Author: Admin
Ex… why?
In the beginning it was friendship… she said I was smart… she said I was beautiful… I’m the one made for making someone very happy. I met her years and years ago. She was sassy… fun… and quick to defend those she cared for…. but we didn’t connect and didn’t agree on anything. She was the one that gave me the good sense to stop trying to conform to the worlds girl loves boy ways… while she drove me insane… she also taught me my capacity for love… the lengths I would go for someone I cared for… and for myself… but it just didn’t work… kind of like trying to catch hold of a rainbow… have you ever tried? Impossible.
Last night it was a phone call… she says she loves me… misses me… She’s the one I’m made for. I met her 3 years ago… She was Gentle… Sweet…Stunning… but we didn’t connect and didn’t agree on anything. She loved me… I loved her… but it just didn’t work… kind of like a fish and bird falling in love. Where would they live?
Last week it was a letter… she says she loves… misses me… she’s the one I’m made for. I met her 9 months ago… she was caring… attentive… ambitious…. but we didn’t connect and didn’t agree on anything. There was love… and there was chaos. Hours and hours of endless arguing… it just didn’t work… kind of like trying to hug a porcupine. Ouchy… not my idea of a good time.
When you look back on your life you realize there are worse things than being unlucky in love worse things than feeling alone even in the presence of the one you want the most. The past ones taught me lessons I knew I needed to learn. The present one taught me to not care so much… go with the flow right? (Shrugs) Maybe the future one will teach me something magic. Who knows? I’m hopeful.
I approach people trusting and hopeful… Everyone else is guarded and secretive… Hmmm it’s a new day… so I think I’ll change my approach… trust is earned after all… and hope… well… I’ll walk with faith instead… in myself…and whatever I’m meant for. There may be adoration… appreciation… and respect. I like her… she likes me… but when it just doesn’t seem to work… it’s kind of like trying to breathe under water… struggling at first… then everything fades to black… and before you even realize it… you’re drowning.
My friends say never make someone a priority when you are only an option…
Let’s be real… the world has only a handful of priorities while the options are limitless.
Me? I’m a priority, just maybe not to you… understood.
My internal bit of selfish…
Like most women I think my lover should be able to read my mind. Based on endless hours of conversation she should know how to endear herself in that special corner of my heart, but the realist? The realist is me knows better. So I’ll share something with you…
I’m used to not having… whether its attention… material things… or affection… (shrugs). I’m kinda used to doing things for myself. To be honest… I think conditioned might be a better word. I’ve been conditioned to just do things… well… for myself. The result? I struggle with the concept of leaning on someone else… depending on someone else… needing someone else to be there for me, and just plain asking for what I want.
So today… I’m telling deep dark secrets… giving you an inside look into what makes my heart beat fast.
My favorite colors are green and blue… depends on my mood.
I love to cook… but for a change…secretly I would love it if breakfast, lunch or dinner magically appeared for me.
I’m not a ‘women’s libber’ I love having doors opened for me… chairs pulled out… heavy things carried… treat me like a LADY. I don’t always need it… but it’s nice to have the offer.
My favorite forms of affection are hugs… front… back… side… just hug me damn it!
Mmm … I love kisses… on the lips… forehead… palm of my hand… Eskimo… just kiss me already!
Tell me what you’re feeling… tell me about your family… tell me about your past… tell me what you’re thinking… talk to me… I need it.
I adore martial arts movies… my favorite is The Storm Riders… (I have it on VHS yeah… yeah I know) and I’ve been looking for it on DVD, but it looks like I’ll have to hunt it down online.
I love Roses… orange, yellow, white, pink…but secretly I love Orchids and Bamboo… especially that curly bamboo.
I love Horror Movies… mainly because I don’t like to be afraid of anything so it’s kind of my version of shock therapy lol.
Come away with me… let’s take a trip… can I interest you in a Bed and Breakfast, cabin on the mountain, a plane ticket to someplace exotic? Or a day trip to Philly, AC, DC…. Shit ANYWHERE… so long as I’m with you.
