Objects in the Mirror Are Right Next to the Rotisserie Chicken

“The Awakening of A Woman: Burnout."
~Cinematic Orchestra. Get you some.

It’s the perfect song for this blog. The perfect Segway for yesterday.

Me, my sister and my niece all went to our favorite store in the world, Fresh  Thyme. I’m not sure how many are in the city, but I know of three: two on 82^nd/86^th street and one in Greenwood. I’m NEVER in Greenwood so needless to say that’s the only one (of the ones I know about) that I haven’t been to. …until yesterday. I had actually forgotten that there was a FT out in Greenwood. For whatever reason, life perhaps, my sister wanted to go to that one. Even if she had have told me that’s the one we were going to, she would have received no opposition. For what? I LOVE Fresh Thyme!! We got there and the store was HUGE. It was the bigger of the ones I’ve seen.  We went in and that’s where things get concerning……...

I filled my cart up with stuff and as I walked past the fruit one last time, I noticed a man with his back turned to me, standing over the organic oranges. Maybe he was standing over the lemons. Honestly, I was looking at his arms. I’m an arm gal. I’ve said that. I didn’t know what his face looked like so in a sense, I was letting my MALE side out (wait – is MALE an offensive term now??? I’m so confused in this new world) for a little time to play in the field of objectifying. I stared at the back side of his arms and thought ‘does he work here’ ? I've never seen any beefcakes working at Fresh Thyme but things change. I didn't think anything else about it. It really was an unconscious situation. 

Only moments later, I saw him again. But this time, he saw me as well. Where ever in the store we were passing each other, we were facing each other. We locked eyes. I wonder how there was time to ever even think “OH He’s cute!!!-…

.....before that thought could finish itself (a tenth of a second seriously), I recognized him and thought he too recognized me.

We broke the simple stare quick and I didn’t know what to do. The inside of my mind must have looked like a computer mash up of algorithm & information.

The very next thought, this one lasting, was OMG THAT’S #MuseWeasel!!! The original muse of this blog.

I didn’t know what direction he went in but I was so positive that it was MuseWeasel that instantly, I almost walked out.

No, you don’t get it: I almost ABANDONED my groceries, left my sister and niece, at my favorite grocery store mind you, and went to my sister’s car to stand in the sun cause Lord knows I didn’t have keys.  The urge to leave came as if I had no right to be there. But then I said NO!! He can’t have my fucking store!!!!!!! He can’t run me out of my store !!!!!  What if it’s not even him? Here’s a thought I never had: What would HE do (MuseWeasel) if he saw me?

Before I go further let me say this: I don’t care. I’ve never thought that far because I don’t care. I would assume he would act like he doesn’t know me because it’s the safest thing to do. But I honestly don’t know. And since I don’t know, this only made me more secure in the fact that it was him. I felt his arrogance. I felt his insecurities. And I felt the rabbit hole of his dimples….it was him.  I felt an unexplainable fear coat me like a trench and my emotions were in a frenzy. 

I ended up in a standstill next to the rotisserie chicken and across from the coffee. I couldn’t move once I got there. The basket stopped and my feet locked up. I looked and saw my sister and niece a little ways away from me, eating chicken salad samples. I started to walk over to them but I was stuck. My heart started beating really fast and this crooked, confused smile fell over my face and wouldn’t let up. I fought it because I couldn’t understand what I would smile for? Was I happy to see this muthafucka? BITCHPLEASE!! is what I heard in my head in response. #Facts

It wasn’t a smile really. It was just a loss of comfort taking over. Facial expressions not knwoing what to do. A temporary loss of control of muscle spasms. Call it a terrified smile. So many thoughts happened. In all the years I’ve dated and loved and lost, I’ve never been in a position like such. I mean, of course I’ve run into ex’s before, but this isn’t my Ex. Everything that existed between us was made up and created by me and my poems...He’s just an X.  .. And before, I was younger and still full of oats to sew and a mild stripper mentality. Getting over niggas was a strong suit. Now is different. This is someone that I have prayed to NEVER cross with again. Not even at a traffic light. He’s a Kroger nigga living in a Barbie world, so I couldn’t see him being all the way out in GREENWOOD, at Fresh Thyme. But I was all the way out in Greenwood too.  And Fresh  Thyme is a great store. His girl has kids….i’m sure she’s heard of it. oh.Shit.Is.She.Here.Too.?????

