Notes By: A Broken Heart...

Booty calls, booty calls, booty calls. Well, I could start an entire blog on that topic alone. The vast majority of us have had booty calls and have dealt with the drama one a booty call brings. To me booty calls differ from person to person, gender, age, sexual maturity as well as culture. Some people might not have had a booty call but they were booty calls. Regardless, we all know what a booty call and a one night stand is. And thus, I give you.. Booty Call He was supposed to be nothing just a quickie; not a friend. He was supposed to be nothing but a one night stand. He was supposed to be nothing, nothing at all. He was supposed to be nothing but a booty call. But I underestimated him and the powers that be. He opened my eyes and stole a smile from me. "You are beautiful," he said he had to confess. He told me I was sexy, he said, "The fucking best." He told me things no one else would, and slowly I felt he was too good.

This was a very controversial poem for me and some people reading it. This poem is entitled Sleeping with the Enemy and it's not what it seems at first glance. Sleeping with the Enemy We live in the same space, we sleep in the same bed; stuck in the same place, must I repeat what I said? His eyes are brown and his head is bald, he's an angel sent down, he's muscular and tall. Some would call me the devil for tempting such a being, some would call me evil for doing what I'm doing. I left a woman at home, she was sexy and cute. I left her all alone though she loves my dirty boots. She told me she'd always be there and I told her so would I She said she'd always care, now alone I cry. I tried to resist temptation and I tried to keep myself from sin. I'd hate to keep her waiting seeing the situation I'm in. I'm sleeping with evil, I'm sleeping with the enemy. I'm sleeping with the devil, I'm sleeping with me...

Today while I was writing I started to think about regrets. I was thinking about the things that I've done and the lack of things that I've done with my life. I do regret a lot of things and though they might have shaped who I am today, I'd love to have gone without them and the lessons they taught. I started to write about my many regrets but since the list would be endless so would this poem. I began thinking about what I felt was the ultimate regret, love. Love, would be my next big regret. I felt the regret of loving or marrying someone, the wrong one was my next big regret. So, I wrote this poem, but I felt it would be better coming from a woman. It would be better coming from the fragile heart. I felt regrets from a doubting heart, a woman that was in love but doubted her future husband was. And that's how I came up with... Regrets... The veil covers my eyes; the ring is on my hand. The stars are in the sky, as we become wife and man. I speak in a s

Today I was watching the Bad Girls Club and one of them said something about bullying that made me think. I am small so of course I've encountered many a bully but I don't think I have ever been bullied. I started to think about smoking and weed and the people I were around and what they did. I never went with the flow or with the crowd and I've only done what I've wanted when I've wanted. Such as weed, I didn't try it until I was 21. I guess I'm a late, LOL. But, I decided to write a poem hoping I could relate to those who had been bullied, who had been peer pressured. And I threw drugs in there because I've heard about weed being a gateway drug and the cycle the drugs seem to perpetuate. This is what came out... Peer Pressure "Go ahead and try it," he says. But my mind says No, instead. "Take it it's good for you." I know in my head that's not true. But how can I say, "No"? It's just a little

I've heard someone once say, "death is but a dream." So, I thought, what if death was a dream that you were trapped in? What if death was a perpetual coma that you never wake up from, but you know what's going on around you? What if we made our own heaven and hell? What if our heaven and hell was but a dream?  With those questions in mind, I pondered what my hell would be. I knew it wouldn't be as simple as being happy or not. I knew my heaven would be my hell. I knew that somehow I'd be self-aware. I'd know what was going on and why but be powerless to do anything about it. I knew that my hell, my dream would be embedded within a dream. And so I wrote these two poems that are one. Dream She places a kiss on my cheek. We are in bliss we do not speak. We hold each other in the sand. Starstruck lovers, wife and man. She can't stay here with me,  the sun fades and so does she. It's like holding tiny grains of sand, she's slowl

#HerChoice Her Choice Is it right? Is it wrong? Who knew five minutes of pleasure would last so long? There were all sorts of reasons and costs she couldn't afford, so you see she had to abort. But no matter what; it's looked upon with hate. Even for the little girl who's been raped. Is it right for her to nurture the seed of her rapist? And is it wrong for her to be hope and faithless? Is it right for her to not give life a chance? But is it wrong for her to as it's said take a "murderous stance." Is it right? Is it wrong? Who knew five minutes of pain would last so long? Don't hate her, listen to her voice, because it all boils down to Her Choice.