I love Honeysuckle, Jasmine, and Sunflowers… poetry… chocolate… mangos… mmmm
Rub my back… conversations in the dark… wash my dishes… tell me a joke…
Sunrise… sunset… rainy days… rainy nights… thunderstorms…. Mmmm…
Read to me… something you love… something you wrote… the phone book…the alphabet… Woman I don’t care… it’s the sound of your voice I crave…
Paint my bedroom ceiling… feed my pets… charge my cell phone, tell me I’m smart….
Hold my hand… pray with me… walk with me in the rain… let’s make some snow angels…
Stand on the pier with me… tell me a story… learn to do something I love, simply because I love to do it.
Look at me when the makeup is off… my glasses are on… and tell me… I’m beautiful… and for the love of God… MEAN IT.
Dance with me… Sing with me… laugh with me…
Buy me something… I don’t care if it costs $1.00 or $1,000.00… something… anything… let me know I was on your mind…
Like my mom’s cooking… but love mine (yup…yup… I said it…) tell me about something exotic and different you’d like to eat… tell me what your favorite food is.
Keep me company in the kitchen… I don’t always need it… but MAN… it’s just plain… sweet .
Rub my neck when I don’t feel good… hold me till I fall asleep…
If you’re a painter… paint something for me… If you’re a singer… sing something for me… if you’re a writer… write something for me… if you’re a teacher… teach me something… if you’re a dancer… well… dance.
I love animals with a special love affair going on with anything feline… Lions…. Tigers… Leopards… sigh…
I love the circus… the zoo… the theater… want to see Evita… come with me to Monster Jam… Jersey Boys… Rent… Rock of Ages… mmmm possibilities.
Sit through the ballet with me… or opera… what about the symphony?
Take me to your favorite places… show me your favorite things…
Make love to me… make me see stars… find my tender spots…
Touch me like you mean it… like it’s important to you… like I’m important.
To simplify… what I give to you… give it back… isn’t that easy?
– Nova
Summer days…
Summer days should be spent resting… playing… or getting into trouble.
I was resting when I met her… she was walking sunshine … sweet… generous… joyful…
Last night I listened to her brag about how many people wanted her… how many people want her.
Today… I ride the wave of uncaring.
Summer days should be spent resting… playing… or getting into trouble.
I was playing, as little girls do… when I spent time with her… house… dress up… doctor…
Last night I listened to her stories of lovers past… the ones who adored her… the ones she left… oh how she laughed… and laughed… and… laughed.
Today… I ride the wave of unfeeling.
Summer days should be spent resting… playing… or getting into trouble.
I was in trouble the second I gave her my heart…
Last night I listened as she told me what a great ’catch’ I am… how ‘practically perfect’…
Today… I ride the wave of undoing…
Summer days should be spent resting… playing… or getting into trouble.
Odd… how the ones who hurt us the most… are often times the ones we love the best.
– Nova
Limitless…
Love comes in many forms…
Family…
Friendships…
Lovers…
I am honored by the great loves in my life.
– Nova
WTF?
So a while ago I attached the link to my blog to my Facebook page and a Bible beating acquaintance read them and sent me an email today .
‘You know… not everyone needs to know what you’re thinking.
Not everyone needs to know what you’re feeling.
Not everyone needs to know what you’ve been through.
Just put your faith in Christ and you will be healed.’
I took a good long… hard… look at this and paused before I answered, because I felt cussing her out might be too much of an extreme reaction. Instead I replied:
‘Not everyone needs to know what I’m thinking? I speak the truth… if you don’t care to hear… then don’t listen.
Not everyone needs to know what I’m feeling? I don’t hide behind what others deem acceptable behavior. My face is an open book anyway… so why would I bother trying to do something that is not in my nature?
Not everyone needs to know what I’ve been through? I choose not to let life cripple me. Most people do… this is why the world is full of people in need of therapy, Jesus, or medication.
Why are you reading my blog anyway?
My spirit is immersed in sunshine even on the darkest of days. My faith is exactly where it needs to be… and I make no apologies for it. Healing is the ability to walk with God… acknowledge your hurts… but not be defined by them. I don’t walk in the shadows of my hurts… I walk with God.
