Story Time

When you’re wrong….you’re wrong.

 

You know how I know karma is real? That bitch keeps slapping me in the back of my head. There’s this one particular time when she pretty much sucker punched the breath out of me and honestly I deserved it. You ever been in a relationship, happily in a relationship I might add, but it seems like everything thing walking is suddenly attracted to you? And try as you might to ignore the looks and flirtatious conversations sometimes somebody just catches your eye. I had been with my boyfriend for 2 yrs, the longest long distance relationship ever. 2 different countries, 2 different time zones, it was ridiculous but we made it work. Forced it damn near. We loved each other, there was no doubting that but being separated that long brought its’ fair share of issues, trust being one of them. You get into a routine of calling at certain times, texting when possible. Those things become the very life line of the relationship. So when the life line is stretched or pressed things start to crumble. During this particular season it seemed that EVERYTHING was pushing the limits. One too few “I love you’ s”, not enough paid attention during a conversation. Too many dropped or missed calls, so much tension in the air. So when my job sent me to training that lasted 6 weeks, it was almost no surprise that 2 weeks in, our relationship was hanging by a thread. It did not help that during this training there were quite a few eye catching men who had no problem distracting me from my frustrations. One guy in particular was bold enough to ask me out on a date. Of course I said no and made it clear I was in a relationship, but that didn’t stop him from staring, smiling, and yes winking when he caught my eye. It was ridiculous. Trying to contain my excitement from having someone notice me and in the next thought cursing myself for enjoying it. And then the subsequent guilt for not remembering my loving but aggravating boyfriend. To make matters worse, Mr. Bold had a friend who I will deem Mr. Nice Guy. Now Mr. Nice guy was funny, and sweet. He was talkative and friendly with everyone so I had no problem becoming friends with Mr. Nice guy. I thought it was a platonic friendship. Thought. Now during this time while I am making friends and rightfully enjoying the time away from my job and the training, my boyfriend is about at his wits end with my new schedule. Phones weren’t allowed in the classroom during this training so the random texting throughout the day stopped. There were lots of projects and research required, so most of my down time was spent at the training facility with my group or at the library. This however was no excuse for my love. I don’t know if it was really the time constraint or the sudden popularity among the opposite sex (probably both…yea I’ll go with both) but I no longer had the patience to deal with my relationship, so I ended it. 2yrs out the window. Done. It was on a Wednesday and I cried all night, but by Friday my new friends insisted we go out for drinks. Everyone from training would be there, so it seemed only right that I go. In fact Mr. Nice Guy was nice enough to send me a message on Facebook making sure I was coming. And my now ex-boyfriend was kind enough to check my Facebook for me and let me know that Mr. Nice Guy wanted to make sure I was coming. ….

 

I suck at this…….

Honestly I do. As much as I talk to myself, you’d think typing it up wouldn’t be an issue……WRONG. I spend 80% of my day in front of a computer screen…at work. The last think I want to do when I get home is sit in front of the computer, so I just stare at my phone screen lol. Seriously though I have been working on some awesome stuff, haven’t finished any of it, but it’s pretty good so far. Actually I think I’ll post a snippet of one of the stories. For the time being I’ll just keep posting my thoughts, as they come and go….

Too many Doubts, So Much Time

I never thought of myself as an artist. In fact if I could pick somebody in my family who was the least artistic I would come second only to my brothers failed rapping career (Let it go Ed). However lately I’ve felt as if my written word play could be categorized as artistic. I wish I could transcribe all the qwerky thoughts that pop into my head randomly. “The wetness from his kiss left a sticky sweet syrup of a quiver on my lips” That line makes me smile 🙂 If I could sit around all day writing or rewriting to add sense’s to stories or kick to lines, I’d be in heaven. Just right now I’m suppose to be writing a biology paper on bacteria, but I don’t wanna write about bacteria. I wanna write about kisses hahaha. Later I might wanna write about swimming or dreaming. I never know I just write. I have so many things I want to say, so many conundrums that fill my head. I’m guessing this is what it feels like to know what it is you want to do with your life. The doubt eats’ at me though. What if it’s not as good as you think, what if they don’t get it. What if it’s too simple….. well I don’t want it to be so deep it’s confusing either hahaha. I have 2 weeks left in this class then I’m dedicating my summer to writing. I honestly have nothing else to do.