How to leave? 

How to confirm? 

What to do? !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

??????????

  ………….!!!!!!!!!!!!!! //////////////………… #(*&$(@&%(*Y$(%&(&$*#($

I tried to sneak a couple more looks at him to confirm or deny while I stood there in my panic. I peeped his arms but this time I wasn’t looking in a grocery store lust. I was looking for identifying markers. I needed to confirm reality so I could process what to do. There was a problem tho: I couldn’t remember #MuseWeasels arms. I’ve placed him in a box that no longer exists, not even in my repressed files. I couldn’t recall if he had tattoos and even as I type this, I still don’t remember. All I remember is that frat brand on his arm. I remember it because I used to trace it with my fingertips. I searched briefly in quick stints for that branding on the guy in the store’s arm but was too scared to look at him long enough to actually survey and locate. Then, I couldn’t remember what arm the branding was on, in the event it was who I thought it to be. I didn’t stare too long on my own. I was still stuck, still standing, or maybe hiding, next to the rotisserie carousal with my heart beating out of my chest. I feared he would feel my eyes and look at me again and I would know it was him and then wouldn’t know what to do. I kept standing there, looking over my shoulder. Like LITERALLY looking over my shoulder and trying to side-eye my way into his whereabouts. I mean, it was Greenwood. Black people were few and far between so it wasn’t hard. 

I stood there for at least ten minutes. I couldn’t remember if I was done shopping. I hadn’t decided to leave or stay. I was just stuck. My sister walked up by this time and in a panic, I let her know that SOMETHING was going on but I didn’t say what. I tried but I couldn’t decide if i should say “I just saw #MuseWeasel or ‘I thought that guy over there was #museweasel’.  Since I wasn’t sure that he wasn’t him, I just said ‘we just gotta stand here for a minute’.

 I appreciate having a sister. All she said was “ok’’.  

She didn’t ask for details or anything. Just ‘ok.’  Some of my panic toned down in that instant. Since I didn’t want to say what was going through my head until I knew right from wrong, I just started talking, about what I don’t know. Seeing as though we were right there next to the rotisserie chicken, it was only natural that we started surveying the options. By this time, I had asked my sister to locate the guy but didn’t tell her why. As we circled and studied which chicken breast looked the best, he started heading our way. My sis told me ‘here he comes, look that way’….it was really childish perhaps in the grand scheme of things. We were like little high school girls looking at a crush. Thing was, if he wasn’t who I thought him to be then I was really displaying childlike behavior.  And if he was, then I just showed him that he is STILL able to penetrate me. Oh vey, #SoulTies.

But I didn’t have time to care about that. He was right in front of us, at the effin coffee. My feet started to unglue themselves from the store floor out of necessity.

 I couldn’t stand there. I tried to recall if he drank coffee. I couldn’t remember.

I looked at his legs, searching for those pronounced calf muscles. I couldn’t remember anything significant about #MuseWeasel except the change in my life he brought. 

This man’s legs were a little skinnier near the calf but not enough to convince me. 

I went back and forth mentally, toggling between it IS him and it’s NOT him. 

I couldn’t figure it out and truth was I was more convinced that it was him. And not because I wanted it to be. But because reality bites and you can block people from social media, but life is everywhere you are. LIFE is EVERYWHERE you are. And you are not the controller.

To shorten a situation that must have lasted for 15 minutes, there was at least one more time that we caught eyes again. And again, I thought it was #MuseWeasel. I had managed to avoid this potential day for the last two years. I have not seen so much as a peek of that nigga’s car since November 2013. I didn’t want to get caught looking at him because if it was indeed #MuseWeasel, THEN WHAT???!!!! Like for real, then what? Do I leave the store once I’ve confirmed his identity? I KNOW I don’t speak. I would never speak to him again and maybe that makes me petty but I know for a fact that if I saw him (I know even more now) that while HELL might be available if necessary, it wouldn’t necessarily be a hellO.

