Pink Cookies in a Plastic Bag Getting Crushed by Buildings

He had the nerve to tell me how I live my life- I don't see him anymore and we no longer talk to eachother regularly. In my mental he no longer exists, yet he believes he knows the happenings of my life. Upon hearing this, I wanted to take down a quick shot of purple haze and laugh relentlessly in this fool's face.

I twisted into a calypso of characters- Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (good versus evil). On one hand I wanted to snatch the nose off his face and on the other I wanted to shout in triumph at the fact that I could actually get him to argue with me- I relished at the thought that I could still control part of his temper.

We argued over the idea that I began dating someone new shortly after old boy and I broke up- it was not my fault we split. He's crazy. I'm not seeing anyone currently. But yet he presses the fact that he knows all about my "rendezvous." I don't even like that word. I hate the fact that someone would even dare to consider themselves knowledgeable to the ongoings of my personal life when I haven't spoken to them in regards to any of that matter.

For a while I became high off the action of us arguing thru text. I felt a new love towards him, like fresh blood restored to the veins of a sickened individual. While we argued I began to love. With each curse of his name, I reminisced on an event that I once considered priceless- while we argued my passion for him peaked. I yearned to be his girl again. And after 30 minutes of spiteful, sexually repressed texts- we stopped. And my idea of him turned into disgust. At the way he had treated me... at the things he had said. I return to life as normal, I drop him from my thoughts. And he is no longer a love in my life, but merely a cut across the heart. I sew. And so this wound will be stitched.

Wildflower

Today I'm tired. The week has been long and my mind is already unravelling for the start of the weekend. I'm looking forward to starting my new job again- a few months ago I had worked at sears (then I left) and now I'm going back!!! I need the money to pay for common necessities and to build a financial foundation for myself. Tonight is my church's "chicken & waffles" get together (that is so country)!! The church is also having a fashion show so I'll definitely be present to see what's going on in the Christian fashion world.
I'm currently reading two books, Lucy by Jamaica Kincaid and Rock My Soul by bell hooks. I am definitely awestruck by underlying stories in each of these novels and often find myself lost in the realm of reality with each story told. It's becoming normal for me to see myself thru the "spirits" of the book's characters.
I read often and by the time I finish each selection I feel as though I've lost part of my heart amongst the pages that my vision has graced. I'm left to fill a void and at the same time I am filled with inspiration to continue to seek beauty in objects that aren't beautiful- to develop myself as a complex, ever changing young woman...a wildflower pressed between the pages of delicate books and stories.

Boombox/ Beatz & Base

I smelled my mother today. A scent uniquely hers- compassionate, light, and affirmative. I smelt familiarity in the halls of this school building. I don't currently live with my mother, so being able to reconnect with something as simple as her fragrance brought alive senses that I hadn't felt in a long time.
I was whisked back to city memories. When I smell her, I remember that city feel. Days where she, my sister, and I would take the bus downtown to spend a whole afternoon at toy stores in the mall; when we shuffled 5 blocks to the corner laundry mat where she washed faded blue jeans and we roller skated on the sidewalk; relentless winter evenings where we'd stay at home and declare our time together "girl's night." I remember scorching summer days when she'd drag us to the playground and we'd zoom down blazing hot metal slides and grasp our tiny hands around fire pitched monkey bars, but no swings- the seats were too hot for our butts to handle. I remember times when she would blast Anita Baker from her living room stereo- loud enough for the whole floor to hear. I remember love between the three of us.
From my time spent with her I gathered visuals from all the experiences we encountered as the "three amigos. " And although I forget some of the specifics from that big part of my childhood, I always hold onto the scent from those days. How our building's hallways smelled slightly of piss, stale manhood, and a stagnant future. How in the mist of these dingy surroundings, my mother carry with her the smell a queen wouldn't be worthy of- I don't know what it was, a perfume or oil, but she had a fragrance that made me feel at complete ease with her. She took with her, wherever she went, an aura that spoke to crowds "this is a big city, but me and my girls are the bigger!" She possessed complete confidence in her presence and this is what I feel most from her smell- strength...a flourishing heart in the big city.

Smoke

The reason he is gone is supposed to make sense. But it does not. Complaints that I haven't done all that I could to make this relationship work. His actions show that he loves me no more- but his mouth says that he still wants us to be. Other women, girls...a girl in particular that is not me. She embraces him with her beauty- the beauty he sees in her he could not find within me. They have a secret bond, the foundation to all his great days. When everyone in his school torments him, and the the drama chicks at his job call him "feminine," and the car he constantly puts money into continues to break down, and it feels as though no one cares about him, when he drinks himself into an unconscious sleep she is the one whose face he sees as freedom from enslaved pain.
And I no longer am a number in the equation. I've given all I could to love him. I gave him my hopes and dreams, experiences that were locked in the crevices of my heart. And now I am hopeless, left alone to summon up new aspirations. I feel heat on my face- of guilt from loving someone that no longer loves me back. It makes me bitter, my bones sour as the kiss of amaretto. I curse his name and I swear that I no longer love him. He has just walked out of my life- with no explanation or glance back. I know that I cannot hold onto someone who wishes to be let go and I don't know much Spanish, but I can conjure up an "Adiós."

