A Story

I had a dream the other night. A good one. One of those dreams I didn't want to wake up from. I tried to force myself back into the dream but it didn't work. So I went over the parts that I could remember over and over again in my mind. I didn't want to forget. Here's how it started.

"I signed the divorce papers." 
When he said that, her movements came to a halt and her heart dropped into her stomach. She filed for divorce over 6 months ago. Three months ago, they became friends again. 
"Oh," was all she could manage to say. He continued to place the groceries on the conveyor belt. Her best friend who was behind her and in tune to every shock of panic that radiated from her body, grabbed for her hand and squeezed it. Her soon-to-be ex husband never looked up.

Maybe I'll exercise my brain and finish it one day.

Queen, Beautiful

Today, I feel beautiful.
It's not always that I feel like this.
But today is special.

It's an insecurity of mine.
Looks, appearance, beauty.
I don't see what others see.
Do others even see?

But today, with braids piled high.
I feel regal.
Royal.
In charge.
Eyes pulled up in the corners.


I'm not sure when I turned this way.
Looking in the mirror was pleasing.
The reflection agreed with me.
But I took it for granted and looked away.

I didn't recognize me when I turned back.
Features, curves, and bones.
Could it be age?
Am I past my prime?
Will it no longer be like it was?

But today I feel beautiful.
Braids piled high.
A queen in my own right.
Today I feel beautiful.

Thoughts on a Monday

I love that my family wants me to have children.

"Y'all better get started soon." - Dad
"I really want to be an aunt!" - Sis
"You better get these kids out while I'm still young and full of energy!" - Mom

I think it's cute. And no, I feel no pressure. It's simply cute.

So for laughs and giggles, the three of us (mom, sis and I) googled preschools and the like and came up with all sorts of plans and schedules. My mother even called a school that we all agreed to like. "This may sound crazy but I'm an aspiring grandmother..." Yes, she did that. But get this! People sign up for the wait list even before they are pregnant! How insane is that?!

Let the insanity begin.



I love to write. I think you all know that. Lately I've been writing more in my journal than on the blog. I hope to even it out a bit. I saw something on another website about a 'writer's contract'. Perhaps I'll sign it. I definitely want to get a bit more creative. Write prose and lyrics - the stuff I used to do before I got married.

-like-

I almost forgot to put panties on.
I almost forgot to cover up.
Exposed.
Unhidden from the lights that beam.
I did forget to put makeup on.
Flaws highlighted in the spotlight of the world.
In places where no one should see.
Nooks and crannies.

I'd rather be naked.
In every way.
An open book.
Blurting thoughts that should be kept quiet.
Secrets that really aren't secrets.

Instead, I write my soul down.
In private places.
In hopes that I'll lose it.
So someone can find it.

I almost forgot to throw the blunt away.
So no one would know.
Who I really am.
Hiding the eventualities of my personality.
I did forget to shut the door.
It's not like they could see me.
Others tell me differently.
Too exposed.
They call me 'inappropriate'.

I'd rather be naked.

-Fin-

1,001

This is my 1,001 post and it's not a good one.

I had a panic attack on the train this morning. It came out of no where. I was reading my Bible lesson and all of a sudden I couldn't breath. I put my reading materials away and took off my blazer because I was started to feel like I was suffocating due to heat. Every time I closed my eyes, something in my brain told me to keep them open. So I leaned forward over my purse and tried to calm down. The lady next to me must have thought I was crazy.

I've been trying to pull myself up by the bootstraps. The house has been tense, so I've been trying to remain uplifted and have a positive attitude. I was even thankful for the radio deejays who were cutting up during my ride over to the metro. I want to wake up laughing, joking, being loud and fun like they do. Why is it so hard? What do they have that I don't? I feel like I'm missing something. I wrote the below yesterday just to try to write something. I wasn't in a mood when I wrote it but it subconsciously poured out. I guess that's what you call foreshadowing.

