I Try Not To Write When I’m Pissed Off But I Do Make Exceptions…

business, entrepreneurship, Uncategorized
This is untitled, for now

I wonder what gives them the audacity to ask me:
is his father around?
Many times I’d bow my head and look to the ground.
Too proud to tell
Or embarrassed by the reality the question reveals
Still…
It’s none of your damn business!
It’s taken me 7 years to address this
7 years of my heart being restless
hoping no one would ask
Praying no one would know
Trying not to let my singleness show
I want a hashtag for all you bastards that ruin my beautiful mother-son moments with your need to know,
the pity that follows,
the exchange of blows
For you, the privileged assholes who cut me in line,
strike up a conversation then pay me no mind
Don’t ask his name
Don’t tell him he’s cute
Don’t try and flatter me with the “oh, he looks just like you”
I am over explaining who we are and how we came to be
My only wish is
that you let us be
We are complete
with or without a “He”
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Drifting on a memory….

love & beauty, Uncategorized

My first night at college I couldn’t sleep. I needed police sirens to lull me to sleep.I was uncomfortable being in a room full of girls having shared a bed with brothers for many years of my life. I didn’t know these people; this environment. Richmond to me is like a village where everyone is related to somebody and no one is really a stranger. We are a familial people: sisters, brothers, cousins, aunties, uncles, grandmamas and mamas and daddies, baby daddies and baby mamas. It was reassuring to get a text in the middle of the day or night that simply said “so and so got hit.” We’d gather in the street and watch; shed tears and reminiscence. We’d stay in the street long after police arrived. We’d wait until the ambulance left or the coroner arrived. We bonded through our grief. At least we thought we were grieving. Violence and its residuals were a part of life; a part of us.

But college is different. There is no shared history; only individuals. And while I prided myself on being an individual, I wasn’t sure if THIS individuality was for me. Did anyone other than me know the difference between a gun shot and a firecracker? I couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t until years later when I returned to Richmond that I made the connection between what I now know as trauma and my childhood. The re-entry was difficult. Every block a painful memory. Every person carrying with them a sad story. It’s overwhelming to say the least but this is home.

I now attempt to be nostalgic about the past and remember the “good ole” days. I tell myself now is different but it really isn’t. The street been unsafe; Kids have always been wildin’ out; people die everyday b. I want to see the youth as our saving grace, but they are just as naive and all-knowing as we were. Unintentionally ignorant.

I wonder, if I am of any use to them. Like me, they are dreamy believing all good is accompanied by bad. They are simultaneously fearless and fearful. But I want better for them.¬†This is why I’m here. This is home. I’m trying to sleep.