Art on my Mind

I am in love with two women. Females that have touched my innermost places- crevices that have been acknowledged by no one. Their presence erases the thought of lesbianism from my mind- there isn't such a word, only a label. Who pays those any attention?
I've absorbed the works of bell hooks/ Ntozake Shange and have fallen head over heels for what they write. I dwell on the words documented in their stories, poems. These are words that have embraced their lives, their spirits and intellect. Hooks-Shange are beautiful, powerful Black women. I admire their strength for writing. Communication between pen-paper-mind.
These two women fulfill my need of understanding. I am appreciative of what they've taught me, of how to develop into a powerhouse of spirit and fidelity. To give love towards myself- first and foremost. They teach me to put myself at the top of my priority because no one will dress the Black woman's wounds better than herself.

Aint No Love in the Heart of the City

I've decided to be truthful and righteous in my endeavors. Amongst being completely honest I've come across the fact that everyone can't handle the truth. I am what I am- Popeye couldn't have said it any better. I am the person I am thru my decision to be. My mentality, spirituality, and emotions are my own. I can accept this reality, if you cannot- so be it.

But when you look me in the eyes and expect me to "sugar coat" the actuality of how I feel or what I think about you I don't live up to your standards. You want me to express appreciation towards an act that has devalued my morals. You ask for my assistance in a crime that makes me the victim. You beg for the recognition of cheap things knowing I am of greater stature.
I am honest. I will not lie about my perspective. You ask- I speak truth from my heart. And yet, you find a way to twist my "realness" into vines of bullets stemming directly into your fears.
Weakness. You fight for weakness, for the fact that you cannot process the reality behind my words. You cannot stand tall after I've spoken my mind. I guess you can't handle all that I have to say. I realize this and try my best to equal out our differences.
I had love for what we were- for what we could have been. In the mist of hell I daydreamed about the life you and I would live. Love and abuse cannot coexist. I abused your need for space and you abused my idea of trust. What began as difference quickly turned into anger/ bitterness/ and all the likes.
I'm trying to be a woman of my word. So that what I say can be trusted and completely understood. I guess all I really wanted was for us to relate to each other- not to fuss. Not to stress. It is no one's fault for what has been. And I have no regrets, but I write this for the simple fact that I feel the need to seal loose relationships in my life with love, appreciation, and understanding.

Maxi-Priest

I'm a target, the one that people curse with taunting, with teasing and ridicule. When life seems to be going stable (for once) I am thrown a curve ball and find it difficult to recover from it's pitch. I hate baseball. I love the Yankees.
I have a mind of my own. I bother no one, but seem to fall behind on the "likeable" scale- maybe I'm too much...maybe I'm not enough. I try to figure my best approach to life- to learning to deal with the ups and downs of livelihood, of people and their dramatics. I've fallen so many times and have been embraced by no one. It's hard on concrete- where my body lies cold against cement. Cold is what has taken over the atmosphere of my heart. Icy as the frozen glaciers of the Himalayas. I yearn to be free- to speak and not be taken for granted. The words that are sewn within my being need to be watered like the roots of a rare rose.
No one truly relates to what I say or express. I deal with ignorant people. I try to be nice, wonderful (muah! even blow them a kiss) and they stab me in the back. It's been done before and so it continues.

My name's NOT Tina

Confession part 1: I'm not as innocent as I seem. I think bad things- of treachery. Malicious thoughts. My most previous "former lover" thinks I'm stupid. I'm Capri. And the worst part about it is that he doesn't even pretend to respect who I am- not Tina, Capri. He has made me the butt of his jokes. Ridicule I did not deserve. I put my spite on hold to manage our relationship, which slowly turned sour over the course of four bittersweet weeks.
The foundation of our problems is his fault. I'm not unfair. He implanted distrust in me and- Lord behold- that seed grew. Nothing is wrong with a flower, maybe even a bush, but this... this crap grew into a tree. I never like agriculture.
In the course of one short month, I've discovered a phrase that regulates my new found way of handling "partnerships", love and abuse cannot coexist. Bell hooks.
I've been abused. My relationship has worn down my mind. It's hard for me to think clearly because I love him so. I'm blinded by my faithfulness to him. But the past month has twisted my delicate thoughts into complete carelessness. I still try my hardest to hold on to what we have, but I realize that what we are experiencing is unhealthy. I'm forcing myself to let go, it is a difficult thing to do. I've done it before so I am reassured that I can manage this. I must let go because my name's NOT Tina, he doesn't seem to realize this.

*Luv mE nO MorE*

This morning I am twisted. I couldn't sleep last night because I was betrayed. The past few weeks have been frustrating to my psyche and I find myself falling into a deep depression laced with anxiety. Everyday I find myself battling with the demons of mistrust and anger. They embrue my daily decisions and guide my unrighteous ways.
Last night i squirmed and panicked in my sheets because a guy called another woman (girl or what-have-you) a word that made me want to punch his face off. When I found this out, i began to tremble for the simple fact that this exact situation reminded me of one I dealt with in the spring of last year. Although the dialogue was somewhat different, the circumstance last year had the same story line: a young man and the other woman. When I caught whiff of this yesterday my insides went into complete hysterics!
For about 7 minutes I sat in a rut and came to the conclusion that I don't even care. Yes, I care about the guy and yes, up until then we had something nice going on BUT what has already been a doubtful issue for me to deal with (trusting young men) has turned into me no longer wanting us to be together. It does seem harsh but I no longer have full trust in what this person says and the love I have for him continues but somewhere along the way it got smeared.