Perhaps you should start a blog? While you seem to have found Christ… this dialogue suggests… you may be in need of therapy or medication as well.
Love Songs…
I believe you can tell a lot about a person by listening to the music that speaks to their spirit… so in the interest of ‘getting to know me’ I’m sharing some of my loves and why. There are so many that make my spirit buzz and my heart skip a beat… the rare ones that capture your attention the first time you hear them… the ones that make you nod your head in agreement and want to shout ‘YES!’ because they are telling your story….
People sleep on ‘Country’… I’m not sure if it’s the accents, the instruments or some of the more maudlin lyrics. In any event ya’ll are missing out on some b*e*a*u*t*i*f*u*l stuff.
This is a Garth Brooks song, I’ve always felt that if two lovers could feel this way about each other, there would be nothing impossible for them to achieve… for themselves… or for each other. I tried to go over the lyrics to pull out something… anything… that rubbed my heart better than the rest… and nothing. It’s just a really great song… and guess what… when I’m in love… I happen to be that fool for her smh…
Hmmm maybe I’ll outgrow it? Anyway I’m rambling… the lyrics are below… Sorry for the lengthy stuff but read them… all of them…
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SHAMELESS…
Well I’m shameless when it comes to loving you
I’ll do anything you want me to
I’ll do anything at all
And I’m standing here for all the world to see
Oh baby that’s what’s left of me
Don’t have very far to fall
You know I’m not a man who’s ever been
Insecure about the world I’ve been livin’ in
I don’t break easy I have my pride
But if you need to be satisfied
I’m shameless, oh honey I don’t have a prayer
Every time I see you standin’ there
I go down upon my knees
And I’m changin’ swore I’d never compromise
Oh but you convinced me otherwise
I’ll do anything you please
You see in all my life I’ve never found
What I couldn’t resist what I couldn’t turn down
I could walk away from anyone I ever knew
But I can’t walk away from you
I have never let anything have this much control over me
I work too hard to call my life my own
And I’ve made myself a world and it’s worked so perfectly
But it’s your world now I can’t refuse
I’ve never had so much to lose
Oh I’m shameless
You know it should be easy for a man who’s strong
To say he’s sorry or admit when he’s wrong
I’ve never lost anything I’ve ever missed
But I’ve never been in love like this
It’s out of my hands
I’m shameless, I don’t have the power now
I don’t want it anyhow
So I got to let it go
Oh I’m shameless, shameless as a man can be
You make a total fool of me
I just wanted to you to know
Oh I’m shameless
I just wanted you to know
Oh I’m shameless
Oh I’m down on my knees…shameless
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Now ‘Rock’ and I have had a special love affair forever. My all time favorite love song is Meatloaf ‘I would do anything for love…’ I was 14 when this song came out, and it was the template I followed for the things I’d be willing to do for the one I love.
Now the things he says… the things she says… huge eye opener… FOR me. So I’ve schlepped on in my relationships… trying to do all of the things listed below. Never once noticing I probably wasn’t getting them in return. I did a lot of growing up … so I’ve since noticed. This is an easy template to follow if you care and ARE WILLING, but everyone involved doesn’t always care and they aren’t always willing. For most… it’s just too much pressure.
Anyway… the part that makes my blood move is the section where the female vocalist is challenging his declaration… “I would do anything for love” When I hear it, I can imagine my future wife and I think to myself…
‘YES!!!!!!!
Just get over here already!’
(lmao sorry I just burst into fits of giggles)
Seriously though… while I want to RECEIVE everything this lady is talkin below… It’s more important to me to be able to PROVIDE them. I used to be a hopeless romantic… now I’m just hopelessly romantic for HER. I believe ‘My Future Honey’ is an awesomely amazing woman, and she deserves an awesomely amazing woman. It’s a struggle… but I’m trying.
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ANYTHING FOR LOVE (performed by Ms. Loud)
Will you raise me up?
Will you help me down?
