I know.
I have let almost another month go by without writing on my blog. However, you would to believe how busy I have been. From entertaining family, and working to spending time with that new beau in my life. I am the master of time-management except when it comes to scheduling time for me to do what I love the most.
So, with all that said, I am again committing more time to sharing my thoughts and critiquing my actions. While me being so busy and doing all these things kind of reminds me of how phenominal a woman I am and many others that multi-task their way through life. It is not an easy feat. Single mother, single job, single life. It all has been very manageable thsu far, but there are some moments when I want to throw caution to the wind and not be that "every" woman. What would really happen?
If women all across the world stop doing the necessary things for their families, husbands, jobs, parents or any other responsibility that they may have, the world would come to an abrupt and yet uninterrupted end.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Perception
Just because I am beautiful you may think I am dumb
When I say that I love you, you may think that I am weak
When I know my power is stronger than what you give me between the sheets
When I cry after making love you may think I am sprung
When in reality it was just a really good cum
Because I enjoy your company and think you're a nice guy
Don't get it confused, I think that about most men who try
I am really not impressed with your torrid past
I am more interested in what you do with your future besides sit on your ass
Just because I recognize the man in you
Does not mean that I want to marry you
Your perception of me has more to do with your reality of you
When you look at me and judge, you are judging you too
Take the time to get to know what it is you're dealing with
There is nothing average about me, I am that "rule the world chick"
Not often do I run across a man that I admire and adore
Don't fuck it up with ego, or I will hit the door.
LLW
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Fever in the Winter ----Pg. 2
We were moving to a place called California. It was soon after my mother was married that we just up and decided to go. I was leaving everything that was familiar. I was leaving the world that I had come to love and know. I was leaving my grandmother, grandfather, great-grandmother and cousins. The life that I knew would soon become a place that I would only visit. It would become unfamiliar and distant. I was embarking upon a new place to call home.
We moved to Berkeley, California. There were so many different kinds of people. I remember just being downtown Berkeley watching the action of the streets, people who looked as if they had to be somewhere immediately. Through my 7 year old eyes, it was an amazing display of action. I had never seen so many houses together, so many buses. Everyone had a dog to walk. What I found most interesting and entertaining were the people with bald heads, who wore white robes of some sort. They would walk and chant while playing tambourines. Up until that point I had only heard tambourines in church. But hearing that familiar sound stole my attention, but it was coming from a unrecognizable place. It looked as if they used it in the same way, but just with a different kind of song. This place called Berkeley was amazing, it was filled with energy and love. Something magnetic and unexplainable and I loved it.
In school I learned quickly about different races. After growing up in an environment surrounded by people who looked like me, I was intrigued to get to know the people who did not. I made friends easily. They enjoyed hearing my southern accent and I enjoyed hearing theirs. It was a mutual admiration. At recess we took turns saying words to hear how different they sound coming out of my mouth or theirs. I felt free at school. I could play and be free, read and enjoy my new found friends.
School would become my safe haven, my refuge, because my home life would soon become hell.
We moved to Berkeley, California. There were so many different kinds of people. I remember just being downtown Berkeley watching the action of the streets, people who looked as if they had to be somewhere immediately. Through my 7 year old eyes, it was an amazing display of action. I had never seen so many houses together, so many buses. Everyone had a dog to walk. What I found most interesting and entertaining were the people with bald heads, who wore white robes of some sort. They would walk and chant while playing tambourines. Up until that point I had only heard tambourines in church. But hearing that familiar sound stole my attention, but it was coming from a unrecognizable place. It looked as if they used it in the same way, but just with a different kind of song. This place called Berkeley was amazing, it was filled with energy and love. Something magnetic and unexplainable and I loved it.
In school I learned quickly about different races. After growing up in an environment surrounded by people who looked like me, I was intrigued to get to know the people who did not. I made friends easily. They enjoyed hearing my southern accent and I enjoyed hearing theirs. It was a mutual admiration. At recess we took turns saying words to hear how different they sound coming out of my mouth or theirs. I felt free at school. I could play and be free, read and enjoy my new found friends.
School would become my safe haven, my refuge, because my home life would soon become hell.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Fever In the Winter By LLW
I must have been born on the coldest day in January. It must have been cold because every since that day, I have never felt anything warm. From cold stares, to cold responses to cold hand shakes and cold lunches, it felt like winter forever.
In the swamps of Mississippi where the winters were white. Where the lines of color never crossed, that was the way of respect; but if that line was crossed in that small town of Sardis, Mississippi things would happen that you would soon want to forget. It was the south. I never went to school with white children, did not know they existed. They were not a part of my life. All I knew were my grandmother and cousins. I can't even say I knew my mother, the woman that birth me in the world. There was a love that came because she birth me in the world, but a mother I never had. I always felt that I was my grandmother's favorite. Although I had several cousins to play with, I always believed that she treated me like I was special. I loved her for the attention. I loved her for the affection she gave me when I had a cold. She would rub sulfer on my chest and under my nose, so I could breath that night. I loved the blues she played during the week and the old spirituals on Sunday. I loved the pies she made, the greens, the corn bread,the peach cobblers. I loved her bravery when killing a chicken, plucking him until the skin was bear and preparing him to be eaten that night. I loved that in the summer we could pick peaches off her tree and pecans to later become a pie's. She was the industrial woman. She did everything, my grandfather must have loved her to death.
But that joy would soon be broken and replaced with a new environment unfamiliar to me. It would be the last time that I remember something being warm.
In the swamps of Mississippi where the winters were white. Where the lines of color never crossed, that was the way of respect; but if that line was crossed in that small town of Sardis, Mississippi things would happen that you would soon want to forget. It was the south. I never went to school with white children, did not know they existed. They were not a part of my life. All I knew were my grandmother and cousins. I can't even say I knew my mother, the woman that birth me in the world. There was a love that came because she birth me in the world, but a mother I never had. I always felt that I was my grandmother's favorite. Although I had several cousins to play with, I always believed that she treated me like I was special. I loved her for the attention. I loved her for the affection she gave me when I had a cold. She would rub sulfer on my chest and under my nose, so I could breath that night. I loved the blues she played during the week and the old spirituals on Sunday. I loved the pies she made, the greens, the corn bread,the peach cobblers. I loved her bravery when killing a chicken, plucking him until the skin was bear and preparing him to be eaten that night. I loved that in the summer we could pick peaches off her tree and pecans to later become a pie's. She was the industrial woman. She did everything, my grandfather must have loved her to death.
But that joy would soon be broken and replaced with a new environment unfamiliar to me. It would be the last time that I remember something being warm.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)