Wicked Thoughts

Smoking was my nastiest habit

that’s how I think of you

A blemish on my perfectly imperfect life

You live to make mistakes

promises made to be broken, lies told when words spoken

I don’t dislike what transpired

I was drawn to it

dragged to it like the nicotine from the filter of my newports

that rushing high felt when your drug of false love hit my veins

left me feeling filthy like the ash tray of a mouth I had

the blanket of a toddler being pulled across the floor

mindlessly cause you cling to it but chase every bright object that crosses your eye

you wouldn’t let me go

No matter how hard I tried to kick the habit

I was always brought back

even now the thought of a puff makes me lick my lips in wonder

what if

Babygirl

A daddy’s girl I’ll always be

Your first born love

made for the world to see

Held in your arms

shielded from hurt and pain

you whispered “my babygirl”

and told me my name

From first steps to first words

you watched your babygirl grow

and showed her something

that she’d always know

That her daddy’s love

is unconditional everyday

no matter if he’s near

or very far away

And even now it’s clear

for everyone to see

that no one can take away

what my daddy’s given to me

Even if a love

has left me with a broken heart

my daddy’s there to mend it

and remind me who’s loved me from the start

And when he put’s me in my place

after bad choices I’ve made

through my tears he shows me

that tomorrow’s a new day

From my birth to my death

and all time in between

My Daddy’s “babygirl” I will always be……

Easy to Love…..

He was so easy to love. Of course I’d never known what love should be, but in the world that surrounded me, his love was best. The only love I’d ever seen was my mother’s love for the Lord. That’s what she called it. Her devotion to her church and bible were for the love of her Lord. He was the only one that deserved her love. I think my mother loves me because she has to, because the bible tells her to love everyone but every day I could see how much she didn’t like me. My father left when I was just two. I guess he couldn’t stand not being loved as much as Jesus. Not sure why he thought it’d be better for me. Sometimes at night when momma would pray for hours, I’d imagine my daddy sneaking back into the house, lifting me light as a feather from my bed and tip towing to the yard where his beat up Chevy was waiting to take us both away. I wasn’t allowed to have friends. Momma would say, “we may love everyone with our hearts but you ain’t runnin round with no hell bound heathens.” She didn’t know about Genie.

Every day after school she would meet me at the bus stop and we would walk the dusty back road for a mile to Ezekel Baptist Church. Genie’s dad was Reverend Louis, the oldest member of our small congregation. At 72 yrs old people who weren’t from Jasper Mississippi were baffled to learn that he had a 12 yr old daughter, but I’d heard Miss Lisa (Deacon Brown’s wife) say she was really his niece. Reverend Louis had never had a wife, least not one we had seen. Genie was 3 yrs older than me, so as far as I had known she’d always been in Jasper. But sometimes I’d hear the woman suck their lips after we’d walk by and violently whisper while looking after us. Once I stopped walking and went into the cloakroom so I could hear them in the hall. “Eula May I am telling you that girl don’t look nuthin like him” whispered Miss Jean, but Eula May retorted “His niece ain’t gotta look like him to be kin.” “I still don’t see how nobody asked no questions when a old man shows up at a church with a baby and no mammy” Miss Lisa injected. I had heard the story of Reverend Louis’s arrival almost 11yrs ago, at last year’s church revival….

You know that feeling you get way deep down inside in the pit of your stomach. It feels like the cold of the night rushing in unexpectedly. It taste like a sour grape limp and rotting in your mouth. Smells like the bottom of an lifeless pond. That feeling of overwhelming despair?
I hide it well. In the curve of my smile, the high pitch of my laughter. In the causal stride of my walk, but my body is in knots. Twisted as if wringing the last drop of water from a wash rag, I couldn’t dare stay out in the open for to long. At any moment the despair I’m controlling so well is going to break out of me like the opening song of some theatrical musical.
I can only hold on for so long.

The Beginning

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things……..

I never learned that whole poem. In fact I think I only knew that part from a movie (Harriet the Spy), but somehow I find myself quoting that whenever I am about to make a big decision. I talk to myself about many things all the time, in fact I think all writers do. I find myself formulating an undisputable argument as to why I am deciding to do whatever it is I have decided to do. Like now, I’m sitting here trying to convince myself that it’s ok to write a new story. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t, I think of new stories all the time…..in fact I have so many new stories that I have yet to complete one hahaha. So the time has come, my conscious says, to finish many things……like poems and verses and songs you never sing….

She waits

As she watches the sunset just past the window pane, the beating of her heart quickens

Breathing deep she lays down for sleep knowing, hoping it’s the same as every night before

And she waits

For the deep slumber to control her, for her mind to break free

It’s only here that she feels the love unconditional of a romance yet to be

She’s with him every night behind heavy eyelids and dark walls

Underneath the blankets so warm holding her pillow close

He whispers in her ear “my dear you’ve been away to long”

Every day she waits for night to hear him sing this loving song…

“My love for you runs deeper than the oceans deepest part,

And every moment you’re away you take with you my heart

There is no place upon this earth where I won’t be with you

I’ll wait forever and a night to have this love so true

Please stay with me, don’t ever leave. I’ll give you all you need

And what you want I promise you will find right here in me”

The stars shine bright as she listens to the voice of a man she never sees

But on the horizon the sun starts to creep slowly upon the pane

And she waits

For each night before she wakes a sweet kiss touches her lips