I had finally started walking. I gave the green light and me and my sister and niece took off walking to the register. As we walked and got in the line (I told her I was done shopping as soon as my feet were unglued), I told her who I thought it was. I asked her to see if he had a branding on his arm seeing as though, in this big ass Fresh Thyme all the way out in Greenwood, he was still close by. She didn’t see one. I thought again that it wasn’t him afterall.

 Then I suddenly had the most ignoratchet of urges: I started to go talk to him !!!!!! I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me besides being a glutton of heart punishment but um, I really did start to go talk to him and spark conversation. FOR WHAT KENDRIA??!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! AND THEN WHAT???

EVEN IF HE WAS INTERESTED, HE WAS A FUCKING DOPPLEGANGER FOR THE NIGGA THAT CRIPPLED ME FOR OVER A YEAR !!!! So what would be the point in sparking a coffee in the morning conversation with #MuseWeasel's apparent twin? That thought came expediently thank you God.

I mumbled a FuckTheseNiggas and walked quickly out the store without looking back.

And just like that, we left.  As we sat in the car getting ready to back out of the parking space, I saw him leave. I wasn’t able to see what car he got in to leave so truthfully, it could have been him. I don't THINK it was. But I was mortified by how closely he resembled ....  they could have been twins. It wasn’t a case of me seeing someone’s face on someone else like in the movies. Nah. This was like me and  Zora Neale Hurston in some of her pictures. They resembled, at least to me, so closely that I got stuck in the grocery store, right next to the rotisserie chicken and couldn’t move my feet.

A near panic attack. If I had have been alone, it probably would have gone all the way in. Or, I would have left. Or both. Both are definitely an option.

The funny part is how little to not at all that I think of him. The days of me fearing ending up in the same space and same time as him have long passed and I’ve replaced him with newer, fresher mistakes, mishaps and even a GED.  This day was a page from a book that doesn’t even rest on the shelves anymore. It scared me. When I was standing there, stuck and by myself, I thought of how much this signifies it’s time for me to go.

Indianapolis is small. VERY small. It’s been nothing short of a Wool-Haired God and lucky wabbit footz that I don’t see that dude anywhere. Between the poetry shows and fashion shows and just random places and spaces, it’s surprising that we never saw each other again. And I’m glad. I can say that it didn’t pull up undiscovered or hidden emotions and feelings about him. I really have let all that anger and hurt go. Or at least I thought. I don’t think this moment in time means I am still harboring feelings. I’m not.

Did I love him? Shit, maybe…..

 if I did, do I still? Shit, nahtrilly.

If I didn’t love him and don’t  now, was it just infatuation ? Shit, maybe….. I don’t have these answers. I don’t want these answers or care. Where he is concerned in my heart and mind, there is nothing more than blank space. This person never comes to mind anymore unless I’m blogging. Yesterday brought him beyond my stopping point; or right up to it.

Yesterday scared me.

That unexplainable feeling of impending doom and fear that people have when they are having a panic attack is the best way I could describe it. I’m caged here. I’m fully caged here and my wings are too big for this canary living space. I’m a whole Golden Eagle. I want out of Indianapolis. But it’s not just as simple as me wanting out. I’ve begun to feel PUSHED out. Maybe by God. The universe. Destiny. Life. Maybe it’s just time for action on my part of leaving.  I was ALL THE WAY OUT IN GREENWOOD yo. I live in ‘midtown’. I live in the hood. I’m a full 30 minute highway drive from Greenwood. And he lives EAST !!!! 

.....I went all the way to Greenwood to get stuck trying to tame a panic attack right next to the damned rotisserie chicken.  I can’t wait for the day Indiana is a memory. It will be a beautiful one. I’ve turned into a whole woman here. I’ve learned how to spit poetry here. I’ve found love in hopeful places and family in friendships. But Indy is my cage.

Indy is my cage.

