I miss my father & I think that’s why I go so hard FOR the black man.. He’s misunderstood, isn’t acceptable for him to cry OR raise his voice.. Only to make the money & be strong as an ox… Nothing against my mother, Ive just always missed my daddy’s presence more. #noApologies #reflecting
See I was the type of child who REQUIRED a 2-parent upbringing.. I deserved examples (external/conscious/yang) of balanced and harmonious partnerships, but because this wasn’t the design, I’ve spent the last 29years trying to restore homeostasis from within (subconscious/yin/internal source) via outside sources. #doingItWrong
Nevertheless, here’s an open letter to my father… May this letter be received with all the love, fire, passion, growth it has taken me to release this to you all… Ase’
Continue reading To My Father, its over…. Learning to let go.
Alrighty so by now (blog 5) we’re well aware that I’ve got some abandonment type issues.. sprinkle in a little sexual abuse.. public education… and KA-BOOM!!! Yea, cool story bro, right?
But see the that’s not why im not interested in helping raise your little crumb snatcher. Or maybe it is, we’ll see by the end of this piece. First let me take a few steps UP to the top of my high horse and give you a brief synopsis of how I know I’d suck as your kid’s step-parent…
Selfish. I truly suck at sharing things and unless we’ve been together for over 2-3years im probably not bored enough to meet your kids yet. Chances are im still enjoying that whole new car smell type loving & Who has the energy for those impromptu calls about how Lil Timmy just broke his big toe at soccer practice and needs YOU to come tell your story about how back in Cooley High 1997 you played through your ACL injury and scorned the winning shot in triple over-time.. WHILE IN THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING COS-PLAY!!!! Got damn you Timmy get your coordination together, FUCK!!!
Or my absolute personal favorite, I have to cheer your irritable ass up all because your whack ass child’s mother/ex-wife who don’t want their ex to be great without them, heard her babygirl tell her other sibling how much they like Ms. Dragonfly over her mean ass? How Ms. Dragonfly takes the time to cut up their meat, asks questions about their school day fucking colors with them? And because they actually WANT TO STAY with their daddy and his “new bitch” you purposely start beef just to keep them away from us/him.. You try to punish HIM by punishing the babies… Yea that’s my favorite. Nobody got the energy to build that man back up right after you hoes simultaneously ripped my heart from me….. Its like clockwork!!! Which leads me to #2….
2. Attachment. In the last serious relationship I encountered, this man was probably the most dope MALE parent ive ever witnessed in for real life, but I knew it wasn’t going to last. I knew our relationship wasn’t going to go the distance yet after roughly 1.5 of dating then eventually living together, he introduced me to his children… ~sighs~ Lets back up a few years. Now I entered my first bid dealing with a grown aged male with children, back in ill say ’08 shortly after Continue reading 4. Reasons I won’t date Men with children…. AGAIN!!
I was the new girl in town…Again!!
(Freshly raped and passed around at least twice by my two older male step-cousins, prior to being uprooted then transplanted in this same old weird paper-mill smelling town during my 7th grade school year) Except this time, it was for good.. The suicide attempt bought me a good year of freedom back in the safety and nurturing arms of my great grandmother back in my hometown but I just couldn’t seem to get right. Age 10, Still reeling from a traumatic loss of the one stable father figure I’d been blessed since my then teenaged parents proved to be incompetent, the depression teamed with hyper stimulated genitalia was becoming too much for my grieving great grandmother to bare… I would eventually end up rotating between one relative to the next. I cant remember exactly what happened that got me to this point, yet Here I am, the new girl once again…
Sitting in Ms. O’s typing class, in front of me he sits. Braids to the back, toffee colored skin, cover-all jeans creased to the 9, gangsta Nike’s, basketball hoopin, nice flows, project living, all his brothers and sisters had different daddies but HE was the oldest.. I still remember his adams apple, the veins in his arms… On the outside he reminded me of my father. Except he wasn’t 6feet tall and black as midnight but he definitely fit his “thuggish” exterior.. I just KNEW he was gonna take me down through there.. As I sat on the backrow.. quiet as kept.. Never even giving him as much of a good morning… I observed him.. his mannerisms.. how he sharpened his pencil.. how he would make it a POINT to strut across the floor just to shoot paper in the trashcan like he was Jordan or somebody.. “What a show off,” I thought to myself.. As he sat down, a breeze would swoop past my nose and every damn time, i breathed him in.. Adiddas cologne to be exact.. Continue reading How To become a Predator…