There's nothing that I want more than to be happy.
To be able to go through a day feeling bright from the inside out.
People go day to day with an energy that I find confusing.
Going through the same day's events that I do but yet pulling through with grace and wrinkles around their eyes from permanent smiles.
How they find peace among the rat race is baffling.
How they ride chaotic trains in rush hour with auras of light and pleasant expressions eludes me.
Where do they get it from?
I want to know the secret; how they find the stability.
Where does the strength come from to swat away life's ugly cruelties?
I need to figure it out pretty soon.
More of the world's weight affecting my mood...it's eating my spirit.
I can not live day to day under the hand of stress and be shoved around.
All I want is to experience unaffected joy.
The type that permeates your personality and affects others lives.
The kind that warms the atmosphere upon first contact.
I want happiness to be who I am so no one can ever take it away.
Tell me how to be infinitely happy.

Writing

I love to write, but writing without some sort of drama, turmoil, stress or angst can sometimes be uninspiring. I guess that's a good problem to have, no?

I'm interesting in making a coffee table book. I've been putting together some of my best blogger posts for some time now but I need more content. With a drama-free life though, I'm at a loss. You might suggest that I write about happiness, joy and love, but for some reason, those topics are forced. When I was escapading life as a single woman, I had so much to speak on. My experience inspired me. Surface-level prose was limited and I often wrote from the deepest holes in my heart. How do I tap back into that as a writer? How do I create that when everything is as calm as calm could be? I wonder how writers step outside of theirselves and create dramatic fiction that has nothing to do with their lives. I need a writing class.

Writing By Music

Run into the wind
Don't let the force overcome
Push your way through
At the end is your reward
Everyday there's a fight
It's so easy to tire
To give up and stand down
But stand firm for your rights
Don't let anyone tell you no
The sound of victory is coming
Be strong until you hear
Until it's blazing in your ear
Never let go Never stop Never die


You would be dumb to let this go
There's nothing more perfect for you
Tap into your heart and reveal truth
Stay away from all that is unequivical
Keep your senses and keep your love
Cuz once you leave it'll be gone
Take courage in what's right now
Nevermind what could be later
Sink your teeth into the real
Let it's juices marinate all through.


Here's the chick with the breeze
The sun, the earth and the showers are hers
She controls the scientific rythums of the planet
And decides when to allow you to breathe
There's no limit to what she can do
You must follow her commandments
The heartbeat within she can pinch to crush
She feels you without the slightest touch
Here's the woman that tells you what to do
Right left back forth
Which way do you request access
Complete mind control
Try to eradicate her forces for independence
She won't make it easy
No commitment to you, she will eradicate you.

copyright ©2010 j.a.j.

Obedience

I like to stick to what I know
like words that are true or
knowledge that is refined or
wisdom that is tested.
Hard fast lines that lock my guide
so my flow is unable to scatter.
Freedom isn't necessary where I'm trying to go.
Strict subjection along with rules that are reinforced.
Rules that come with consequences so hard
so serious that your heart breaks under the stress.
No need to venture outside and become all brand new
like the fresh dew stretched out on a country field.
I like to stick to what I know.
In slavery is my freedom.

copyright ©2010 j.a.j.

The Man

There was once a man who saved my life
I'm not quite sure where I was headed
But I know that it wasn't where rainbows live
My heart was hurting and I felt my insides break
I prayed and prayed for a cool sample of relief
As soon as I said Amen, there he was
There was once a man who saved my life

Words

I'm sitting in bed with my back up against the headboard. The window is cracked, but not enough to feel the desirable breeze. I need some air. There's a long "to do" list waiting for me to tackle, but I'm enjoying the moment. The calmness. Calm is where it's at. My therapist says to lock it into adult - the calm part of us. No reason to catapult into over-emphasized emotions because someone else has lost their mind. Just lock it into adult. I can live in this pocket. A state of calm. There are images on my walls that I barely view. Art is supposed to transcend and cause reactions. I used to be an artist. But the art of writing seems to be lost. Text, I.M., Tweet. Who picks up a pen anymore? It's 10am. My Bible study is at 3pm. I'll get some air then, as we sit on the back porch under the Maryland sun, yet sheltered by a big, green umbrella. Time is of the essence. Let's start the clock.

