See

 

Look at me

Let me see

You

Only you

Show me who you are

Every beautiful scar

I’ll keep my eyes soft

And my hands, too

Just whisper your words and be free

You have an ally in me

Snapped

You've heard the stories about women who reach their breaking point with someone close to them. In the heat of the moment they do something they'll later regret. They suffer the consequences of their actions the rest of the life. And when asked why or how could they do it they respond "I don't know what happened. I just snapped!"

 I am just like those women. Except I have no regrets. I am proud to say I did it. It had to be done. She became my enemy and I was left no choice but to take her down. She bullied me. EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. She abused me in ways I didn't think were possible from one human to another. Beat me until I felt helpless and hopeless. There's only so much torture one can take before reaching her breaking point. I can't tell you all the details. I don't know what happened. I just snapped!

 Before you go looking for my face on America's Most Wanted, please note that the "she" I'm referring to is myself. Well not the self that is writing this, but the self that has been mean to me for far too long. The one that has given me a case of the "not enoughs". You probably have one of your own. She would say that I wasn't skinny enough. Not tall enough. Not smart enough. Not spiritual enough. Not curvy enough. Not gentle enough. Not woman enough. You know her type right? She takes all the negative the world has to offer and multiplies it. Made worse by the fact that she went home with me every night. Laid down with me. Woke up with me.

 I'm not sure when it happened. Not sure of the exact date that I killed her and her lies. Perhaps it was gradual. Maybe all at once. A click. Or flip of the switch of sorts. But I've since realized that the only thing I've not been enough of is ME. I'm worth my own love and respect. Admiration. Confidence. Self worth. Worth being me. I'm worth all the things she told me I wasn't. So you see, she had to go. I had to cut her out of my life. Permanently. I kicked the negative committee that was meeting in my head straight to the curb. I'm not looking back to see how they're doing either. Ain't nobody got time fa dat! There's someone new. She's amazing. She loves me. She showers me with words of praise and adoration. She tells me the truth...that I am more than enough.

 I can not pinpoint the catalyst that changed my mind, causing me to snap. Perhaps it was the numerous blogs I've read from women who've struggled with the same insecurities but have chosen to defeat every last one of them. Maybe it was all the preaching I've done to friends encouraging them to look at themselves objectively as they do others (how I hate to not practice what I preach). Could have been the example set by my beautiful belly dance teacher showing me that's it's okay to love and accept yourself and when you do others will follow suit. I'm sure the the realization that I had been effortlessly walking at least two miles a day twice a week (a leaps and bounds type miracle for my somewhat lazy self) helped to embolden me. Whatever the cause, the effect feels amazing. I hate I didn't snap sooner. Oh well, there's no stopping me now. I will continue to allow positive outside influences into my life as I foster the new voice growing inside me. I will gladly live with the consequences of my actions for the rest of my life.

 "Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens." -Carl Jung

 I'm wide awake, lovelies. Are you?!

Conquerors...

Invincible you

And Invincible me, too

With your hand in mine

Words

   Words left unspoken

Lie bitterly on the tongue

Vomit or Swallow

Water...

Water from heaven
Will your snow freeze Earth’s lovers,

Or drown those who wait?

Someday

 

I remember still

Tiny fingers between mine

Someday you’ll return

The Tie That Binds

 

Love, not blood, we share

For it’s not the tie that binds

You’ll be always mine

Carpe Diem!

 

 

Eager feet rush forth

Greeting Possibility

And Seizing its spoils

Wanderlust

Anonymity

Among millions

Unfamiliar spaces

Vanishing into the faces

A new heat, a new tongue

New greetings, time is fleeting

Seven sleeps of restless slumber

Eye spy at every corner

Retracing the paths of our fathers and Time

Sharing the faire of generations gone by

Of the Philosophers, Prophets, Poets, and Kings

They all have walked where I walk, seen what I see

Stood in the wonderment in being so small…

Such is my lust to wander it all

Pick Your Poison

Questions mark every turn

Encrypting answers I’ll never learn

You’ve sealed your lips and tossed the key

Ensuring the fate of this mystery

No facts to reason, only suspicion and surmise

Not even the satisfaction of searching your eyes

Love or lust, or merely illusion?