A writer's mind... Almost I think, this is hard, as I, stealth like slip pass the guard. I head towards the door; I don't wanna be here anymore. The door does not creek as I slip through without a peep. I run down a long hall then smack into a wall. I turn and run the other way, I cannot stay another day. I'm so worried I have to hurry. I'm the only one he trusted if he sees me I'm busted. I hear someone coming and my heart starts pounding. I mean how can I possibly turn back now.  If someone see's me the alarms will be sounded, I see a window and decided to go out it. I land on the sweet warm grass, but I have to be fast. No time to dwell, I have to get out this hell. I'm very tired as I hurry over the barbed wire. I jump down landing in the dirt, sure my knees hurt. But hey, I keep running anyway. As far and as fast as I can through this foreign land.  But somehow I'm surrounded just like that and everything goes black. That's it, I&

I saw a poetry contest with the topic as caged bird. Being that I love Maya Angelou and I know Why the Caged Bird Sings, I've taken a crack at extending the poem. I wanted to write a little something about the caged bird that was inside of me. After all, I feel I am the bird that stalks down my narrow cage. One of my dreams was to meet Maya Angelou and tell her, "I too know why the caged bird sings..." I know why the caged bird sings By: Maya Angelou A free bird leaps  on the back of the wind and floats downstream  'til the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and  his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings  with a fearful trill of things unknown  but longed for still and his tune is heard  on the distant hill  for the caged bird  sings

This is the last of the Heaven's Sonnets. This part was written to remind me that people still loved me and I had people who cared about me still down here. My sister has always played a silent role in my life. She's always been there in the background somewhere doing what sisters are supposed to do, I guess you can say. As time goes on I see it more as an obligation to my mother versus real love for me. But, that's another poem entirely. Now, here is the final installment. This is... Heaven's Sonnet 7 I didn't have time to say anything, the next thing I know I'm falling from grace landing in the most pain life could ever bring. I wake up and see a familiar face. My sister is in a chair tired and sleeping. I am lying in a hospital bed wondering how this could possibly be. Wondering if I was ever really dead I sit up and think about the strangers I knew wondering if anyone would believe what I just so happened to see and do or the size

I thought for awhile I forgot how my mother looked so this was my attempt at remembering how my mother looked. It was also an attempt to talk myself out of whatever crazy thing I was doing. I listen to my mother and she is God to me. What she says goes and so, here is part 6 of my... Heaven's Sonnet 6 Her velvety long hair was sandy brown, her beautiful brown eyes were glowing bright, she was wrapped in blue with stars all around her skin was sparkling and sort of light, and like the others no shoes on her feet. I doubt if this was the mother I miss until she smiled and I saw on her cheeks, the marks from where the angels left their kiss. Her smile seem brighter than the brightest star as she floated to me and took me away from my family to the gates a far. Her mouth did not move but I heard her say, "Always remember I love you my son, now, it's time to go back; you are not done. To Be Continued...

This part of my Heaven's Sonnet I wrote thinking about my mother and all the people I've lost and I was told that I would see again. Heaven's Sonnet 5 It was Momma Jimmy and Momma Rosey, both my late great and great, great grandmothers. I do not recognize the faces I see but somehow, I knew they could be no other. They did not have the wrinkles I remember, their faces were young, shiny and very smooth and when they smiled, their teeth were whiter than the moon. They stood in front of our entire family in this place stuck at high noon. They all looked like they were happy to see me. They soon parted away from one another and out of the middle floated my mother. To Be Continued...

