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.

X Marks the Spot

He watches her methodically undress in the dimly lit hotel room while he stands at the head of the bed. His shoulders are rigid and his back is erect. His rangy limbs are squarely planted on ten and two of his body.

She reaches behind her own back and unzips her long floral dress. The dress slips from her shoulders and allows it to glide to the floor. The silk pools around her feet before she sneaks a glance over her shoulder to see if his attention has been obtained. His eyes are fixed in her direction but his face is unmoved.

She returns to undressing by side-stepping from the middle of the floral fabric around her ankles, her stiletto heel briefly getting snagged in the mess. Her full, natural breasts hang like pumelos on her chest.

When she turns to look at her prospective lover again, his back has relaxed and his nimble fingers have gone to work on unzipping his pants and unbuttoning his shirt.

She turns away again to smile before sensually bending over to collect her dress from the floor. Her round behind separates ever so slightly, allowing him to see a flirtatious wink from her inner thighs.

Her heels subtly click across the floor adding to the soundtrack of scarce traffic flashing past their hotel window. A train horn sounds off in the distance. With her dress now neatly draped across the back of the rickety office chair, she’s ready to follow his remaining instructions.

Her heels click-clack to the hotel dormitory’s entrance. She uses the extra locks to secure the doorway. She looks over to him again. His button-down shirt and slacks are halved over his folded arms. The pair is separated by the bed and his tight, white boxer briefs.

She reassures him by crawling across the bed to him and taking his clothes from his arms.

“Come,” she says seductively.

She leaves his clothes on the bedside table and leans back on the bed. Her long, lean legs spread on each side. He leans over her, his lips stiffly pressing against hers. She uses her tongue to part his lips, his jaw goes slack then their lips engage in a game of cat and mouse.

Using her stilettos as leverage, she digs them into the bed, squeezes her thighs around his waist, then inches him and herself further onto the bed. She digs her teeth into his bottom lip before sucking on it to soothe the sting.

He winces a bit before striking his hand against her throat to give a gentle but stern reminder of their arrangement. Her vagina tightens with anticipation for what’s to come.

He bites her bottom lip in return, then her chin and along her jawline. Her heart skips a beat when he moves down the side of her neck, a small distance beneath her ear. His bites burn with pleasure. Her soft moans feed his flame. Her hands travel the length of his back, her ankles are now crossed delicately around his waist.

She can feel his bulge against her. Her moans plead for him to silence the aching in her most private part, her deepest secret. She uses her fingers to tickle the band of his briefs, his hands catch her wrists then pin them over her head.

Her hips gyrate on his bulge to continue beckoning his phallus, but he continues to take his time.

Coming soon…

photo credit: stefan kuhn