I’m left only with these two conclusions:

“Cruel Truth” or “Beautiful Denial?”

I drank the poison of the latter vial

Its pleasure was smooth, and went down sweet

Empowering promises, and drowning deceit

Foregoing all, overcoming resistance

Withstanding time, surpassing the distance

Trust unbroken, and lies untold

Unprecedented Love, none other so bold

For a moment the tonic quenched my thirst

Until my heart was tempted by the call of the first

With hunger and greed, I swallowed it down

And in the bitterness the truth was found

A thief and a liar with a plot and a ploy

A silver-tongued serpent made me his toy

Falsified Love, and justified pain

A means to your end, I’ll always remain

Debasing history, and forsaking the hallowed

I wasn’t the first to swing from your gallows

This perjury’s depth only time will reveal

But for now the fate of old friends has been sealed

Lemons ...or Lemonade?

So occasionally I find myself drifting off down memory lane and reliving the stories that make me who I am today. These memories are always filled with priceless places and faces that I've encountered over the years; and every face and every place has its own story. Select few have been trusted with the recounting of these tales, but in every retelling the same questions are asked. In order for a new audience to comprehend the details, they must first understand the characters involved...and each character has a tale of its own. So we delve deeper. "Who was Susie? Well, she was like a sister to me." or "Sam? Oh, that was my beagle. He was my best friend." We tell the tales of childhood friends, beloved pets, and first loves. We smile in remembrance of first kisses, and sugar coat the lingering resentment of heart break. We revel in the bittersweet haze that's called the freshman year of college...the bitterness of leaving behind the old and the sweetness of embracing the new. We name names and sometimes reveal the most intimate pieces of ourselves. Some names lay bitter on the tongue; while others are as sweet as southern iced tea.  Lemons...and lemonade. And I wonder which one I have been?  It is this thought that sticks with me today. As many souls that have crossed paths with mine...I, too, have crossed the paths of others. What part did I play in the story of their lives? Did I scar as many hearts as have scarred mine? Have I handled them as gently as I should have...as I could have? Is my name the one they force acidly from their mouths? Or does the memory of me find favor? Lemons....or lemonade? We all have our stories...I can only strive to write a better one... and hope to bring a smile in the retelling of my tale.

Truth

I wrote this on behalf of a friend who lost someone very special. Sometimes it is hard to articulate what we feel when forced to live life without those closest to us. I hope that I have said what you could not say and that you receive healing as the words flow from my heart to yours...

It may look as though my mind is blank, but the truth is I'm thinking of you.

The truth is that no one really knows how I feel.
The pain I sometimes hide is at best unbearable
and at worst, torture... yet I continue to smile.

Others can't deal with the truth that is in my heart: the truth of the guilt and the shame that I hold as near to me as my next breath, the hurt that goes to bed with me like a scorned lover. They do not know the truth. They cannot comprehend it.

So I keep it to myself. I greet it in the morning with every rising sun. I stare into the eyes of its darkness when I awaken from my sleep with silent screams. It has become part of me. My cloak.
The heaviest garment I have ever worn.
If only there was someone who could share this burden, who could help me carry this load. I'm afraid there is not.

So I bear it. I live...
and breathe...
and move under affliction's control. I loathe this thing. I want to be free.

There is only one way to rid myself of this torment [forgive yourself, I hear you whisper], I know, but part of me needs that security.
It's the only thing that keeps me alive...the only thing that reminds me I can still feel...the only thing I have to remind me of you.
The truth is... I never got to say goodbye
and THAT is by far the worst truth known to man.

Desert Lotus

There was never a ground so desolate

As was that of my own soul

Barren, worn, and broken

Denied what is so frivolously discarded by others

Repeating the words of Samuel’s mother

The sun sets on this unyielding season

And blessed resignation is welcomed

As sacred dreams and eternal slumber meet

And at last I and my soul rest

A liberated breath greets the harsh dawn

As the new day grants the breaking of the drought

From cracked mud, the lotus springs forth

And I remember the words of her vow

And I keep them

As I embrace what has been so frivolously discarded by another

A poem about a bra

 A Bra is Like A Good Friend

Hard to Find

There for Support

Won't Let You Down

Won't Keep You Hanging

Always Close to Your Heart

I received the above poem from a local lingerie store and it inspired me to write my first blog about fashion.