Writing Junk

I love to write, but unfortunately, I'm limited on ideas. I visit other people's blogs such as abelleinbrooklyn or VSB hoping to snatch up a bit of inspiration. Sadly, I always walk away empty-handed. All the topics are the same... what a good black man is, the oh-so-common list of relationship pains, how to get along better in our communities, the nonsense that's happening in the news and media, the latest racial misfortune, etc. It's always the same. Different toilet, same crap. You would think that I would be able to write on such subjects as a young, bright, plugged-in leader of our time, but I can't. I just can't do it..... What did you say?....You want to know why?... I'm so glad you asked! I have two reasons that I know will shut up any holes into why I probably could be more creative or try harder. Here they are.

I don't want to be like everyone else! What successful blog or article out there doesn't surround DRAMA? Please do me a favor and find one. What I've seen lately has been down-right monotonous. If I see another article on why black women can't seem to find a man or any other version of said topic, I will scream. Shutup already. Where is the variety? Oh, well the blogs that are full of variety are way out in the gaps of cyberspace that no one can seem to find. How unfortunate.

Secondly, I know too much. I have too much Bible knowledge that is. Any issue that arises, I can pretty much shut down with a scripture. And all of it surrounds the concept of love. After you put self-sacrificing God and Jesus type love up in the picture, the discussion is done. Talk about a buzz kill. People feed off of drama and some type of rude or degrading shocking topic. It's what most blogs and articles are based off. And if I cut off the drama by telling someone to love someone else more than they love themselves because that's what GOD did, or if I shut down the rude and shocking topic by telling someone to love themselves and stop being so self-degrading because your whole body is a vessel that GOD has given you out of the kindness of his heart, there will be nothing left to say. I mean, anyone can argue with me all they want, but there's no denying the Bible's truths. They are clear cut, true and appropriate for all instances. So yeah... my blogs, well the blogs that would be of interest to others, would be of no consequence.

Back to the drawing board!

10:48am Reflections

What do you do when your candles are burning thin

When your tears are trapped behind eyelids

When the pain you've grappled with doesn't die

When the light turns to terrifying darkness

They tell you keep pushing

Ask if there's anything they can do to help

Say that I've come further than I realize

Give me love to wrap around me like a blanket

But if you aren't fine within

If you can't find the happiness

If your individual journey doesn't lead up

Then none of it matters

A song that's tugging on my heart strings right now. Corinne's debut after the untimely death of her husband. "I'd Do It All Again"

Satan

My person is super sensitive
I feel every cell and atom in my body girate
My hands quiver and my heart races
The muscles in my body are taut and unyielding
There is no makeup on my face
My hair is not curled
The softness of my skin depleting
My essence diminishing
Legs I once relied on are weak
Cramps are seething through my uterus

The smiles and good mornings I give are fake
Mornings are a grim segment of the day
I feel the air shoving me down into the dirt
Like a corkscrew
Quicksand clawing at my feet
I believe that escape is imminent
But wondering if I have the patience to believe

There's nothing to think about
except the trillion thoughts that are packed tightly in my head
I wish they would go away
Fizz out of my ears like a balloon losing helium
All the empty spaces are full and over-expanded
It's no wonder my eyes feel heavy throughout the day
There's too much weight up there

I know I'll get through
Especially when I keep telling myself to take it slow
This is nothing but a mere passing thing
A test of my wills and determination
The future will be brighter
I'll look back and laugh one day
Also be thankful for the sharpening
The refining process
The strength that I've gained to bear it all
I pray for Jah
But I don't know if He hears me
Satan is powerful today

Goodnight

the sun has set on another day
and with the sun my fears have diminished
i pray that as the night time ascends into the air.
sleep extends itself past the normal span.
i beckon the subconscious space that covers
when we close our eyes
to stay and visit as long as it likes.
it's in the quiet of slumber
that peace finds its perfect habitat.
for the regrets of another day
are as far off as a lover left behind.
life is in slumber itself
as we retreat to exist tomorrow.
but tomorrow's day is a mere passing thought
when its sun dies again.
and as we shake away the remnants of a dire day
we are left with the honey suckled-ness
of sweet and tender sleep.

