4.10.2012

The day I realized that I was JUST woman was the dearest day of them all. I never knew that breasts could be a glitch in the system; and my curves weren’t just meant for Love’s hands, they survived on stares, a role belonging to a Man who is destined to meet us. Borrow our bodies, and do to our delicacies as he would do to wipe his ass.

On that beloved day, being a woman was a flaw. So we walk these streets praying no one thinks we’re pretty. Hide those hips, impose imperfection, and take the long way home. He brought out the weakness I never knew I had in me… All because I was woman.

For Tosh.
Pinkies Forever 

“I do”

I never visioned myself in a white dress, walking down an isle to join hands with the man of my dreams and commit to a lifelong promise. Never dreamed of a white picket fence, three car garage with a mini van to spare.. I couldn’t see myself waking up to the same person, making love to the same person, loving that ONE person for the rest of my time. Me.. married? Never.

“I came alone, so I can die alone.”

Getting married isn’t on the top of my to do list, but rather than looking at prom dresses, I search for wedding gowns. And  for the first time in my life, I have the worst urge to go in Peir 1 Imports.I will bluntly admit, more to myself than to you that: marriage isn’t a death sentence and can be beautiful to those who aspire it. So if I wake up  to the same man every day, make love to him the same way every time we lay together, then wake up to the same scene every morning, I don’t mind; because I know that when I lay with my husband he will take my body places I never knew existed. And  with every sunset will come 24hour dedication. But if we love one another, I don’t mind. I know that he will father my children and raise a son that will carry on a honorable legacy. He will honor his wife, and cherish his lover for the rest of OUR time.

This is an ode to Mr Simmons. Yes you put something on my mind, and from those hours of listening I took heed to one thing..
POSSIBILITY

Two Much Power

It has been over a year since I published my first blog; and I want to give much gratitude to my faithful readers. Nonetheless, those who gave me the encouragement to continue what I do.

When I wrote Power I was unproven and I still am to this very day. Since then I have had a nice ratio of Life. So what I’m going to tell you is not an update; but of a re-do of what I thought was unchangeable.
Something so precious, like a woman’s love cannot be replaced in any way. Love is what men and women live on, we strive for it, and we will even die for it. The power and strength a woman posses camouflages itself as delicacy, and beauty.. the kryptonite men fall for. In all honesty, the kryptonite IS in fact the cure. Not against a man, but to women ourselves. I believed that women did not recognize the power that we had, and when acknowledged and used correctly our species WOULD be a force to recon with. Today, I stand corrected. We realize it, embrace it, but use it against our own kind in order to get what we strive for and live on… Love. To have a man  love us and show unconditional care and comfort is a feeling that is not easily obtained, but easily lost… And after putting two and two together, we made five, made a mistake, and took the “pussy” itself for granted. The mistakened answer to love was giving him the power, and leave ourselves searching for an answer, making yet another oversight, and trying to fix it with the “pussy”. To add insult to injury, we take this gem and malicously use it against one another. We symbolically fight for what is reobtainable. We fight for his attention, comfort, and care… Something that can be genuine if waited for.

We women stand together in a lone army. Its a war we face, when facing love, and facing the truth. Answering five, is much simpler than standing for morals and try to find four. I tell you this as a woman, and that I have once again lost a fight. But I would much rather loose this battle, than loose my power. Because we all know.. The Power is in the Pussy.

Lust

Intent hides my thighs.

We both know, beside your pride, and the possibility of some time, that you want to poke your ambitous head inside.

I just want to prove my contradiction to you.

I’m a woman, I swear it.

Just fill me with desire. don’t Take Heavens mistake with you.

It’s okay. I want to prove my affection to you. A limitless tenderness, a love thats cautious, but careless, love from a goddess.

Yes, I’m in High School. And you’re alumni.

But due to these curves, you just can’t let me walk by, and not say hi.

32 Candles

I love too hard.

In the past 3 days I have read that line more than once. Well, allow me to close gaps before I open them. Just two days ago, I began to read a novel called 32 Candles, and yesterday I finished it. Usually when I read, it takes me a while to complete the book. I read when boredom forces me to, and when I’m forbidden to. So I take the quick finish as a surprise. Although, my typical genre -not by  choice- is erotica; and this is the total opposite of that. After all the novels I‘ve read, same clichés plus similar plots, I’m due for a change of venue. Even though it took less than a day to complete, can’t define 32 Candles as a page turner. Nor a must read. It’s difficult to define, but I can say: if you are indulged with self pity, and read this book.. you’ll feel like shit in the end.
So, the gaps are somewhat closed. I switched a little; nice segue though. To get back on route, the main character mentioned her view on when a woman says she ‘loves too hard’.
Now, after I finished that, I began another novel, Red Light Wives. And without reaching the fifth chapter, the main character mentioned that she ’loved too hard’. Note the -ed ending.. Things didn’t work out. Most likely because she ’loves too hard’. This irritated me. Aside of the constant use; I wanted to  know, what ‘too hard’ is. Here’s my interpretation:

 

I believe in loving hard. But not to place the blame in the end, for the end.

When a woman loves hard, she accepts a mans faults and takes his cons as is.

Allowing those outbursts, and blows because his old man left him.

Oh she loves hard. Or is that too hard?

Tell me, is there a limit to what I say that makes it too much? Or is my love too much?
After years of failure in those things called relationships, I sure appreciate finding out the problem was that I love too hard. That I gave too much.

In the end, I’m going to blame the thing that once made me smile. What was completion, that lead to my assumptions on happiness and healthy living. Not broken legs or promises. Love. Blame my love.

 “No. It’s  not that I loved too hard. It’s that you didn’t love enough.”

 

*Note: Authors, 32 Candles, Ernesta Carter
Red Light Wives, Mary Monroe

‘Colored Girls’

I’m not happy with me.

The strong black woman I’m suppose to be.

Or our menace to population. Bearing creations.

Honestly, I’m not satisfied.
That tattoo I got below my right thigh. A black and pink rose with some butterflies. Two foot prints under that.

His fathers pride.

We don’t belong.

“Ride my shit, baby all night long.”
I’d love some quiet, but that’s what’s on. That’s my man, so I sing his songs.

We face defeat.

I would give my meal. So my sisters can eat. And I deny my growing summer in heat.

I turn to what he beats.  I clean the tables. I wash our car.

Well, “what’s yours is mine.” So what’s mines is ours?

My women, my sisters we deserve us some flowers. We deserve back the pride and love we let go. Don’t blame time, it will come as we will go. I say to my sisters. Stand up for your love. Hold on to the stuff he can only dream of. You grip that gem with all you got. Remember baby, you’re the cream of the crop.

This is for colored girls who’ve given all that they’ve got.

Parted

Lately, I have been searching for my mentor. This woman would know all that could be told. And this man would hold a thought within his hand to give. Maybe a pen pal. Someone who is like me. They’d be able to tell me their tales and I’d tell them mine. Or possibly, the body I am searching for has already gone. Maybe he’d said the words of wisdom prior to his departure; and dreamed they’d held on. Or maybe, just maybe, this being does not exist. I have yearned to have the clearest of eyes a call away, or only be parted by sleep. What if there is no one? I hope there is a such. If not, I’m faced to stomach my own silence, and endless thoughts. Which I am not at a state to do own my own. So the only thing left to do is search for him or her. I’d be left to search forever. But here’s the thing about “forever” ..It can never last. So I’ll begin with myself.

Eilly, you think too much.

When beginning a thought, your mind is flooded with ideas, and possibilities. Stop. It forces inner difficulty. It is understood that you’re intelligent. As well as non-biased. Your color is relevant, as much as your breasts. But I do give you my hand. You’re able to wear the mask of man, and act out morals of a monster.  The intricacy fades once you part your mouth and build words. But what about the times you are not speaking. Because, you think while speaking, but why not before you talk? As much thought you put into your outfit,  your words should get that equal effect. Your word means more than the color you behold. Or the elevated language you selectively speak. But what you express honestly holds true meaning. If you stop putting so much thought into the way you think, and think before you speak; then you’d finally enjoy your silence. For this what you face at the end of forever.

Things

He took my purity, my solidarity, my sanity. A stranger laid into me.

Leaving his piece.

Luckily he left some things, creativity, conformity. An ounce of humility, a dash of normality.

Not only am I different, I’ve changed dramatically. Bailed on the whole world while he came quietly.

Pleasure beneath my legs, giving prosperity. His heat, my words, but we lay there silently.

I searched for ole’ clarity, livid from seeking. Hours and hours, lifting and shifting. Crying, not finding that damned ole’ clarity. But it hit me..

There was no need.

That clarity, my misery, all left with my dignity.

It held his hand tightly, staring  blankly, saying it missed me.

He stole my virginity..

While leaving his piece.

 

Power

[This is geared toward my younger, simple audience.]

The thing envied about a relationship, is the ability to lean on your other half. I too have yearned for that person to knock me on my ass with charm. And I realize there is no such thing as the perfect guy. Hell, I reached the point to lowering my standards once. But no matter what you change, in the end they all are the same. See, I decide  to keep the explaining simple, and give the “old school” dialogue. Now, the game has more loopholes.. And fools who play it. Thus it is harder to find one who doesn’t. Don’t get the wrong idea of me. I have had chapters. I’m not a bitter person who thinks all men are “dogs”. Which isn’t true at all. Some are different with their approach. Maybe sex is pushed further down on the list. However, like I said in the beginning, males are all alike. Meaning, when your relationship ends you will see some of the same qualities he had, in another ex.

I do things differently. What I wrote above is true. And as true as it is, I still take it all as bullshit. Now, this is the point where I get a little complex. The simple way is more favored; but when explaining my view-points it’s everything but that. Telling steps takes too much explaining. Giving secrets are misleading. The only method left is the way I do it. Which is what I know best.

The first thing you have to posses is power. Power is the wrap up word for confidence, priorities, attraction, and even poise. You can claim to have more power than man. However the power is for him to realize, and clearly see. As they say, “Power is in the pussy.” This quote is now cliché. Reason being females so easily allow guys to sway them , that the “pussy” looses “power”. Basically, you show no boundaries. Hence, he treats you like shit. He doesn’t call back, and you become another extra.

From the original meeting, you need to grab those balls (metaphorically speaking) of yours and take control of the situation. A lot of females are afraid to do so because of the tricky reaction. Fearful of rejection. Nonetheless, the more distant you make yourself the more irresistible you become. As a consequence you gain that “pussy power”.

Looking over what I wrote, I can’t help but feel biased. And a lot of things I wrote are vague. To frankly sum up my point:

Stop being so damn naive regarding males. Think past what you see. Stop falling for every pick up line he feeds you, and shiny teeth staring at you. I read about too much cheating and heartbreak on Facebook and Myspace. At this point I say, stop crying. Be a man (metaphorically speaking again). And realize that you brought this all on yourself. Yes he is a Douche Bag. But it was a way to avoid all of it. So this is a PSA to all my ladies. (I say ladies because you hopefully came out a little smarter). Don’t be the teenage stereotype. Be smart for once goddamn-it.