Yesterday ……Indy showed itself just how much of 'my cage' it really is. And I stood still, right next to the rotisserie chicken, trying to break free from the pause button. The mirror has it right. 

Objects are closer than they appear. I took this picture shortly before we went to the store.  I tried to make this much shorter. #Splat. 

"You did not break me 
I"m still fighting for peace 

"Well i've got thick skin
and an elastic heart
But your blade, it might be too sharp
i'm like a rubberband until you pull too hard
i may snap and i may pull
you won't see me fall apart
i've got an elastic heart" ~Sia, Elastic Heart

 (I wasn't actually playing this. But it's befitting. I was playing Stankonia. Let that marinate). 

WOMAN: Open.Close.Kneel.Stand.

“I used to be stuck”

I am stuck. Not a permanent thing, but have gotten my feet caught in the quicksand in a time when I thought I was ice skating through these mean streets.

I’m not ice skating at all. In fact, I might be just getting by some times. * shrug*

This morning, I woke up with Cruising in my head. I really can’t wait to see what blog happens against the beat of that song. It was one of the other main motivating forces for me doing this series. I caught myself engulfed in the lyrics and realized that it was so similar to my last experience, word wise. Hearing the lyrics made me think that I wasn’t necessarily in the wrong for how I felt (maybe the way I played it out). Once again I caught up in the thought that my way of thinking and feeling is abnormal when in reality it’s not. Cruising’s lyrical content seemed ‘refreshing’ in the sense of bringing me back to the Light of truth. But that’s not the song for today.

The song is Say Thank You.

It’s one of the other main motivators.

“You keep ignoring the signs

Listening to it happened to me again songs

And putting your alarm on

SLEEP

Inviting new dumb shit”

…..OH!

Let’s back up a few lines and then add to it:

“I used to be stuck, how about you

Inside a lie

That you know ain’t near the absolute truth

Feel it all in your membranes and deep in your tissue

But you keep ignoring the signs

Listening to it happened me again songs

And putting your alarm on

SLEEP

Inviting new dumb shit

And more loss of peacefulness

Everybody, everybody can use a little help sometimes

Come on, you know things ain’t moving right

Ask for correction

Ask for direction

Ask for protection

Since you want to feel like you’re you inside-

Say thank you.

There that is.

This is what it looks like to be called out in a song with a ridiculously drunken melody that begs your attention before the lyrics do. I was driving, on my way home from work when the lyrics caught me at my neck and strangled me until my eyes bulged into my telephone, searching Google for the lyrics to fact check what I thought I heard. Did she really just sing those damned lyrics or nah? I know sometimes you will think you’ve heard one set of lyrics and it turns out they are saying something completely different.

“You keep ignoring the signs/

Listening to it happened to me again songs/And putting your alarm on/SLEEP/Inviting new dumb shit”

I heard correctly....the more I listened the more I saw every photoshoot I've done creep past my eyes like I'm the woman before the mask. How the same person in the pictures is the woman who either allows to much, jumps too soon or runs too fast is fascinating to me.This part of the song jolted me straight forward in my truckie seat!! It was me. I poured out of my speakers in a liquefied melody that filled up my ears in an absolute refusal to be ignored. I rewound the song and matched the lyrics with it as soon as I found a red light to stop at. I admitted to myself in a blank stare at a red light that Jill Scott was indeed very vividly and directly talking to me. In this solo excursion to my home, I think my face turned red.

Oh vey, this embarrassment. I’m so fucking tired of typing that word. Or am I? Why do I keep embarrassing myself? Who am I embarrassed to? For? Why? Did I think Jill Scott saw me naked, standing in a pool of poetry breaks and blog tracks? It surely felt like she did. It felt like a passive aggressive close friend that sang my life in a show and tell performance. “You keep ignoring the signs/

