With you. [II] // 8.10.14

Yesterday I saw the super moon with you as we drove the back roads through rich land.

It was so full, so big, and so bright, like a reflection of our hearts at that very moment.

I would have taken a picture, to put on this here blog, but I dared not let go of your hand.

The last time I saw the sky as beautiful, I was with you.

And it was then that I never wanted to be with anyone but you, while under the beauty of God's creation.

Guest.

It's an early Sunday morning in northern Ohio, a state I've never been before, and I crawl out of the box bed trying not to wake my three girlfriends. Although it's 7 am here, my body is fully aware that it operates on central time zone and tries to remind me that it's truly 6 am. But I needed to get up. I needed to eat breakfast.

After locating the modest continental breakfast, I make a plate of eggs and silver dollar waffles (Who know waffles came in silver dollars??), and a side of warm oatmeal, yogurt, and an almost too ripe banana. I take a few bites to get familiar with my plate and then crack open "Eat, Pray, Love," using my banana as a paperweight to keep the pages down as I scarf my meal.

A lady, whom has been there since I got off the elevator, greeting me with coffee in hand, turned to me and said "What a scholar." I looked up from my book to a bright smile and kind eyes. Thank you, as I offered a smile just as warm. She then walked away to a corner to accompany her husband, leaving me alone with my book at the breakfast bar.

I seem to always do this; more times than not. Granted I don't go to hotels often because I don't travel often, I find a sense of peace and solitude to eat breakfast among strangers who don't know my story and I don't know their names. To get lost in a novel over sub-par breakfasts' while being completely aware of the mysterious presence of others.

I want to always be a guest. I want to always eat breakfast in cities not known, among people who become less than strangers after the first exchange of words.

I want to always be a guest to a city willing to host me. To invite me in with their coffeehouses and friendly travelers in hotel lobbies. To introduce me to their culture and art museums and bad habits.

I want to be anonymous but completely at home wherever I go. I long to be a guest in cities I may or may not see again.

Because I Need To

My theory is that sometimes our bodies need things to the point of force. When that something is missing, the body will find a way to either replace it or make it happen involuntarily, without our conscious consent.

Like the way our tongues always manage to wiggle between two teeth, the pink fleshy crater tasting of lead and silver paper clips. No matter how hard we try, muscle memory sets in and our tongues always find it's place abreast with enamel. As if it belonged, needing to be there, number thirty two.

Or the way our eyes draw thick as velvet curtains and demand an exit of thoughts and an entrance of dreams. Paralyzed, closed eyes, no matter how hard we try. Our heads nod and bob, struggling to make it through one more episode, one more video, one more tweet. We wake up with laptops that had fallen asleep not long after our bodies became wrapped up in our sheets. Our eyes know before we do. And we have no choice but to agree.

Nights when I don't know why I'm crying, I credit it to the fact that, perhaps I haven't cried in a while and it's about time. My body is probably ridding the toxic thoughts and poisonous people from my spirit. Or maybe because I yearn for something more that I don't know how to give myself. The way an infant wails because there's nothing else to do to get his or her needs tended to. I guess maybe I cry because I don't have the words to say.

As I write this I can feel my tongue gliding across my teeth filled with anxiety, and my eyes are swelling, filled with tears. 

I don't know why, but I would like to think my body knows what it's doing. 

And I just agree.

Our Black Men

Eric Garner | Oscar Grant | Sean Bell | Trayvon Martin | Jordan Davis

& the list goes on
                      and on
                            and on.

I mourn for the Black men in this country. I mourn for the Black men of the world whose lives are considered insignificant. They don't see the strength of a Black men. His power. His intelligence. His life as a human being.

They see his skin. As if the eumelanin determines one's worth and value.

The Veil continues to be relevant and active. The lack of clarity to see Blacks as people, as Americans, is active in our schools, our workplaces, and our communities. We are invisible to the world unless they want to make a mockery of the design of our biology. Unless they want to profit off of our minds and our bodies. Unless they want to show themselves as the "White savior" by offering the same hand that enslaved us.

The war on drugs is the war on us. Prisons are built based on our little Black and Brown boys. ^[1]

I mourn for little Black boys whose mothers pray for their safety walking to the bus stop and buying Skittles. I mourn for the little Black girls who will grow up to feel like the least desired cohort and will statistically feel the truth of the numbers. I mourn for the Black women who don't know if their husband's will come home and how they will tell their children.

