My Love for Bad Boys (Poem)

I swear something deep inside of me must love broken men
See my brain knows better
but these legs keep opening
For immense pleasure
Whenever he pokes it in
Hurricane weather
A deluge of sin
I'm thinking forever
He, the minute that we're in
And oh how it gets better
When I say lover, he says friend
Come again?
Is that what people call this thing?
When it is within these walls
that he seeks shelter from harsh winds?
You see,
The world pushes him around so much he comes to me bent
So I straighten him out every time he comes in
Every time that he commands
And yet he struggles with commitment
When I put "my" in front of "man"
I am not insane
His pain, I understand
It mirrors my own 
That is why I extend my hand 
That is what I am taught that God recommends
That is why I choose to wait 
In a drought for the rain 
Despite all signs insinuating 
no plant shall grow on these plains 
I keep falling for them
Over and over again
Hurt people, hurt people
So, I have hope for these men
And when the relationship is over
I still hold on to them 
Carrying on like a soldier 
Anticipating broken pieces to mend . . . 
even if it's in vain
It is who I am 

Blended Families

I will offend some with this post. It's nothing new. Just a forewarning in case you are currently not in the mood to entertain an opinion likely to offend you. Now, Let's proceed. I don't like blended families. Not loathing or abhorrence. I simply do not like it. Theoretically, if everyone plays nice and makes the welfare of the offspring of such unions a priority, then it's a cool thing to be a part of. Theoretically. Now I can only speak on what I know; my experience and observations. I was born into a blended family as well my own children. So I've been a child and an adult in both situations. It doesn't work. In this day and age, people (most) in this society, lack the maturity not to mention finances to adequately balance the responsibilities of a relationship with one woman; let alone two (and if it's 3 or more . . . run!). It's just not ideal. Three reasons . . .

1. Maturity
2. Finances
3. Home field advantage 

        Allow me to explain. As I've stated previously, most people lack the maturity to allow such a union to flourish. Some people like to forget that when a child is involved in a relationship, just because the romantic aspect has come to an end; the relationship with that person has not. It's difficult enough to prevent misconstruction from dissolving a relationship in which only two people are involved. Now add in a second party (or third) and misinterpretation is a manifestation you will encounter daily. Sometimes multiple times in the day. One must be grounded in patience and consideration to be able to give and receive the communication necessary to co-parent a child(ren). All it takes is one person to decide that their needs come first and the very fabric that holds the family together will begin to unravel. All parties involved must possess this kind of maturity. This doesn't happen often. 

        Now add in finances. It takes money to raise a child. Point . . . Blank . . . Period. One can only work so much. The money that a non-custodial parent makes has to be enough to support both families. Or what? Someone has to go without. The children come first so that leaves the adults. Someone is going to end up with the bad end of the stick. And if that person doesn't have their own fiances in order, it's safe to say that their ability to tolerate the situation will be severely limited. Is it even fair to ask or expect someone to remain in a situation that is detrimental to their financial security? And what is financial security? Food and shelter alone does not raise a child. Is your new partner willing to forgo future aspirations (vacation, college, new car, etc) for the sake of unexpected expenses (extracurricular activities, medical procedures, daycare, etc) caused by a child you created with someone else. Is it fair to even put someone in that situation? It's not an easy thing to balance. 

        And lastly, home field advantage. What's that? It's the mere fact that nothing replaces a parent that lives in the actual home. It's better than money. You have to work and sleep. How many hours in day is there left to spend with the people in your home? Now, what's left for the people outside of it? Depending on the kind of person you are, it is way more beneficial to be around you consistently, then it is to ever receive monetary support. Jealousy is an ugly beast but you explain that to a child who watches their half sibling go home with their parent every night. Tell that to a custodial parent that would like a 10 minute break from a colicky child at 0200 hours. Might I add the boundaries that must exist so as not to confuse things. No, you cannot be in that family portrait. No, you are not invited to Thanksgiving dinner or the wedding. This is your brother's grandmother but not your grandmother. Well, his mother lets him do that but yours doesn't so sit this one out. Mother's day and Father's day are voluntary holidays all of a sudden. You know? If you want to get your father a gift . . . etc. 