Will you get me right out of this Godforsaken town?
Will you make it all a little less cold?
Will you hold me sacred?
Will you hold me tight?
Can you colorize my life I’m so sick of black and white?
Can you make it all a little less old?
Will you make me some magic with your own two hands?
Can you build an emerald city with these grains of sand?
Can you give me something I can take home?
Will you cater to every fantasy I got?
Will you hose me down with holy water-if I get too hot-?
Will you take me places I’ve never known?
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In conclusion boys and girls… my life is comprised of its own catalog of music. When it comes to love… hmm all I can say is… two years ago I penned the phrase “She’s my music… I’m her radio…” and this is why.
– Nova
Jack of All Trades…
He was a cab driver, a mechanic, a restaurateur, owned his own store, a limo service, an import export business (and these are the jobs I actually know about), pretty much a Jack of All Trades and a Master of None… i.e… a con man. My dad was one of the original silver tongued devils. He’d come up with an idea (see above) and talk you and your next door neighbor into financing it. Did anyone ever make a profit… did they ever get their money back? Let’s just say most didn’t.
When he drove the cab he would take me out for drives in the back and we’d end up at some garage where he’d hang out with his buddies for what felt like hours… and hours. He’d look back at me and say “Get down” and I knew the drill… I’d have to lie down in the back of the cab so no one would see me until he’d completed his business. Some of those days were rainy days… I remember looking up at the ceiling of the cab humming something (anything) to pass the time, and on those rainy days I’d fall silent… awed by the sound of Mother Nature tapping on the window. Rain makes an awesome sound on the metal of cars… I think this is where my love of rainy days probably started. I could lay there for days wrapped up in the smell of gasoline and my simple imaginings… fall asleep enveloped in the low drumbeat of raindrops on the roof.
There were days he’d come home sweaty and smelling like motor oil… a hush would drop over the house every day when we heard his heavy footsteps in the hall… the house would fall silent. I remember running to meet him at the door “Papi!” there were days he’d acknowledge me, and there were days he wouldn’t, depending on his mood. I remember his dirty hands, blackened with motor oil underneath his fingernails. I know this is where my affection for someone who can work with their hands started. My mom would always have dinner ready… and we’d eat 3 home cooked meals virtually every day. Things like Wendy’s, McDonalds, Chinese food and pizza… well those… were treats.
We had a detached garage, so a key was required. We kept all manner of things in there… tools, furniture my bike… my sister’s. It was the weekend and on this particular sunny afternoon my sister and I went bike riding. We asked my mom for the key to the garage and set out looking for adventure. We rode around the block several times, amazing how back then no one thought or cared about safety. We rode on the side walk, in the street, without padding and without helmets. Rebels right? When we were tired of moving in circles and had updated ourselves on the ‘going ons’ of the neighborhood we headed home, put our bikes away and my sister locked up the garage. She went into my parent’s room and placed the key in my mom’s glass vanity tray on their dresser. We went about the business of burning through the rest of the hours in the day watching TV and doing our own thing.
I remember hearing the front door open, running to greet my dad at the front door. He ws tense… and had with him a KFC bag and a bucket of chicken… TREATS! My mom was in the kitchen making preparations’ to sit down to dinner. I’ll never forget my dad’s face when he said he needed to go to the garage… “Where is the key?” My sister looked at him and said “We went bike riding today. Its on your dresser.” My dad walked into the kitchen, sat down at the table and said very quietly, “Its not… find it.” She hurriedly went into their room to get the key, when she came back in a few moments later she stood in the doorway of the kitchen and nervously said, “Um it’s not there, I can’t find it.” My dad stood up and said “Find it or I’m going to beat you.” I looked from his face clouded over with barely suppressed anger and her face wide eyed with the first sparks of fear, and we went to search.
