The First Kiss

My lips were numb and I could barely breathe. Whenever we kissed, I felt intoxicated. I wanted more. I needed more.

His kiss sucked the air directly from my lungs. When our lips parted ways, he bit down until tears welled in my eyes. His kiss felt like love so I bit him back. I was ready for love.

Then he’d trail his lips from my full bottom lip to my chin and from my chin to my neck. My pussy ached in a literal sense. My inner walls contracted and salivated.

His fingers danced to the meeting of my thighs and skipped around my clit. He kissed me again. Tiny bubbles filled my airway. My breaths would become shallow. My mind would race until I was dizzy.

This unmistakable lust had eluded me until this moment. A stolen moment.

A single stolen moment would become two and then three until each stolen moment was declared the last of its kind.

image credit: stefan kuhn

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.

Damage 

Can I tell you a secret? 

I am damaged goods.
So much so that I have no self esteem.
I understand that lacking a strong support system will do that to you.

The real secret is that I feel empty and destroyed.
My spirit was broken by the hands of another.
I wasn’t paying attention.
And now I want to be fxcked until the pain in my chest subsides.
I want to be fxcked until the tears of despair transform into tears of pleasure.
I want to be fxcked until it’s no longer my pleasure being pleased,  it is my pleasure pleasing you.

Fxcked until 6 years of heartache becomes
A short story compiled of life lessons.
Fxck me until I remember who I used to be.

I should want more than a good fxck.
More comes with more children and more heartache.  More finger pointing.
More drama.
More strings.
Right now
I am desperately seeking to fly away. 

Life of a Writer

This is random but I’m sitting here trying not to beat myself up. The fact is, I’m only human. I’m entitled to be easily distracted, aren’t I? I question this because my “sole purpose” of opening my laptop tonight was to write. But I have no self discipline and I wind up doing things that are not related to writing in the least. I’m hoping that another writer will reach out from my woodwork of creative followers and tell me that this is a part of any creative process. So here goes.

  1. Finding good music. Something to vibe to that isn’t too loud or fast paced. Perhaps a little sensual or even melancholy.
  2. Watching funny vines. Animals are so funny. No emotions, my ass. *Scoff*
  3. Signing on to WordPress & finishing a short story and starting a new one.
  4. Wait, I finished a story so before I start a new one, I surf the net and by net I mean Facebook and maybe instagram.
  5. Bad lady cramps. Let’s get on the floor and stretch. May as well work out a little too.
  6. More Facebook – funny cat compilation.
  7. Starts new short story
  8. Pondering my life.
  9. Puts baby back to sleep. ( in addition to being a writer, i also have two children)
  10. Self doubt
  11. Food?
  12. No. – just no.
  13. More self doubt.
  14. Okay, more writing.
  15. Meh…I can’t even finish this list.
  16. Sleep.