Listening to it happened to me again songs/And putting your alarm on/SLEEP/Inviting new dumb shit/and more loss of peacefulness”: I don’t know how long I can do this.  This collection of lines strung me up like wet laundry because it’s so me. It’s so exactly what I’ve been ‘embarrassed’ about. It is the sorcery I have continuously allowed to control my actions in relation to men. In one of the previous blogs, I talked about losing my confidence when I start talking to a new person. I’d like to liken that to “putting your alarm on’. That’s when I go to sleep and all the ‘new dumb shit’ enters the room. If only it were ‘new’ most of the time. It’s the same dumb shit that I’ve pointed out in the past. It’s the same dumb shit that I promise myself in poems, blogs and pep talks in front of private mirrors will never happen again. It’s the same dumb shit that I feel safe from when I’m in the company of friends and family, dogs and selfie sticks. It’s the same dumb shit….just a new name. To the spoils go the non-victor.

They say love is blind but desire is a darkroom where pictures get developed without sight. When the lights come back on and you see what you’ve created, the double exposure is the stuff ‘loss of peacefulness’ is cut from. Oh how I have lost all sense of peace after wrongfully canoodling with someone too soon. Gun jumping too close to the start line. The first thing I do is change my music. Run either to the arms of hardcore rap that doesn’t make me think too hard or the total opposite; melancholy ‘shit is fucked up’ type songs that make me exorcise the tears away. “Listening to it happened to me again songs”.  I do that shit well!!! And I will sit there and let the lyrics take me to the face I am trying to block out of my memory and in his face, I will cry because….songs. Because…..it happened to me again. ….because, I AM MY OWN MUSE.

This is why there really haven’t been any new blog entries of past relationships. Currently, I am my own muse. I am my own park, my own ride. I am the controller and the player and right now, I’m playing to lose. I play to win in every other aspect of my life. I compete with myself with every poetry show I participate in. I try to make the next as good as the last. I continue to confront the blistering fear that comes over me when I know folks are intently watching me walk in heels to show off a dress and serve face at the same time. I strive to keep my home afloat and full of two happy, spoiled dogs. I am selective on my friendship energy and who gets it, why and how. I mean, everywhere else I am a beast master of my own destiny. But men…..when men enter the game, I become the muse of these lyrics falling out of Jill Scott’s singing voice. I am the guitar solo in the song. I checked and it turns out she wrote this song with only one other person and although his name is credited on the liner notes, I can’t help but wonder am I the mental doppelganger that helped write such a brutally honest, self-awareness checking song. Its crazy how close this song is to my current state of things and how I’ve operated in the past, as seen in this blog.

“I used to be stuck”

And apparently, still am. In a ravine, rafting around on a boat that doesn’t fit me AND my luggage, plus two dogs and a bunch of shoes. I stopped buying shoes so I can move. I digress tho as that was unrelated information.

“Inviting new dumb shit”…… actually it wasn’t unrelated…I started to see how dumb it was for me to keep buying shoes….some of which fit perfect, others not so much, some too tall for everyday and others just too artistic. I want to leave. MOVE. Get out of the Midwest. Every pair of shoes is another day in Indianapolis beyond the deadline I set. Not to say I won’t buy another pair at some point…I’m sure I will. But I will also be conscious as to what I am sacrificing to put something on my feet for a short amount of time. I love heels a lot, but I’m in flats most times these days. I need to be closer to the ground that I’m trying to get off of. It seemed as though continuing to buy shoes would be me ‘inviting new dumb shit’ into my life. So how come this concept doesn't leap over into my love life or what’s left of it ? Why can't I  identify ‘dumb shit’ when it comes into my presence?  Or better yet, why don't I? 

“Everybody could use a little help sometimes

Come on

You know things ain’t moving right

Ask for correction

Ask for direction

Ask for protection”