We tore the entire house apart. I went into the junk drawer in the kitchen and got out the flashlight. My mom was seated at the kitchen table chewing away at that fried chicken. My sister and I went outside in the dark together to retrace our steps. She asked me over and over again if I touched the key, did I move it. While I was apprehensive I wasn’t really worried because girl genius that I was… I had secretly disposed of all of the belts in the house. Yup… in the trash… weeks ago, my dad had been pulling up his pants for a while now. As we made our way back she stopped me before going into the house, “Ok, we can’t find it, if it’s out here we can’t find it till morning. You won’t get in trouble, you tell him.” I looked up at her, and bravely said, “Ok.”
He was standing in the dining room… in what appeared to be a full blown rage. “Where is it” he demanded pacing back and forth. “Papi, we can’t find it. Maybe it fell outside… we can find it when its daytime…” he stalked toward his bedroom (presumably on the hunt for one of those long gone belts) and I stood there with my sister, uncertain but not yet afraid. My mom sat there looking at us through the kitchen door… eating that fucking chicken. When he came back into the room he had a long brown extension cord in hand. My sister and I looked at each other, then we looked back at my mom, she just shrugged and said, “Don’t look at me you should put things back where you found them.” I was still uncertain but not yet afraid SMH, sadly though… I should have been afraid.
He wrapped the two ends around his fist… leaving the rest loose and called me… “Carlyn… come here.” Now what you must remember is while I was intimidated by my father I never really feared him. Up until this point in my life his spankings almost always consisted of those damn thick leather belts (not that silly light weight stuff people buy off of the street corner… real leather) or the hand slap. He used to tell me to put out my open palm and he would slap it as hard as he could, and lastly… the head slap. He’d wait until we were walking by and would slap the back of our heads… really hard (this was usually followed by some variation of “STUPID”). In that moment when he called me and I eyed the cord in his hand I felt the first real fear of this man of my short little life… but then calm washed over me… reason prevailed… ‘he’d never hit me with that’… I looked him in the eye and I walked up to him.
When I looked up at him, my little heart trying to thump out of my chest I looked for something… anything in his face that would tell me everything would be ok. He looked down at me… nostrils flaring… eyes dilated… a fine sheen of sweat on his upper lip… and raised his fist. I could tell you I braced myself… or that I flinched or even that I was clear on what was coming, but I’d be lying. The first lick of that cord on my skin was white hot… I didn’t see stars… I didn’t black out… my vision turned white and all of the breath in my body released as I dropped to my knees and the world was perfect silence.
Everything moved in slow motion and then I heard it… the screaming… like an out of body experience I listened… curious… until I realized it was me… I was the one screaming. Seems like the second that was clear I was back inside of myself. My wrist was in his grip and with each rise and fall of that extension cord I was screaming “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… please Papi… please!” Thinking back on it clothing is a Godsend… every place that cord touched me was on fire.. ruby red welts would form and stick around for days to come… but those places where that cord touched my skin? On impact… shredded. Thin white strips appeared… agony… those would bleed later. I remember two in particular… the one on the back of my knee… and the one on the inside of my elbow… I can still see the outline of the faded scar today.
When he finally let me go I took off running. I ran to my mother (still sitting there eating that fucking chicken) she shrugged me off and said, “Get away from me.” I looked at her and climbed underneath the kitchen table, where I sat and cried. Then he called my sister, “Thalia, come here.” She stood in the doorway of the dining room and just looked at him for a minute, “Not if you’re going to hit me with that.” He stood up a little bit straighter… pulled up his pants and said “Come here.” She stood her ground and said, “Not if you’re going to hit me with that” then he reached for her and she took off running.
He chased her through the entire house, lashing out with that extenstion cord, by the time they made their way back to the kitchen one end of the cord was loose and he was flicking it out like a full blown whip. He caught her mostly on her legs… she was fast. She ran into the kitchen… where my mom was still eating that fucking chicken and dropped down to her knees next to my mom… wrapped her arms around my mother’s legs screaming, “Mommy please” we looked at each other… me crying under that kitchen table and my sister cowering at my mother’s feet. My mom put down the piece of chicken she was chewing as my dad ran into the kitchen, panting heavily. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and said “That’s enough.”
