Bruised...but ot broken

Jaded, just a little. Maybe a lot. He’s got my heart in a headlock, so tight that I feel like at any given moment my blood might stop… pumping, my body will go numb and my heart beats will slow. Slower. Slower. And finally stop.

Bitter, bruised, hurt scorn, damn right…you don’t hear me, what I’m speaking is beyond the norm. I put a ban-aid on a bullet hole and for a while it seemed to work

To me it did anyway

But to others it was just down right obvious

Like a one legged man wearing a skirt

That something was wrong

But I kept pressuring myself

To stay strong

Because that’s what black woman do, right?

As the womb begin to open

I soon began to realize that what I was doing surly shouldn’t have been considered copping

Sleeping the pain away, drinking the pain away

And ah, my favorite…fucking, yes fucking the pain away

From him to him and sometimes her

What, don’t look at me like that, no judgment needed I’m not asking you to concur.

The more blood I saw the more panic I became

I had fucked up so bad, it took me a while to realize that from there on out, nothing would ever be the same.

Often he tried to heal me with sweet kisses

telling me he would take me back

but these were failed attempts that only lead to more scaring of my already existing wound

We parted ways but I'm still gasping for air

keep asking myself why me

this shit ain't fair

gave him six years of my life

probably the best I'll ever have to offer

he told me next time don't love so hard,

...what, should I do it a little softer?

We're not together yet, he’s got my heart in a headlock, so tight that I feel like at any given moment my blood might stop…

He's Gonna Be Just Like Me...

As I set in the small, intimate office filled with toddler and preschool aged toys and books, I soon discovered that I was discretely the center of attention. I aggressively texted my soon to be ex husband who sat just beside me. I could feel the eyes of the little, old white woman who set quietly behind the desk in front of me, stirring me up and down. I peeked through my long bangs that hid the soul to my heart, my eyes and noticed the little lady repeatedly stirring at myself and my husband. I glanced at him to see if he was making it obvious that we were having and all out- show down via text. He was. His lips were all bent up, faced all frowned and posture was screaming defense. These are all techniques I learned in my Public Speaking course two summers ago. I think the chapter was titled How to Appear Calm, Even Under Severe Pressure. I texted him : Sit the hell up and fix ur face, no need 4 the wrld 2kno ur thoughts& feelins. the lil white lady is stirrin. He sucked his teeth and set back in his seat, trying to appear more relaxed but I could tell he wasn't. I let my eyes roam freely around the small office. I noticed then that we were the only black people in the entire office. I watched all of the psychiatrist and therapist walk back and forth throughout the building. None, were any other race except Caucasian. I hoped for a Asian or Hispanic woman or man to appear but for the next four hours we were surrounded but all Caucasian woman. My son played with four little white boys and was interviewed by a very young (mid 20 something) white lady and then saw a older, white doctor to go over my son's IQ test scores. Each time a new face appeared and caught sight of my husband and I, a look non other than surprised appeared on their faces. Many of them tried to hide it but because I was completely disgusted with my husband at that point, I had put my cell phone away and had nothing better to do other than, watch. I watched the people watch us. A lesbian couple set beside us as our son's played together and they repeatedly mentioned how handsome my son was and how cute he was, "Oh my, he is really cute. And look as his ball sneakers" and then finally when they heard my son speak, they were flabbergasted by "how well he spoke". This raised an eyebrow for me. I don't know why because I'm no stranger to the ignorance that a lot of races show toward blacks. Throughout almost my entire life I was the "really smart black girl" who "spoke very well" just like the lesbian couple expressed about my son. They didn't seem too shocked that he was a good looking kid but their astonishment could not be hidden with their discovery that my son does what I call "using his world." My son is four and will be five in December so according to my own standards my son should be doing exactly what he is doing. It bothers me to see children his age whining and unable to express their selves with words. I can't stand to see parents talk for their kids. Let the children speak for themselves. I ignore my son when he gets all choked up and begins to act like he's two instead of four, using gestures and grunts to communicate.

After four hours of watching them, watch me, my son was done. The doctor went over my test scores and was even more astounded with my inquisitiveness concerning the grading methods used to score my son. Children my son's age in this particular test are expected to be between 90 and 110. 90 being what the average four year old boy should know, 99-101 being "very intelligent" children and 102-110 being above average and" exceptionally intelligent" children. My son's average score between the six areas tested was 99. On two of the six areas my son scored 111, yes above and beyond, off the charts! Now, this was my concern. The doctor appeared to deliver my son's scores in a much surprised manner and appeared to try and take credit away from my son by minimizing the score of 111. I wasn't surprising though. I could tell that these people didn't appreciate me and my proper talking, Manolo Blahnik wearing, good hair having, seeming educated, non ghetto appearing ass up in their seeming upscale, sophisticated, for the rich and wealthy atmosphere. Furthermore, having my very black son, who couldn't stop singing Michael Jackson's Beat it while shooting air balls in a make believe court. This was all way too much for their mediocre minds. However, the very affectionate lesbian couple seemed to be very welcomed and over looked like a book shelf that was original to the office.

Well rounded. That's what someone recently described me as. (blush) I could agree but then I would just be being modest. More so, I believe Polished would better suit me. I could sit here and try to front like most black girls and try to credit my great grandmother and father for being decedents of Anglo Saxons but none of that really matters. What really matters is that I'm a very black girl, living in a society where being pretty and intelligent doesn't typically go hand and hand. Some people use the term smart, very loosely when trying to describe me but again, the modest me would agree, and simply me would prefer intelligent. Yes, my intellect is something that I am very much aware of and tremendously proud of. Now this is why I beg to differ when people say I'm smart. Anybody can be smart. Obviously I'm not just anybody. To be smart all you have to do in learn a lot; read and memorize a broad array of subjects. Many conclude this to be smart. Me on the other hand, yes I know somethings. But I'm not the smartest person around, hardly even. Nonetheless, I know a lot of life lessons. I can think wisely and make wise decisions based on the knowledge at hand. Intelligent. This term refers to: clever, bright, gifted, sharp, quick, able=me.

