to it, I am all of the above. Just because Some people hop around, smack their lips, and drop the letter s when they say “baby mother” (which is erroneous in a grammatical sense alone) doesn’t make it a ghetto term. As I stated earlier, I happen to be Black as well and we know the negative connotations surrounding that title. Does that make me any less Black? Absolutely not. I define who I am and what the title means anytime I interact with someone.

This whole baby daddy/ baby momma high horse thing is getting crazy. To say I’m being disrespected or disrespecting myself for saying I’m his babies’ mom….why? He & I never married and while we were in a relationship at one point, we aren’t now. I don’t say “he’s my baby daddy” because it’s improper English but I will say that he’s my babies’ daddy/father because, well…who else would he be? Him being a parent to my children separates him from the rest of my exes. My vernacular doesn’t include the terms baby momma and baby daddy unless I’m being sardonic however, if it did it wouldn’t be disrespectful or degrading because it’s a fact.

What it boils down to, correct me if I’m wrong, is a grammatical error. Would I have rather been his wife than just the bearer of his children, absolutely. I’d also prefer being a wife over a wifey but that’s a whole different ball game. My point is that vernacular should have no bearing on what level of respect you get. At least not in this aspect. Some people believe a father is a leader and that daddies are simply donors while I was taught the opposite. The same goes for mothers versus mommies. It’s like a caramel/carmel or potato/potahto kind of thing. It seems to me that people as a whole should quit focusing on titles and focus on “Am I performing my due diligence as a parent? Whether I’m being called a ‘baby mama’ or ‘child’s mother,’ am I doing right by said child?” Nothing else should matter

Sincerely,

His Baby Mama

A Lesson in Vernacular

Hi guys..

I gotta get something off of my chest because the more this occurs, the more annoyed I get. Here’s the thing I am educated, I am Black, and I am a single mother of two babies. I have to say that I get so tired of people splitting hairs over what I decide to call myself because of the negative connotations that surround whichever title: Baby’s, kid’s, or child’s mother. When you get down to it, I am all of the above. Just because Some people hop around, smack their lips, and drop the letter s when they say “baby mother” (which is erroneous in a grammatical sense alone) doesn’t make it a ghetto term. As I stated earlier, I happen to be Black as well and we know the negative connotations surrounding that title. Does that make me any less Black? Absolutely not. I define who I am and what the title means anytime I interact with someone.

This whole baby daddy/ baby momma high horse thing is getting crazy. To say I’m being disrespected or disrespecting myself for saying I’m his babies’ mom….why? He & I never married and while we were in a relationship at one point, we aren’t now. I don’t say “he’s my baby daddy” because it’s improper English but I will say that he’s my babies’ daddy/father because, well…who else would he be? Him being a parent to my children separates him from the rest of my exes. My vernacular doesn’t include the terms baby momma and baby daddy unless I’m being sardonic however, if it did it wouldn’t be disrespectful or degrading because it’s a fact.

What it boils down to, correct me if I’m wrong, is a grammatical error. Would I have rather been his wife than just the bearer of his children, absolutely. I’d also prefer being a wife over a wifey but that’s a whole different ball game. My point is that vernacular should have no bearing on what level of respect you get. At least not in this aspect. Some people believe a father is a leader and that daddies are simply donors while I was taught the opposite. The same goes for mothers versus mommies. It’s like a caramel/carmel or potato/potahto kind of thing. It seems to me that people as a whole should quit focusing on titles and focus on “Am I performing my due diligence as a parent? Whether I’m being called a ‘baby mama’ or ‘child’s mother,’ am I doing right by said child?” Nothing else should matter

Sincerely,

His Baby Mama