Fashion Rule Numero Uno: Outfits are built from the foundation up. I cannot stress this enough. Studies say 85% of women are wearing the wrong bra. I say 100% of those women are messing up perfectly good outfits. If your bra is too big, too small, too tight, too loose, wrong style or in lame-man’s terms just not the right bra, no one will be able to focus on the wonderful ensemble you’ve put together. If your closet looks anything like mine (like a tornado went through it) when trying to decide what to wear, it would be such a shame to let all that hard work be undone by a uni-boob, quad-boob, or half-filled cup.

There is a common misconception that only women with large breasts are not wearing the right undergarment. A friend of mine once said that after she had a baby, her size A cups began to look like spoons. Another friend described her C sized breasts as “bed slippers” after child birth. Whatever the shape, there’s a bra out there for you. Please get fitted. And I don’t just mean at that sexy lingerie shop that’s always on television or in magazines. Not every bow or piece of lace is meant to be worn as an everyday staple. Head to a store that specializes in bras, where the price is not just a reflection of the brand, but also the quality. The right bra may not be the prettiest, but it’s still the right bra.

As you know, a bra only covers part of your under carriage. Can’t tell you how sad it makes me to see an ill-fitting pair of briefs under a pair of spandex yoga pants. Don’t do that. That’s a mess. Your panties, like every other article of clothing, should fit properly. This may require you to go up or down a size from what you normally wear. You don’t have to relegate yourself to a thong in order to control a visible panty line (VPL = tacky). Lace panties in brief or boy short styles tend to lay nicely against the skin, thus removing those pesky lines. But the bottom line (no pun intended), is that fit is everything.

As a large-breasted woman, I can assure you that no matter what toll age, weight, health or genetics has placed on your lovely lady figure, there’s a bra and panty for that.

Thank you for allowing me to get that off my chest (pun intended).

The Queen has returned

It has been so lovingly brought to my attention that I haven't stuck with my goal of blogging. Let me just point out that it wasn't really MY GOAL, rather one that was forced upon me using a glock (Lara Croft style) and a bow (Katniss style).
Since I'm here I may as well tell you what I've been doing lately. I've been pinning. Ladies, if you haven't gotten on Pinterest yet, don't. It's the devil. Anyway, I've been following a curvy lady's blog, a refashion blog, and a blog about African American (Black) natural hair. These bloggers are geniuses and if I'm going to follow in their footsteps, I better do the job justice. So I will (attempt to) blog about those types of things as they are what interest me most (for now).

But first... a shout out to Holland:

A sister's love There is a bond that forms between sisters before their eyes ever meet. It is an inexplicable link unmatched by any other in this world. Sisters never have to aplogize for their happiness or worry how the other may respond to their tears. There is an unselfish love that develops the moment God begins to form another sister in a womb whether near or far. The union between these beautiful women transcends depths and width. It can go beyond the length of distance between the east and the west. It can withstand despair and even death. Sisterhood is never having to say a word. Never having to write a letter. It is a knowing... in your mind... in your heart... in your spirit. It tells you what no ordinary person could ever know. We are sisters and this is our love.

Reverie

 

Your echo remains in the Willow’s branch,

Our harmonies can still be heard

On those warm Summer Nights

When the Wind tickles bare limbs

And the neighborhood Traffic slows.

For a moment, Time takes his respite

And breaks from graying our hair

To unfold a scene of our youth

From a season long since forsaken, but not forgotten.

Time has preserved the happenings beneath the Willow’s spell;

And although she dances and weeps no more,

Our secrets linger still in the safe-keeping of her friends.

Hidden in the stillness of a Summer’s Night,

 And brought to life by the touch of the Wind.

Cold November

 

 

The Lights went out one cold November

Which date it was; I still remember

The Mourning of the twenty-second

With outstretched hands, her soul beckoned

Unintelligible groans, cries and pleas

No right to challenge their decrees

Injustice for justice; the gavel strikes

Subjecting innocent to guilty stripes

Trust misplaced on the integrity of others

As they callously embezzle the dreams of young mothers

And still it is this date I remember

On the twenty-second of November

Amidst the unheard cries and shouts

That was the Mourning her light went out