        This isn't to encourage or discourage anyone from engaging in a relationship in which the person already has a child with someone else. It's not something people usually think about until the run head first into an obstacle. And by then, already entangled into a web so thick the likelihood of  ever removing yourself from it is diminished. My only intention is to raise awareness to issues normally not bought to the forefront when entering these complex relationships. And of course, my usual mission to promote educated and conscientiousness decision making. God bless.

No, Curiosity Did Not!

So, on some nerd shit. I implore all people influenced by popular opinion to stop citing cats as victims of their own curiosity. It is not true. It is in fact care that killed the cat, not curiosity. And satisfaction never bought him/her back because he/her didn't die in the first place. 

In 1898, Brewer's dictionary of Phrase and Fable the line was quoted as "Care killed the cat. It is said that a cat has nine lives but care would wear them all out"

This misinterpreted line dates back to 1958 in Ben Johnson's playwright called "Every Man in His Humour"
        "Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat, up-tails all and a Louse for the hangman"

William Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing"
        "What, courage man! What though care kill a cat, thou hast mettle enough enough in thee to kill care"

This reference makes more sense to me anyway. Just another line misquoted to shape the mind frame of the masses. Stay curious people. Now, that caring too much crap. Stop it. Stop it now. I have freed you! Lol 

Signs of a Genius

Psst, come here. Come closer. Closer than that. Let me tell you a secret. Only you have to promise not to tell my mother...okay? Well, do you promise? Really and truly? Okay, okay.....here goes.

I . . . I like it when my children make a mess of their room. There. I said it. I mean I love it. Their father can not stand the sight but it gives me life. The more it looks like a tornado hit it, the more exhilarated I become. Here me out now.
          It's a growing trend in this nation for children to lose themselves in front of a television. Imaginative play is almost extinct among the youth. Once upon a time, I took some children to a park and since we had neglected to bring a ball, they literally asked me what they should do. We were in a park! Swings to the left, a jungle gym to the right and a mob of other children in the middle. Needless to say, I was extremely flabbergasted. I vowed right then and there that the future child that I would adopt (because that was the plan back then . . . lol) would be quite familiar with imaginative play. My childhood memories are flooded with games we played in my concrete backyard accompanied by no toys. Yes, that's right. Zero toys. And we had an unbelievably fun time. 
        I just love to walk around my children's messy room and breathe it all in. The simplest observations delight me. C loves that book right there. P parked her brother's car in the dollhouse bedroom. L.P combined his mega blocks to form an intricate design around a train set. To see that the day prior, my son decided to be a cook one minute and then a train conductor the next is enlightening. Make possibilities seem endless. Television cannot do those things. It's also indicative of what is needed to expand on a certain interest or thought process. It took me finding a bridge created with some hardcover books over a train set for me to realize that he needed a more sophisticated set. His father saw an intentional disarray and I observed the findings of an engineer that could use a new set of tools.     
        Not to go into a drawn out history lesson here however there was a time black women were not allowed to love their young. They weren't be concerned about their welfare past a week. The atrocities they had to endure are beyond anything I could ever imagine. A mother's love is a mother's love. No words to describe it. No instrument can ever measure.  I think of my ancestors often and try to make my life a tribute to the very freedom that they could never breathe an air of. The love I have for my children is on acid. Or on steroids. Or whatever drug that can artificially enhance an experience. Whatever. I go in for my prodigies. I am a really hard worker. Everything I do is for them. So I fill their rooms up with everything and anything that interest them. It is for them so  I find it disturbing when I pass by their room and see that their toys and books are neatly stored where I left them. These items were not intended to be show pieces. Get in there and play. Explore. Throw it, break it, ride it, read it, etc. Don't make me kill you. Get in there and feed your mind! *smile* And let Mommy join you sometimes. We can clean up later. 
      