- by j.a.c.

The Road To Success

I need to stop in my tracks for a second and look around me. I don't want this moment to pass me by without giving it some time. It deserves ample recognition.

Things are really happening for me. I am at a point in my path in which I can say 'this is the beginning of your dreams J'. I'm working my butt off for a slice of the pie - a slice I actually have no business asking for. But without a name and experience, I'm fortunate and extremely busy doing what I'm meant to do. And that equivocally means that I'm happy doing what I want to do.
This weekend's fashion shoot went extremelly well. I even dropped and damaged a lens, but nothing could prevent me from experiencing the high of a paying photography gig. I have an article due on Saturday that I have not yet begun. I have no anxiety, however. I'm looking forward to weaving my thoughts together for the next couple of days. I've climbed on board with another writing endeavor which will have me submitting work every single week. Challenging? I'm not sure yet. As often as I blog, I should be able to commit to a schedule. This is not the time for laziness. Portfolio work is next. I need a temporary online situation and a few soft copy prints in a presentable package. After that, education. Class class class. Talent will only take you so far. You need the knowledge to back it up.

I'm excited about the future. I have a lot of work to do - happy, good, fullfilling work.

Juxtaposition

By the smile on my face every time he said hello, every single life force on the universe could tell I was caught. I wanted the tender touch of his manly hand to glide down the right side of my back where traces of his heat can linger. When he squeezed my thigh and then leaned in close to smell the scent of my sweet body wash, his seductiveness never failed to trip up my breathing pattern. It's undeniably true that my heart flipped when he lifted me off the ground in a sweeping warm hug; my bare tippy toes no longer in contact with the hardwood floors. It was in these minimalistic touches that I remember what it's like to feel loved.

As I contemplate on the precious twinklings, the little things that used to fill me, I realize how big the silent spaces are in my life; how empty they feel. So I fill them with God. In moments of solidarity, separate from Him, I yearn to travel backwards to places I can no longer grab for and hold close. My ever present remedy of 'harden-your-heart-ness' works marvelously when things shatter to the ground in pieces so minute it's impossible to repair them. The only thing left to do - sweep up the ruins and discard them into the gigantic receptacle I keep close at all times. In this way, I escape the rapture that is falling over me like a large and heavy black, satin bedsheet. I try to pretend that these memories have not installed themselves in my imagination. But the fact that I am sitting here penning these words from the dark back corners of my consciousness, speaks for me.

Realities versus fantasies. Oh the juxtaposition.

Writing For Money

A magazine has decided to give my writing a test run and I have no idea what to write about. They're looking for a piece that is between 500 and 1,500 in word count and talks to one of the following topics. Faith. Health. Leadership. Relationships. Success. Teamwork. Wealth. Seems like it would be a no-brainer for me huh? Those topics are the very ones that this blog centers around. Seems as if I can write about some of these things in my sleep. This time though, I feel like I have nothing to say. However, even though I have nothing to say, my tactic (for when I do decide that I have something to say) is to keep it raw and honest. I've learned that when I let my heart beam from the page, it's always well taken. I have until the 25th to turn it in so I'm not really stressing right now, but I sort of would like to begin brainstorming. I wonder though. What would be more effective? Brainstorming and outlining an article or writing free off the dome like I normally do. Which one will stand out more? The intelligent thought-out article or the free passion-willed article? Gotta think about this one.