I need to write that down somewhere. “because you know your request is filled/you will see/so act accordingly/live like you believe/and say thank you”  <<<along with that too….I need to remember that in my prayers, I want to ask God to correct, direct and protect me. I NEED those things and I need them from no one but God. I want to be ok. It’s to the point of tears because other than not enough God, I can't understand why I am NOT ok yet. And as long as I am NOT ok, I can't date anyone because I will do the same shit. Again. "Stuck/inside a lie/that you know ain't nearly absolute truth/". I can’t understand this part of my life and as much as I don’t want to try anymore, I have to do something. I have to make it right with myself. I have to not neglect myself and treat these low budget ass niggas like they are some suicide door Bentley that’s coming to take me to California. (Cali …could you imagine me in Cali?). They some suicide doors alright, but definitely not a Bentley. I want this period of being ‘stuck’ to be a thing of the past. I want out of the ‘lie that ain’t nearly absolute truth’. I want to stop ignoring myself, the signs and I want to cut out the song switches. I want my alarm to not be what keeps me sleep; I’d rather be sleep from sleeping with a King. Instead, I’m napping on a king and suffering random bouts of insomnia. I know right from wrong. Good from bad. Poor choices from rich ones.

Hell….I know energy. But what I know VS. what I crave gets misconstrued when I hit the AMuseMENtPaRk.  I don’t want it no more. I refuse it.

 I love this song. I didn’t mean for this blog to be that long and maybe folks won’t read it but maybe I don’t even care. All I know is this song is gonna take me away from these lyrics by the time I finish listening to it. And it all starts with God. This is a deeply spiritual song and I hope others catch God in it the way I have. I’m done losing my peace. I’m done with my invitations. My fool’s gold mining. All I want is the me that I am ALL other times to be the me I am when in the presence of a man. That ME knows what she should do, how she should do it and why. She knows about the pursuit of man to woman. She knows way better than her recent actions have shown. She can’t be embarrassed again. Or anymore. It’s not fair. It’s definitely not fair.

But its life I guess. Here’s another chance to get it right.  There’s this part of the song that is my favorite. The guitar has a solo that crushes the competition! But Jill’s voice comes out of nowhere with the answer. This part of the song makes me very aware of praying and the power of God and whether or not I have humbled myself to Him, despite how often I pray. I have humbled myself to the arms of many men.

But hardly God.
Here’s another chance to get it right. 

“Open. Close.

Kneel. Stand.

Hands ….in the air. Head down.

Knees on the ground.

In a silent whisper.

Out loud.

Somebody say thank you.”

messages.

Lyric Break - For the lyrics that speak my life

I'm sorry

 if I

 seem uninterested
Oh I'm not 

listenin',

 oh I'm in-different
Truly I ain't got no business here
But since my friends are here, I just came to kick it
But really I would rather be at home all by myself
Not in this room with people who don't even

 care about my well being
I don't dance,

 don't ask,

 I don't need a boyfriend
So you can,

 go back,

 please enjoy your party

I'll be here, 

somewhere in the corner
Under clouds of marijuana with this boy who's hollerin'
And I can hardly hear

Over this music I don't listen to
And I don't wanna get with you
So tell my friends that I'll be over here

Oh oh oh here, 

oh oh oh here
Oh oh oh I asked myself, what am I doin' here?
Oh oh oh here, oh oh oh here

And I can't wait 'til we can break up out of here

Excuse me

 if I seem

 a little unimpressed with this
An antisocial pessimist, 

but usually I don't mess with this
And I know 

you mean

 only the best and your
Intentions aren't to bother me, but honestly I'd rather be
Somewhere with my people, we can kick it and just listen to
Some music with a message,

 (like we usually do)
And we'll discuss our big dreams,

 how we plan, 

to take over the planet
So pardon

 my manners,

 I hope you'll understand that I'll be here (ooh)
Not there in the kitchen
With the girl who's always gossipin' about her friends
Oh tell them I'll be here
(Ooh) right next to the boy who's throwin' up
'Cause he can't take what's in his cup no more

Oh God why am I here?

Oh oh oh here, 

oh oh oh here
Oh oh oh I asked myself, what am I doin' here?

Oh oh oh here, oh oh oh here

And I can't wait 'til we can break up out of here

Hours later congregatin' next to the refrigerator
Some girl's talkin' 'bout a hater, 

she ain't got none
How did it ever come to this? I should've never come to this
So holla at me, I'll be in the car when you're done
I'm stand-offish,

 don't want what you're offerin'
And I'm done talkin',

 awfully

sad it had to be that way
So tell my people when they're ready that I'm ready
And I'm standin' by the TV with my beanie low
Yo I'll be over here

Oh oh oh here,

 oh oh oh here
Oh oh oh I asked myself, what am I doin' here?
Oh oh oh here, 

oh oh oh here

And I can't wait 'til we can break up out of here (oh oh, oh oh)

Here, Alessia Cara. 