So while my son is surly adorable and handsome and any other synonyms that can be used to describe his appearance, more importantly, he is intelligent. Black and all. Surly I will never fail to amaze some and neither will my son. He's gonna be just like me...



~A~

Indubitably me

I try to warn you of my sting

But you won’t take heed

Your fragile, never been in love heart…poor thing

I try to warn you of my sting

I give a little

Yet you want more,

More than a simple fling

I’ve always been aware of what I posses

The little switch in my hips

My full, luscious, lips

My curves

My…well you know

You just fell

Hard

I tried to warn you

But you insisted

Now, it seems, you, your feelings are a little twisted

I tried to war you of my sting

You try to throw out titles,

enclose, confine, demand, own

what we have

my oh my, this little thing.

Huge to you

an after thought to me

Your fragile, never been in love heart…poor thing

I try to warn you of my sting

? SAHM

It's amazing how many things you get to recognize when your life isn't filled with ciaos, deadlines, time restrictions, punch-in devices, and a full eight hours of unenthusiastic, uneventful, depressed ass people. A.K.A work! Since I've been home I feel like I've really had the time to be a mom. The down side in this is the reality that prior to this leave from work, I was a real sucky mom. I've learned so many things, some remarkable and yet, some so appalling It pains me to know that I contributed to this in my children.

Take for instance, my oldest niece. She is eleven and from the very beginning I noticed a lot of red flags about her demeanor. I simply wrote them off as "transitional" situations. You see, there has been many transitions in her life and I merely thought that with a stable environment and some loving and caring guidance all would be okay. Well my lack of experience in parenting stirred me wrong. I've come to accept that this child has some serious issues that my love and guidance just can't heal, alone. I feel really bad that she is unable to cope with her past experiences in life. I too experienced what she is going through however, my coping mechanism was much more successful than hers which are non existent. It pains me to admit that she is suffering from depression and may need medication to control it. She is so young and I wonder what kinds of long term affects the medicine may have on her. Recently I was diagnosed with "situational depression". I was prescribed medication which I reluctantly took for four days. The medicine seemed to make me numb to any feelings or emotions I was experiencing, so much that I didn't realize when I was crying until I felt the tears falling from my face. After many side effects I opt to stop my meds against my doctor's advice. Every since, I've been all up hill. My doctor can't believe that only after four days I've had a complete turn around. i can't believe this either, often I feel as if I'm still taking the medicine because to an extent I still feel numb to many situations which in the past would spark outrageous outburst or uncontrollable crying and many irrational thoughts. I fear my niece will have this side affect too. Which in my opinion isn't good for an eleven year old. It wasn't until recently that I began to notice just how depressed my niece was and I dread the fact that I believe that it has been going on for way longer than I care to admit, unnoticed or addressed because of my own personal issues. Next week she will see a therapist. Some things that I've had time to sit down and observe about my olest niece is that she is screaming for attention. When I was sixteen I began raising my niece and I typically spoiled her rotten. Now she often asks, "why do I have to share you with everyone"? I feel appalled when she says this particularity about my son.

Now my youngest niece Jaidah, is a whole other story. From day one I knew she would be my problem child. She came to me when she was seven years old, unable to read or right her name. This was surly not her fault but the fact that she had no identity and often walked in the shadows of anyone who would allow her, frightened me. She was so young, so naive, so gullible. At age four Jaidah was diagnosed with CP and months before she came to me she had experienced a head trauma which knocked her on conscious which I would later discover caused her short term memory loss. Jaidah, I think also suffers from child-AdHD and signs of bi-polar disorder which both her mother suffers from chronically. Jaidah, is so loving and caring, yet at the drop of a dime can be so vicious it's scary. I think this feeling frightenings her as well. Although I am trying to form a bond with her, it often feelings impossible due to the split personalities that she shows and the cruelty she inflicts on my own son.

My nephew, Jeremiah pictured above as well will be adopted in a few short months. My heart aches at the thought that I contributed to this. I keep reminding myself that I am only one person and though I often pretend, there is not a icy S on my chest.

Last but surly not least, my son...TO BE CONTINUED (he is a entire other story)

With all of that being said, I plan to work on myself. I know that I am not the best mother in the world. I blame this on my lack of patience. I pray for them often and I've been told that they come with time and age. I guess all I can do it sit back and wait for them. Until then, I plan to spend less time working, and more time working with my kids. I hope to one day be a great mom. One who isn't easily distracted by writing--I jump right to the computer whenever I have a great thought. I have to write it down so that it isn't easily forgotten throughout my chaotic days. A mother who is more understanding of the world today. My no nonsense mentality has makes no room for children who try to get over. It angers me when I see my children try to do this, specifically my oldest niece. I try to warn her that I am not that old, hardly old enough to be her mother and what she is saying is not new to me...been there, done that, now lets cut the shit. She insists on trying to play on me mental. All in all, I just want to be the best mom, I can be. I want my nieces to look back on their life and realize that I made good on my promise to "save them", even if I fell short with their brother which was surly not intended. I want them to hold a love for me so deep that nothing short of death could break it. I want them to know with out a shadow of a doubt that they are my all, my everything, and I would walk through the fire with them, if they let me. However, I hope that for their sake is none else, they become humbled by this trying experience and not eating alive by it. I, I hope that they become more like me.