Part 4 of my Heaven's Sonnet Heaven's Sonnet 4 Then I saw a big group rushing towards me, I was not scared as they crowded around, looking at me like it could not be who they knew was standing before them now. As I looked up into all of their eyes who they were they did not have to tell me. I knew from the look in their shining eyes they were in fact all my family. Men, women, children I've never seen or met, even those I did I did not recognize. They looked different from when we first met. I could only tell who they were by their eyes. In front stood two familiar faces whom I remember from distant places. To Be Continued...

3rd installment of... Heaven's Sonnet 3 Everywhere I looked was covered in gold, everything around looked so nice and new. The ground, the house, the trees; beautiful, even the people looked beautiful too. Men, woman and children were floating around; they looked happy without a care in sight. Their skin was shining like gold all tan and brown, yet just as bright as the sons big bright light. I wandered around in search of a sign. I just didn't know where I was or could be, or if it was all just inside my mind because this place was extraordinary. Even I began to feel light and carefree like there was no hurt inside of me. To Be Continued...

Continuation of... Heaven's Sonnet 2 I stand there silently for a little while, in a daze by the bright shining glory. Silently I walk towards it with a smile and thus so there begins my strange story. There before me stood a large golden gate and behind it a city of sun and gold. A peaceful voice said, "Why wait, go, go my child and behold." And so then I walked to the pearly gates, which quickly opened without being told. I quickly rushed through the big golden gates into the bright city of sun and gold. Then I heard thousands of voices singing as one and saw in the center a big, bright son. To Be Continued... 

I needed to be happy and the only way I saw that happening was with my mother. The next seven poems are my attempt at writing a sonnet and creating a story of them. The story is about #suicide and was written when I was in a state of depression I know no one around me at the time could bring me out of. And I really didn't have the energy to try and get myself out of. I was a low place where I didn't care and really didn't want to live. But, I'd been told by my sister that I needed to find a reason. I needed to find a reason to go on, a reason to fight. My mother was my reason. So, in an effort to see her again, to paint an everlasting picture of her and where she is, I started the projects called Heaven's Sonnet and it turned out to be an effective suicide prevention project. This poem made me think about what I had and was willing to leave and give up. It also helped me explore what I felt in my heart my mother would want. Heaven's Sonnet 1 A small

Today I was thinking about love and all the twists and turns it takes. Out of all the bad experiences we actively still seek it. With all the hurt that it's caused we are afraid to be without it. We are afraid to be alone so we go through the ringer over #love. This is here was my attempt to describe what love has been to me. What Love is? Imagine you're floating peacefully to heaven... Imagine the sweetest smell you've ever taken in... Imagine the angels singing you to sleep, imagine God's kiss upon your cheek when you meet. Imagine being happy and feeling safe... then imagine falling from God's grace. Imagine falling so fast you can't breathe Imagine not being able to smile or see Imagine never laughing or being happy again Imagine never wanting to move again Imagine the worse way of dying  then imagine you're floating, flying... In a false sense of security and peace of mind just to fall again another time.

I've loved and I've lost. My high school sweetheart who I loved and lost after not treating her right. I thought maybe one day I would be able to get that back. I stayed there for her when she needed me. I even did the unthinkable and talk to her when she lost her virginity. Though it was supposed to be me, I let it go and still loved her. I was even there for her as he mother was dying. I was there lending an ear and my experience and telling her the real. She needed to spend as much time with that woman as possible because she was never going to get to see her again. As we talked more and more she started telling me about the times when her so called new dude hit her. I told her I loved her, I apologized for my past. I told her and I meant I would do better. No, I never cheated but I was guilty of not showing her the love and affection she deserved. And it was because of that I felt she was where she was. I felt it was my fault that she was in the relationship she was in. W

It's weird because out of all the years that my dad was in prison and wrote to me, I maybe only read four or five of his letters. Though I tried, I only wrote back maybe three or four times. Each time was an attempt for me to forgive him and love the man that my mother loved, I mean if he was still there. In the sixteen years that he was in prison, not once did I tell him how I really felt. As a man that is. I've been an angry child and yelled my point, calling him by his first name and all. But, now, I realize that I was going about trying to forgive him the wrong way. I was trying to make him sorry, and I was trying to make him hurt for not being there for me. Problem is, you can't guilt someone for being them, you can't make someone be sorry for something that they simply are not sorry for. So, in order for me to let go of the hate and anger that his absence helped create I decided to speak to him as a man. I decided to write a letter I knew I'd never send. A

