Grief has a way of swallowing you up at the most inconvenient times. I choose to write until I can breath again.
Category: Prose
resurrection: a work in progress
i lost my shit but
pretended like i was holding it together while leading entire groups in
prayer circles and investigating the bottom of the rock we all found
ourselves looking up from.
a woman is a human, no matter her status or post or tweet or whatever
when you are born female you learn real early on that people are waaaaay too comfortable talking to you under your clothes. it starts with comments about how cute you are or how much they like your dress. but slowly the comments turn to weight and height and whether or not you’ve started your menses….
you don’t have to be black to be outraged
you will stop killing us there is nothing new nothing nor novel about the destruction of the black body strange fruit hung from poplar trees decomposing in 103 degrees now left to rot on local streets these bodies you don’t see these children that bleed you will stop killing us we have destroyed our minds…
without repudiation, i am a prisoner of hope
My mother prayed. Fervently with supplication and dedication, I would listen as she and her prayer circle covered every family member from the youngest to the most infirm, asking God’s grace and healing over their lives. My mother prayed. I listened to her words. Memorized her pleas. Later folded them into my own. My mother…
emancipation proclaimed from the mountaintop
preamble my biggest fear is that stress will kill me. my biggest fear is that one day my son, my sweet baby boy, will walk in my room call my name and be forever changed because his mother has died in her sleep of a heart attack, or stroke or aneurysm. my biggest fear is…
PTSD, an improper diagnosis because post is past and this is our present
preamble: discovering breasts under my nightgown was one of the most traumatic experiences of my childhood. from that very moment i was trapped in a world with a constant bombardment of sexual attention so aggression i simply could not breathe. they no longer saw me. the me, i had been. the somersaulting-head-standing-singing-and-climbing-trees-daydreaming me was lost. overnight, i had become flesh…
a woman with an issue (sermon from a couch)
there was a woman with an issue. 12 years she lived with a hemorrhage. 12 years, she bleed. all her money spent. no one could tell her why. no one could cure her of the issue. for 12 years, she lived. sick. tired. ostracized. alienated. defiled. broke. defeated. who doesn’t understand this woman. this woman…
three days late…but the half way point i have reached
i have now written 25,573 words in my novel. i think i may know what its about as well. my main character has undergone a name change as well as multiple physical altercations but she is focused on achieving her dreams. i like her. i can’t wait to see what happens next in her life…
it may not be ‘the bluest eye’ but…
so i can pretty much ascertain that this book is about a woman torn between her husband’s ambitions and her own. i have no idea how its going to end. hell, i have no idea what going to happen next. i should really plan something at some point in my life. ANYWAY, here’s today’s exert:…
fearfree living 