I cried for hours… the kind of tears that are silent and numb. My mom took us into the front room and started applying rubbing alcohol to the worst of our wounds, chiding us the whole time…chiding us, “Next time you’ll be more careful, next time you’ll put things back where you found them, next time you’ll be more careful”. I looked up at her… my little heart broken for the first time in my life, “Next time? Mommy next time I’m calling the police” (yeah I know but my 7 year old azz was as serious as you can be at 7). She looked at me… “Oh yeah… call them… see what happens…” and resumed her rubbing alcohol torture.
My sister and I shared a bedroom and went to bed wordless. I lay for hours with water just leaking out of my eyes… just leaking… like a faucet someone forgot to shut off. I cried myself to sleep that night for the first time ever. The next morning my sister and I were stiff and moving slowly, sudden movements caused the freshly scabbed wounds to split open again. We ate breakfast in silence. I sat in our room watching tv… rather looking at it but not really seeing anything. “Carlyn… come here.” I paused before I realized it was my sister calling. Slowly I picked myself up and followed the sound of her voice. She was standing in my parents room, at the dresser shaking. “Look.” She said as I hobbled over and stood next to her and there in my mom’s glass vanity tray… rested the key to the garage. We looked at each other… silent… what was there to say really?
Dance Lessons…
We had one of those ‘Living Rooms’… you know… the kind no one actually LIVES in. It was at the front of the house in Queens. I remember my mom only let us go in when we had company. Or at least that’s when we were ‘allowed’ to go in, so of course you know I was in there all the time. I was crafty… I had stealth. In this living room we had an old school stereo system. You know… when systems were actually SYSTEMS. Everything was encased in a glass cabinet with a lock on it (probably meant for yours truly) equalizers, cassette decks, huge speakers with wire that went on and on for miles and the crown jewel… the turn table.
I remember there were times my mom would play music in there, Haitian music, Spanish music, Country Music. She’d get all dressed up, perfumed down and sit or dance around in that living room. I asked her a few times “Mommy, where are you going” and she’d look down at me and say “Ohhhhhhh… I have to be going somewhere to look nice?” So I’d climb onto the forbidden sofa and placed both of my sweaty palms on the mirror (two of the walls were floor to ceiling mirrors). I’d blow hot breath so I could draw patterns onto it and watch her reflection dancing around behind me.
Now the living room in question was the ‘scene of the crime’ for many events in my young life. The earliest memory I have was of the all glass… two tiered coffee table. The one we ABSOLUTELY were not allowed to touch because we’d leave finger prints all over it. (Mostly me in that we), picture me almost out of diapers (2 maybe 3 years old) dressed in nothing but some white cotton panties (no idea why people let little naked babies run around) climbing on top of that coffee table and doing my first ever booty shake, shoot I thought I was a star. Of course there was the inevitable… crack… crash… bang… boom… and everyone came ‘a runnin’. I sat a bit stunned surrounded by glass bits… looked up at my mother (who was practically tearing her hair out by the way) my sister and my dad. “Hmmm maybe not again” was my only thought as I picked myself up, “Stay there! Stay there!” my mom screeched at me practically jumping up and down. Hind sight tells me she was probably afraid I’d be shredded and bloody. I on the other hand had no such notion, so I hopped my barefooted baby azz through the shards of glass and rubble then bounced out of the room completely unscathed before my mom could switch gears and start screaming at me. Not a scratch on me, and I think everyone was so relieved I was OK I didn’t even get in trouble. Hmm… who says God doesn’t protect Babies and Fools?
Next were those afternoons I would sneak in and watch ‘The Muppet Show’ on the big TV, and by big I mean one of those huge monsters that were built into an actual cabinet, speakers and everything. I’d watch and call my grandmother (my mother’s mother) anytime Miss Piggy was on the screen. One of my only fond memories of her (as I have exactly 3) in those moments we got along (we mostly didn’t). She thought I was headstrong and mischievous (which I was) and should be more like my nerdy complacent older sister (which I wouldn’t). I thought she was cold and not very ‘grandmotherly’ but… she loved her some Miss Piggy and THIS was common ground. She was amazed that food could walk, talk and wear lipstick on TV. She’d clap her hands and squeal like a little girl, sit down on the forbidden sofa and watch until that glamorous bit of swine was off of the screen.