“If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?” Einstein 

Carter''s Story

        We were just a mass of cells then. Listening to mother's accelerated heartbeat as she discussed future aspirations with our father. It is easy to tell when she is passionate about something. The heart never lies. "One more child" she explained to him. "I'll have to have one more so that L.P won't be lonely when I move away". L.P is our older brother. He was only 2 however she spoke of him often. Every cell is her body knew who L.P was. My sister and I had desires for that kind of fame however we were worried. Five days into our existence, I forced my way out of her to grow into a body of my own. Even then our energy would clash with one another. I couldn't wait any longer. We were already at odds over our shared placenta and I couldn't imagine having to share an amniotic sac too. Now here we were listening to our mother's heartbeat race at the possibility of one child. One child. I silently prayed she that she wouldn't mind one more.
        Mother was stupefied when our duplicity was revealed. Her reaction was so intense that when the doctor offered selective reduction, I felt my very existence hanging in the balance. I was smaller so the reduction would be me. I think they called me Baby B. Try to envision my relief when after a pause more pregnant than her, she whispered "no" ever so tenderly. She would keep us both! News of my sister and I were received with joy. Our mother's health, the food that nourished her body and prenatal supplements encouraged rapid growth. My dimple came in. Buds for our arms and legs began to develop. Bone started to replace cartilage. Our neural tube (brain, spinal cord, & central nervous system) was complete. And now that we were able to move, my sister and I bumped heads we barely had even more. I could have sworn she was receiving more attention from the placenta then I was. We were both thriving but I was in a constant state of hunger. Quit eating all of the food, sister! Mommy would not feel us fighting for weeks to come.  
           Fully formed by 3 months, we grew to be quite demanding. We had arms, hand, fingers, feet and toes now. We were hard workers like our mother and it took a lot of work to grow. We fed off of her energy to the point of depletion. Mother was in a constant need of sleep to save energy to care for our brother and go to work. My sister and I had disparate tastes too. Grandma made the best food however we wanted certain foods at varying times. When you don't like your food, you send it back to the waiter, right? Much to our mother's dismay we sent a lot back! Our twin battles would cause her to be regurgitate almost everything she consumed. This would be a long road.            
        20 weeks in and my sister and I just couldn't get along! We had separate sacs but our's mother's small stature made for very tight quarters. A sonogram appointment proved disastrous results from the pressure we were putting on her cervix. The worried doctor caught us right in time and ordered my mother to bed rest. I overheard her say that our chances for survival were slim to none. She was hoping for a miracle because she didn't have in her to ever try for another child if she was to lose us. When I overheard our Grandma praying over us, I just knew we had to deliver the miracle our family was hoping for. Even still our situation was declining. Surgery was performed in a desperate attempt to hold in two explosive personalities that wanted out. And we really wanted out!
        In the midst of it all, Mother found names to fit our distinctive personalities. My sister has always been gregarious. Even our sonographer found her luminescence undeniable (always dancing and showing the world that she was a girl). Her middle name would be inspired by our ever-supportive and frolicsome aunt. Her first name would be after a gentle soul much to amazing for this world. Peyton Gianna suits her perfectly. Since I was the more relaxed of the two and private in my affairs (I refused to share my gender for awhile); my middle name would be after my grandmother. The one who prayed over us. My first name would be after a special boy my mother said she never had the chance to meet but would always love. My name is Carter Marie.
        And so we stayed in. Peyton and I agreed to quell all disagreements and steady our spirits until the time came for us to depart this womb of ours. We already loved this woman who carried us so far. Peyton loved our mother's conversations with our brother. She couldn't wait to meet him. I couldn't wait to match the face to the voice that read me stories every night. So we held on. And yeah, we heard the date in which our doctor scheduled for our departure from the womb; but even so we were so excited that we came a day early. Let me tell you this, true love is true love. It's a magnet too. In a room filled with strangers, a victorious cry wasn't released until we saw her face. And man, she was beautiful. And do you know what was even more beautiful then that? Yes, yes, you got it. Peyton could go that way and I could go my own way. See you, sister! Until the next fight that is.....