There are a lot of great African American Poets. I read a poem called Mother to Son by Langston Hughes. I was reading Push by Sapphire and Precious was reading the poem to her son. I was feeling the poem and the way she was talking to her son. I began imagining how my mother would talk to me and what she would say. I also thought about what I would say back. And that is when I came up with my Mother 2 Son Remix. Mother to Son   By: Langston Hughes Well, son, I'll tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor -- Bare. But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on, And reachin' landin's, And turnin' corners, And sometimes goin' in the dark Where there ain't been no light. So boy, don't you turn back. Don't you set down on the steps 'Cause you finds it's kinder hard. Don't you fall now -- For I'se still goi

This is how I felt as a child when I was trapped in my aunty's house. She and my mother were two completely different people. My mother smiled and let me speak my mind. My aunty, never liked me. I've been told I was a mistake. With her, I was free just in reverse. Reverse Freedom Bound one moe' 'gain within the freedom of my own world. Detained again within the confines of my own body. Held again within the restrictions of my own soul. Suspended again within the limitations of my own imagination. Constricted again within the perimeters of my own mind. Stuck again within the walls of my own head. I am Trapped again, within the chambers of my own heart.

I love children and I've always wanted to have them. But as I get older, I have to rethink it. I'd rather not continue this family's name. I'd rather not bring a child into a world of unloved people. What if something happens to me? I would never want them going to the people I have as a family. Not one of them. I would never want to bring them into a world where they're lives do not matter. #blacklivesmatter I don't want to bring a child into a world that doesn't want them. A world that kills them and continues moving like nothing happened. So, I decided to speak to my child, my... Unborn Child I wish you love, peace and the best and I pray you don't follow in my footsteps. I have an education which is good especially growing up in the hood. I've learned its value and moved on to college  fueled by my need for knowledge. So, I can't let you go through what I went through. My mother died when I was young, she was my world a

I was raised by two family's of straight disfunctional families. On dad's side we have a bunch of criminals, theivies, drug addicts bank robbers you name it. And my mother's side there were crackheads, alcoholics and hoes. My mother was the crab the got was a step away from getting out of the barrel and while pulling all the bitches leeching on to her up with her, but died from the strain and the stress of pulling them all with her. Shit, she even pulled members of my dads family up with her. She should have done what she wanted me and my sister to do. Run, she should have packed us up and ran and not looked back. Then maybe she'd still be here and my sister's love for me would not have been corrupted... I wrote this because I just felt like, is there anything better for me? I mean being born into that family. Pick Yo' Head Up  I was born in the ghetto. I was raised in the hood. Statistics say, "I won't make it." Society says, "

I wrote this poem when I was sixteen. I just saw it and remember where I was when I wrote it. I remember the place physically, mentally and emotionally. I read the poem and realized that this is still going on and all because of my so called family. More than one time I have been at the brink of suicide. I remember writing this when I was sitting in a doctors office because I'd finally been convinced I was crazy. I'd finally been convinced that I needed medication because I didn't want to feel like this anymore. I didn't want to feel like no one loved me and that I wasn't part of a family. But, in the end not even the medication could dull the pain... Doctor Says "Take one, three times a day," that's what the doctor would say. But he doesn't care that 's not why he's there. He's there to get his drugs, they ease the pain. They calm his nerves and take away the rain. "Be sure to take care," the doctor would say. &quo

I was just thinking of thin lines. Like the lines we walk to stay sane at times and the lines that are crossed to make us go 0-100 real quick. I wrote this about a relationship I was in and it sounded better from the females perspective, so I tried to write it as a female. Thin Line He swore to me that we were friends he swore no matter what he'd be there in the end But he lied to me and that not fair he wasn't my friend, he was my worse nightmare. The line between foe and friend  has never been drawn so thin. Unless you're in the relationship I'm in. He swore to me that we were in love he swore that I was all he thought of. But he lied to me and left me alone and with someone else he made his home. The line between love and hate; has never been drawn so thin. Unless you're in, the relationship I'm in.