Black in America is possibly one of the worst things to be. 

Yet being Black is by far the greatest person to be. 

Excuse my bias, but I have every reason to be.

Love me better

Only I know how to love me the way I want to be loved.
There is no one on this Earth I expect to love me the way I can.

But there is someOne who can love me greater than I.

I stopped putting my hope in things.
I stopped putting my joy in situations.
I stopped putting my peace in people.

I know how to love me, but He loves me better.

The Rising of the Son

Today I learned that the sun shines at 6 am. I pity all the days I have wasted in bed well past the rising of the sun. Guilt rushed over me the moment I realized everyone around me was awake, starting their morning routines, dragging themselves to work, knowing that will be the only sun some of them will see before their commute back home.

The days when I could barely wake up or barely get out of bed, the rays were welcoming me with open arms. My blinds and thick dark curtains reject them, but my mind refused to face the day.

There were mornings that I never got to see transition into noon. The stillness of the world was not felt. And the silence was not appreciated. It is at this time that my soul is at peace, and rarely does my spirit get nourished my the sole presence of God.

No wonder people wake up at daybreak to kneel before His throne. No wonder His children sought Scripture to give solace to their spirits. I have found it to be the only time of day when we can meet Jesus face to face, before we swiftly join the ranks of those with fast paces and busy schedules.

Love is Like an Orange [II]

Love is like an orange. It's impossible to describe the aroma and difficult to explain the taste. Until you scratch the surface, you'll never know the zest of the scent. Until you peel the layers, you'll never know how sweet it is. No one can experience it for you. The moment you are familiar with an orange, you'll forever know one even with your eyes closed. You take a deep breath and you know it's love.

22

I find it hard to find meaning in birthdays.
I believe in the necessity to celebrate ones life, but, for me,
it's less of a celebration and more of a reminder.
I'm a year older, but nothing has changed. Nothing.
I have reached major milestones in my life, yet,
nothing has changed. And I can't help but focus on them.
I can't help but think about everything I have not done,
and everything I need to do by this time next year.
Thank God I've made it to another year,
but I thank God more for the 365 days that got me here.
Seeing another year is not an achievement when I've survived the previous days.
Thank God I woke up day after day after day.
Thank God for those days when nothing truly happened.
For days when I hate the rain and days when I'm dancing in it.
For days when I didn't know what I was going to eat,
and days when my belly had an abundance.
Thank God for the days when I didn't think I would make it out of the bed.
For days when I need to send a letter, buy pens, and shave.
Days when I run from wasps and welcome butterflies.
Days when I'm cleaning a bedroom so calamitous
that I fall asleep in the middle of the floor...with the light still on.
Days when I can't stand to see myself in the mirror,
and days I admire the imperfections of my skin.
Thank God for the ordinary days that turn into another year.
Thank God for the unforgettable days woven in between.
And at this very moment, I think I found the meaning in birthdays.
Happy Birthday to me. Thank God for another year.

We spend hours in the mirror, staring ourselves in the eyes, examining our hair, touching our skin, lips, and nose, but we don't know our own features.

We don't know what we truly look like.

Worthy

Trying to understand an indescribable God.
He loves us despite who we are.
We love Him because of what He's done.
I don't think we can honestly say we love God unconditionally.

So many times I take a step back from my own life,
and I look at all the things I was blind to otherwise.
I am in complete awe that a perfect God
has blessed me beyond measure.

I'm never worthy.
He's always trustworthy.

I became a pessimist when...

I became a pessimist when I realized everyone else has my happily ever after and I always fall short of my own little dream.

I became a pessimist when life gave me a contact high of privileges and opportunities, yet snatched them out of my eager hands.

I became a pessimist when the way he spoke of my existence scared any chance for butterflies to perch on my esophagus. If there is a chance in hell one could fall in love with me... well sometime's I want to jump in the fire. To allow the feeling in my chest to engulf my entire being.

I became a pessimist when my own reflection was an unfamiliar face. Her wired hair and scarred face reflected her heart more than the mirror.

I became a pessimist when I realized somethings are just too good to be true.