I really wish you would have just asked me for sex.
But isn’t it just sooooo like you, not too.
You fucking pure ass angelic son of a bitch.
Now sex, I could have given you… Something sloppy, to finish in my mouth, to live out one of those, a too little rough for me but I know you like it fantasies…but you didn’t.
Him: Besides a place to live, what else do you want or need for Valentine’s day
Me: I want/need time with you and the freedom to explore whatever that leads too, you?
Why couldn’t you just…
Two months before my senior year began, my mom walked in on me, in the basement of my family home, with my pants down around my ankles.
That day she got a view of my vagina she hadn’t seen since early childhood, and honey, I’ve changed some.
It was really what was behind me, rather pressed …and pushing into me, that was what she soon would take issue with. A man, she didn’t know, yet was quickly getting to know more of, the longer she stood there.
All the same, it set the tone for one very peculiar senior year…
I said, holding my paint brush nursing both my 8 month old son (ask later, motherhood is complex)and a blank canvas.
I just couldn’t.
Or so my brain kept telling me, as it searched for lines, tracings or anything that would dictate whether or not it was “doing a good or bad job”.
Parameters, guidelines, for godsake someone come punish me already for the stroke that I’m just thinking about making because right now I’m already beating myself up for merely thinking about freely moving my hand, guiding that brush around my canvas.
It felt like hours were…
I don’t know if I should be belting out Jolene or whoop that trick.
Before you ask, no. I don’t even like him like that — like that
But let us be clear, HE IS MINE.
*long drawn out sigh*
Fine, fine, fine.
She and I aren’t best friends.
At one time, we were friends enough to know quasi intimate detail about each other at one point, we may have had a few kiki moments in college, and there was that one time I paid her to babysit, and I held space for her to talk during a rough patch.
Yes, they’re adorable, and Zola definitely got the assignment in last week's episode, but geeeeezus.
Look, I know what you’re going to say. “They’re kids; they need their mom,” yeah yeah yeah… we get it. Don’t worry; I’m a mom. I have kids; I can say this.
WHAT ABOUT WHAT I NEED?!?!
FUCK THEM, DAMN KIDS.
And for but a few sweet, dreamy blue-eyed moments, Mer did just that. There we were staring blissfully in the eyes of McDreamy, beachside in postmarital bliss, which I’ve not yet personally experienced, but I hear it is a thing. …
Those are the words I furiously pecked out on my phone to text her father, full of emotion.
Who even says that to her 8-year old daughter…ugh.
I’m spiraling. What does a lady sit like even mean? Furthermore, why should she have to?
Don’t mind me I’m just processing my fear and emotions around having a daughter grow up in a hyper-sexual culture and I’m afraid for her innocence. I want to protect her I am also realizing I can’t. It’s not her or her clothes. She should get to be free.
And believe me, she’s as free as they…
Talk to me how you would talk Mrs. Teri, dammit…
Those are the words that fell out of my very frustrated mouth and through the house to only fall loosely on the ears of my 8 (going on 16) year old daughter. It was the third time in less than a half-hour that I had asked her to just put the fitted sheet on the bed so that she could take her ass to sleep. A task that now takes us anywhere upwards of an hour and a half, bordering two hours. My patience was low. I could have been…
Today was one of the best days of my life.
It was. And frankly, nothing extraordinary happens, and everything was perfect.
My brother and I completed our first pilot together, my kids and I enjoyed time in the park with friends, we saw the best sunset, and then I got to lay in bed with them both and just listen to their laughs and breath in the essence of childhood.
No engagement, no lottery, not even an AMG, none of the things that I thought would have happened to experience feelings.
Yet there I was, having the time of my…
We sat in silence, and it was okay.
Not fighting, not after a fight nor before. Not
We weren’t doing the same thing. There wasn’t a similar point we were talking about. Or a shared emotion.
We both just sat in deep silence.
We were two individuals sharing space.
Initially, I noticed I was anxious. I felt like I needed to say something, comment on anything, mention or bring up something to cut the silence. There I was, getting ready to pour my anxiety into mindless chatter.
“Today I will practice the art of being silent”. Iyanla Vanzant
Beloved, I sit before you as humbly as I know-how. *clears throat*
Here me clear when I say I am a quitter.
One of those people that when the road got long, I, my friend, got going the other way.
I could go on about how it came to pass that I got that way, but what’s the point.
Hold me tenderly saints, as I write this, I am contending with the urge to do something I’m all too familiar.
*eyes towel nervously*
That’s right. It’s Quitting time.
You see, I have been called a “late bloomer,” a “classic Gemini,”…
29 yrs. a black + woman. 9 yrs. a mom Lifetimes a god.