I was listening to Ne-Yo unfaithful and being that the situation before, well, I just felt it was time for the man to speak about the... Cycle of Love As long as she's happy, I think, as she gets ready. When she walks out the door my heart gets heavy. She tells me she'll be back; that she's going out with friends. But I've followed her before, I know all about the other men. I just don't know why, what could it be? Am I not giving it to her good enough? Is she replacing me? I give her everything but she still goes astray. I'm afraid to comfront her about it because she might run away. So, I sit back and watch her change and I know it's a shame. The way I cover her tracks and act like I don't hear her call his name. I know I'm a good man and any woman would be happy with a man like me But something is making me stay when I know I should leave. She comes back in the morning around three  and I guess I'm happy she

Not for the first time I've felt like I am nothing to the people that I should mean the most to. Nonchalance is the only word I could use to describe it. I mean, yeah when I am there and when I on good terms with someone it's all gravy. When there is a problem or something that they did, instead of admitting that they hurt me or did anything wrong, they just don't. It's left as something that I have to get over, though when I hurt someone I apologize and try to move on. Thinking back, that's how the vast majority of people in my life treat me. They love me, but they can do without me. When I'm sad, when I'm hurt, it's easier to imagine me smiling than depressed and sad. And when they ask about me, well... Isn't he Great? Awe, look at him... He struggles to fit in, his outlook on life is grim. He fights to be his own man because when they see him they see his dad. He doesn't like who his is turning out to be, inside he is an

Today I realized that I do a lot and mostly all of the stuff I do on a daily isn't for me. Then I started thinking about those kids and people who have to do things they shouldn't have to. But they do. I've been homeless and hungry before. Does that justify me stealing? What if it was food I was stealing? It really didn't matter. I knew that it wasn't cool, but I did it. So, I thought about other kids and what they do and need to do in order to live. The things I Have 2 I have to drop out of school, so I can take care of home. We're really starting to struggle, now that my father's gone. My mother is very sick, so I have to do this alone. But I do the things that I have to do, now that I'm full grown. The jobs I do are very strange, I guess you can say bizarre. I go out with these men; no clients, that's what they are. They pay me for my services, better yet my time. All I do is sit there and let them speak their minds. I charge them by

I am #selfdestructive... Rain Rain, rain, go away come back another day. If you don't, I'm afraid, I will take my life away... I am the house built on sand strategically placed by God's hand. I beg and I plead against what I know must be. I worry about the first drop and what it will do. My next concern is the second drop which comes through. I try not to think about how the wind will help. I'm more concerned about what I'll do to myself. Rain, rain, go away come again another day. If you don't, I'm afraid  I will take my life away... I am the house built on sand strategically placed by God's hand. I pray and I plead but I feel it all inside I'm drowning, I won't survive the fall. Before the rain takes my foundation and the wind blows me into the sea, it'll start from withing, I'll begin crumbling. I could survive the fall but I collapse upon myself. I am my own worse enemy no on

Maybe it's being a second child, idk. But there are times when I feel like I am invisible. There are times when I feel like I am sitting in a room full of people and all eyes are on me, but, no one sees me. I sometimes feel that even in my own life I am just a supporting actor. And really, I should be bothered by it, but I'm not. I am okay with it. That's why I wrote Invisible to explore the way I really felt.  Invisible... The simplicity of my words are never heard. The beautiful things I've said will never be read. I open my mouth, and nothing comes out and, I am contempt with this, being an empty canvass. I feel I've been writing with disappearing ink, creating no record of what I think. I am never seen because I am never heard. I am invisible and so are my words. I am invisible because I don't look the part, beauty in cased withing a frozen heart. Words and beauty fade away with age, leaving behind an empty canvass; a bl