him

you make me want to wait forever. although i know it's not possible, i think i'll try. i love you so much that i could probably climb mountains if you asked me to. consequently, walking up a down-trodden hill doesn't seem so hard. they say true love has no time limit. in that way, my patience has no end. i'm intrigued by what we could be. where our place is in the universe. will we be high every day and stay within the shade of the treetops, or live slightly below the waters where we can be consumed by the density of its space? will our rhythm be that of a steady and low 808 boom or of a sharp and quick high hat cymbal? will you do better than make love to me and make me believe that there is such a place as ecstasy? on the day to day, will you be the one to value reading by the lamplight right before bed time or me? will I be the wife who surprises you with a sweet treat or two? who will be the one to say i love you more? who will be the one to show their love more? ... i wait peacefully for our moment in the same way that i wait for a green light. you're a special kind of wild child covered in randomness. i'm ready to be your calm so we can win the race in this convoluted world. we need each other, i'm positive. just let me know so i don't have to wait forever.

Photography by j.a.c.

Yesterday's sky was absolutely beautiful.
Today's sky wasn't as magnificant.
But it doesn't matter because I still have yesterday.
Yesterday isn't going anywhere.
It's locked in a vault somewhere near.
There's no way that it can fade.
I've captured what I loved most about yesterday.
The tranquility of that random moment.
I will always have a piece of the past.
It's not going anywhere.
That piece remains just for me.

The Most Beautiful Flower

I am the most beautiful flower in the entire world.

When men see me, touch me, smell me, understand me, they can't help but to fall in love.

I don't mean for them to though.

Because I know what's going to happen.

When it's time for them to go, their hearts will be crushed.

They'll be swept by unswerving sadness.

They all want to know why.

Why can't we just be.

But I'm the most beautiful flower in the entire world.

My exquisteness must be matched.

No regular man can survive.

No measure of mediocrity can I accept.

I have a way in which I can save their hearts.

The venom inside of my petals can drive them away.

Even before they have a chance, I can make them hate me.

But I never use my weapon of destruction.

I'm addicted to the affection I receive.

Nor can I bear to have someone hate me.

Then, if hated, would I be the most beautiful flower in the world?

Nevertheless, I don't like breaking hearts.

Instead, I want them to realize that there's more.

A beauty like mine should be the norm.

Settling for a rose is not enough.

Settling for her is not enough.

Require a hire existance just like I have.

So while I break hearts, I also change lives.

Is that a good trade-off?

Do you think that's enough?

Untitled

"What do you want?!", she said out loud as she looked at her caller ID. It was him again. That annoying humming noise she hated began to ring in her ears. She closed her eyes to help pacify the sound in her head and tossed her iPhone on the bed. The darkness wasn't helping. She would need to lay down. Everytime he calls, she goes through this. Her world becomes a little more grey. Keeping her eyes closed she blindly curled into the fetal position and balled her tiny hands into fists by her head. "Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry." No matter how reassuring her words, a tear always seem to escape the bars that her eyelashes were providing. She was feeling overwhelmed. Her mother told her the best way to get through moments like this but when the emotions took over, she forgot everything. All rationale was lost. More tears flooded her face and began to soak the white duvet cover she bought earlier in the week. She loved duvet covers and currently had 10 of them stuffed in her linen closet. But as was her subconscious rule, she never used a duvet cover twice. She tried to, but the memories associated with that large piece of fabric would set her off into a tunnel of sadness. 'Britton used to love me under this cover... I'll just die without him... I'm going to be lonely forever... What's the use of living...' After re-gaining her strength and sensibilities approximately 1 month after each of her man-induced breakdowns, she'd fold the duvet, stuff it on the top shelf, and buy a new one. The current, tear-stained duvet cover under her tiny body was number 11. 11 men, 11 duvet covers. The muscles in her stomach began to release causing her fetal position to lax a little. Her legs began to straighten and her fists were no longer clenched. "Breathe. Breathe. Breathe." Rolling over onto her back, she opened her eyes and wiped the remaining tears from her temples. "You know better than this," she chastised to the ceiling. "Get it together. Count to 10 and then get up. 1...2...3...4..." The vibrations by her knee distracted her count. "You have an incoming call. Answer the phone. You have an incoming call." A ghastly pang struck her stomach. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rolled back into the fetal position and clenched her fists back into tiny balls. "Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry."