you asked for 5, I give you 50
you asked for some, I give you all
you asked to go, I give you directions
you asked for the city, I give you the world
you asked for a star, I give you the universe
what more do you need?
what more do you want?
At this point I can only give you what I have left of me
and it really isn’t much
I want to stop
but I can’t
because if I stop, you will too
stop pushing, stop reaching, stop achieving
you feel alone, yet you isolate yourself
you just don’t get it
so explain it to me
I pull away, you come after me
I stop talking, you strike up conversations
what do you want from me?!
you go to sleep mad
you wake up sad
where does your joy lie?
it’s not here with us
I understand you have to find yourself
the YOU that you were meant to be
but who are you now???
because I don’t recognize this person
I don’t recognize you
the words you speak
the tone you use
catch your tone…I ain’t one a dem!
you apologize
I accept
then the same thing happens two days later
I give. and then I give. then I give some more
but it’s not enough
this family isn’t enough
then who is?
for you?
what is your intention for YOU?
I’m praying hard
I’m googling
seeking guidance
on how to
if this was a DIY project, I’d be good to go
but it’s not.
you need to help me
with this
with you
what more do you need?
I swear my hair is falling out
which pisses me off because I worked hard on this damn afro!
my body is giving up on me
gotta stack up on my B-complex…
pretty sure I’ve created my own mental B-complex…but I digress

I’m tired from crying
God, please show me what to do
give me the words
I lay down with my eyes puffy
nostrils blocked
they say crying is healing
crying is also exhausting
I’m at work…can’t focus
because my thoughts are on you
maybe this is what obsession is like
if it is, obsession is for the birds
God, please show me what to do
give me the words
help me be the mother this kid needs me to be in each moment
it’s a thin line… between

the blues


where do you go?…

I lay in my bed with my bedroom door open, listening for the door to chime…telling me you’re home. safely. listening to that damn kitchen faucet dripping. dripping. it’s almost annoying…but not as annoying as me being up, waiting for your return as though you’re my child or my mate. and even though you are neither, our connection is just as important. you worry me. you screw with my nerves.  I wake up and realize that the light I left on for you is still on…telling me that you’re not home yet.  and my door is still open.






because where else will you return to?  after you’re done. doing.  being.  escaping.  you will still have a home. so I say a prayer …for your safety…and I go back to sleep.

do I even want to know?  I’ll leave it alone.  because you returned. safe. and the door chimed. and the faucet dripped. and my door was still open.

My door will always be open. for you.

open door

My Truth

is simple: I’m o.k.  I don’t have time or space to entertain… I have no desire to make time for after hours conversation.  Once I get home, I’m home. My phone goes one way and I go another. The thought of having to close my door to have a conversation with… or to talk after the baby goes to sleep…. it feels more like a chore/task… I just don’t have that in me right now.

Maybe when I meet that guy -the right guy- the one who piques my curiosity/interest, who makes me want to dig deep and learn about him, the one who the sparks fly with… that one. That one I’ll have time for. That one I won’t have to make time for because our time for each other will come naturally.  That one.

For now, I’m o.k.  I’m at peace. I’m happy.

This is my truth.

Touch me once again…

I’m listening to Floetry and loving every minute of it and I get to thinking…what is it? what happened to make me close off that part of me? …that part of me…not so much the physical (even though that remains on lock…unlocked) but the emotional, the mental, the spiritual part that welcomes being touched.  I can talk/text/write/blog about any and everything. Politics, religion, relationships, parenting, work/life balances, cars (have you seen the new Kia Optima???); but I just can’t seem to tap into that part of me.  Have I become so tired? afraid? cold?  I need to tap in to that part…

He came to visit me wearing full red: t-shirt and sweats.  I smile because I know he did it on purpose. he knows I absolutely love seeing him in red. He knows it triggers me…touch my sight

He took a sip of Heineken, leaned over and breathed in my face softly, then laughed. I can’t explain it and no other beer/alcoholic beverage does that to me, and I’m not sure if smelling Heineken on another man’s breath would have the same effect…I never tried…but with him…touch my smell

All he had to do was get close to me, stand in my space, allow me to feel his breath on my face…my neck…and it would alert all my sexual senses. Time would pass and I promise, just being that close to him was enough, for me…for him it was simply the beginning…the start of a moment that would last well into the morning. But for me, standing in the middle of a room, or the sidewalk or the grocery store, -it really didn’t matter- but just having him share my space…touch my skin

His voice did it. His laugh. His base. All he had to do was leave me a voicenote of some kind. Just hearing him spiraled me. Hearing my name coming out his mouth sent me traveling…my mind, my thoughts would end up wherever he was and within seconds my day/week/forever was planned with him…he knew what songs I needed when I needed them. He knew how to speak to me through these songs…he knew me enough to…touch my sounds

To have him appreciate my words, my formulas, my analysis. To have him understand and agree with or intelligently debate against my logic. To have him teach me something new,  teach me how to love…him.  show me a different perspective. Understand him. Help me develop my language…touch my words

Touch me. Trigger my senses. Touch me again.  Allow the neurons in my body to dance a new dance…communicate with each other in a new way…speak a new language, a love language.  A language that only you can/will ever understand.  Allow the muscles in my body to relax at the very thought/sight/smell/feel of you.  “It’s just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

Touch me.




via Daily Prompt: Hideout

My hideout is not a hotel room on the beach. it’s not a cabin in the mountains. not a second home in the hills. nor a tiny house on the countryside.

this is my hideout. here on my blog. I come here for mental escape. right smack in the middle of the workday, while writing test cases and feeling like I’m stuck; no idea what the next format of driver’s license should be to test…wondering if I covered all the possible scenarios: My brain hurts and I need to get away, I come here.  I come here in the middle of the night when everyone’s asleep and the house is quiet: I can’t sleep and my mind won’t slow down, I come here.  I come here while patiently waiting in line at the deli: there are multiple conversations going on and it almost sounds like chaos. I come here.

This is my hideout. My place where I can be found by those searching for me if -and only if- I allow it.

LUSH (conversational)

via Daily Prompt: Lush

The first thing that came to my mind was that song…”can I get a REEE-FILL?…feel like a conversational lush, cause I don’t know how much is too much”  that has to be my favorite line in that song.  I heard it and thought about it…I like that.  I love that.  “Conversational Lush”.  Yes, talk to me. Drown me in your words. Pull me in with your speech. Intoxicate me with your terminologies. Let me DWI by your vocabulary, get home and stagger into the house, lay across my bed, my mind swirling around your language.  Let me wake up with a hangover…of your parlance.

Can I get a refill?

I need to write


I’m going through something…feeling some type of way…I am losing grip of my writing again and so I’m grabbing.  I want to tell you what I’m feeling right now, in this moment.  But I still treasure discretion in such a way that I still limit myself from absolute transparency…to you. To the people who don’t even know my name. never seen my face.  What is this fear?  Is it even fear?  OR is it my upbringing? “Like a gold ring in a pig’s snout is a beautiful woman without discretion.”  Proverbs 11:22.  Yes, I am beautiful and you can’t make me think otherwise.  And yes, I value discretion. I honor it.

So, I’ll tell you this: I am on a path.  I know what I expect to see at the end of this path.  I know what my expected results are.  I have to stay on track.  There are many side streets and rest stops along this path.  However, I’m not tired yet.


You keep on going…

When there’s something “unusual” that makes even the doctors tilt their heads to the sides in the confused-puppy look and they put you on medication with the instruction to come back in a couple weeks… “if it’s gone, great. If not, then we’ll know how to proceed.”  Breathe.

You keep on going because even though it remains at the forefront of your mind, you have no time to worry about it. You look at your children and you know you have to keep going. You hear your parents inquire about it and you know there’s concern…so you answer and soothe their fears “I’m o.k it’s getting better” and it’s the truth. Should it be much further along in the “better”? Yep. But you keep that to yourself. No need in having them worry. And while you’re parenting and working and parenting and planning, you’re also making all the necessary doctor appointments because you need all of them to be on the same page. No confusion.

You keep on going even though the process is slow, it’s steady. You keep on going. You keep on living.