We had functions in there, like my dad’s surprise birthday party, my first communion party, pretty much all of the parties, and believe me my mother loved throwing a full swing Haitian house party. Our Christmas tree was always set up in there. My dad would talk me into ripping open all of the presents so he could find out what they were, and I’d only ‘half’ get into trouble because my mom would know he put me up to it. I was in love with all things Christmas. My mom would leave the tree lights burning all night and I used to get out of bed and stare at the tree. We had a wooden mini bird in a birdhouse that chirped the night away and I’d get swept away by thoughts of Santa, Rudolph and Chip and Dale. I’d curl up underneath the tree and fall asleep surrounded by gifts…looking up at those lights. Every Christmas till puberty struck that’s how my mom would find me… every morning, until the tree went down.
Now to the best memory in that room PICTURE IT… there is music playing (something with a lot of bass and REAL instruments) the windows and shades are all open (never happens) sunshine drenching the room… ‘Mommy’s not home’ I thought to myself, ‘whose in the living room?’ So enter… the stealth… I tiptoed my way through the dining room, slowly peaked around the corner and assessed the situation (I was an avid Inspector Gadget watcher) there was my dad, alone, beltless, slacks drooping low, right hand on his ‘Santa belly’, wife beater, eyes closed, left hand raised like he was going to recite the Pledge of Allegiance swaying back and forth like leaves on a tree. “Papi! What are you doing?” I demanded stepping boldly into the room. “Ha ha ha hiiiii” (his signature crazy laugh smh) “I’m dancing” he announced then proceeded to do HIS version of MY Chi Chi dance. “Na Uh… that’s not dancing” I laughed my way over to him. “Let me show you something” he said placing both of my bare little feet on top of his, taking my hands in his. He then proceeded to shimmy around the room with me in what I’m guessing was his version of a waltz… yes… to something with a lot of bass and REAL instruments. I giggled the whole time looking up at him. He looked down at me, winked and said… “This… this is how you dance”.
Kick Rocks…
So last week my cousin dragged me to the movies to see Steve Harvey’s ‘Act Like a Lady Think Like a Man’ and I in turn dragged one of my friends to see it for Mother’s Day (cause she wanted to see it). Sadly watching it I related to both the men and the women. What is the point of relationships anyway? I always thought it was to help ‘each other’ to be better, whether it was mother and child, friendships or lovers… to help each other… to BE BETTER. Funny how I look around and I don’t see too much of this ‘better’ going on.
As much as I can adore someone I can’t teach them how to adore me. You either do or you don’t. Getting to know someone has morphed into an ongoing job interview… but not too many people seem to be getting this job. Frankly… I don’t want to participate anymore. My friend told me actions speak louder than words but guess what… that may work for some people but I live and breathe words. The woman in me does a Chi Chi Dance at the actions… but the writer in me… SHE needs the words.
I could wax poetic about my failed relationships but what for? They failed… point blank… PERIOD. Some of those failures were my fault some of them weren’t, but I learned from each and every one of them. My hurts are not more important than anyone else’s and it’s amazing how many people walk this Earth thinking otherwise. It’s hard not being the one someone wants… and devastating not being wanted by the ones we want the most. I sit back and listen to my girls complain about their relationships or lack of and all I can think… ‘Is this really it?’ Honestly… I’m probably meant to just… BE… single. I will not be disrespected. I will not be ignored. I will not be that chick someone settles for. I don’t want anyone who doesn’t want me…
I… do not… want someone… who does not want me. Life is just too short…
What’s the point of ‘putting yourself’ out there and ‘jumping’ for the one you want… when they are unwilling or unable to catch you? Finding the right balance of want… need… physical and mental attraction, adoration AND respect? Seems like the Holy Grail… like a fictitious carrot someone somewhere made up to dangle in front of the starving masses particularly to drive women crazy. Me? I don’t want to be crazy, I like my sanity.
Go Kick Rocks.
– Nova