WOMAN: Wild Cookie Inspired: BFDs

The first track on WOMAN is a poem spoken by Jill Scott over a kickback melody about the Wild Cookie AKA the vagina. 
The coochie. 
The monkey. 
Snatch. 
Pussy. 
Down Below.
Down there. 
Cheetah Surprise (I just made that up). 

It's got a lot of names but rarely do we ever hear a song (or poem) talking directly to and about that horny little creature of nature that will control your relationships if you don't control it first. When I started listening to Wild Cookie after returning from Ohio, that's where the embarrassement came in. Imagine if I heard (or LISTENED to) it before I arrived in Cincinnati to end a great beginning. I mean, if everything happens for a reason, then technically I needed to see him and subsequently fuck up in order to appreciate Wild Cookie for the lyrics it possesses. 

Wild Cookie. 
Smh. .....It's not like I've been out here passing out the wild cookie because I haven't. But this time, this pass, this End Deal really did me in. The dick was good. It was. I won't act like I ain't want it because I totally 100% DID. But I wanted my cake and eat it too. I wanted the man and the dick. The start and not the finisher. And all I ended up with was a fist full of broken rocks. I can't ever do that again. 

I don't have it in me. 
I don't have anything left to dish out except the woman I am. I don't have anything left in ME to hurt myself with, yet I know that if given a chance to, I will hurt myself again through another person. It's like being a cutter. 

My Wild Cookie is the cutter and I keep slicing lines across my skin, trying to break it open and relieve the fear of all things with a temporary feel good fix that won't last long enough for me to remember I was pain free. Wild Cookie.

This is what the song Wild Cookie is about. Not letting your pussy get the best of you and control your life. Not being strung out on dick. Or thinking that a dick is the key to the heart. I admit, I don't know the quickest way to a man's heart (it's not his stomach), but I do know the easiest way to take it off the table is letting him get that Wild Cookie before it's time. 

Yesterday, 
to the thoughts of Wild Cookie, I write my newest poem. I don't hardly write poetry as often as I used to and definitely not as effortlessly. But yesterday, in the new sitting area of my bedroom, I penned my version of Wild Cookie, as seen by my eyes but felt by Jill Scott's words first: 

BFDs

Fucking you would be a disservice to us both

And we both know better

Or at least, we SHOULD know better

Fucking you,

Would lead to unexpected expectations

Call …waiting

Waiting to call

To text

To see what’s next, what’s left after the smoke of moan signals and soul mixing disintegrates into the air,

I would lose control

I admit to that

Fucking you ain’t gonna be no kick back, I might start to over think some shit and come up with sudden questions,

See I’m safe guarded and fucking you is gonna rattle my alarm system

I need to know where your head’s at and I don’t mean the flick of you tongue, I need to get head sprung off the genuine in you like an LL Cool J for januarie song

Us

I need to know about what us, what is us, what are we doing, these shouldn’t even be questions because I need a man old enough to know how to act in his confessions to the truth about everything,

Fucking you is just going to confuse these,

End these things

Chase is over our flames like water pouring rain on our campfire … dammit I learned from the last time,

I said, dammit I learned from the last time,

Fucked up some good shit for the last time by fucking a nigga the last time, turning a man into a dick, bruised his scorpion ego a lil bit,

A miles apart Richard

And now I keep picturing how a beautiful start turned into a Jekyll and Hyde ending

Because he’s still jekyling around in me, hiding

He deposited petty cash of his memory on my stomach

Hashtag Soul ties

It will be another six months before I’ve finished excreting our physical compensation for the work we put in

And I’ve already been forgotten by him, brushed off by him and flushed off by him…

I’ve started praying anytime my mind can’t refrain from replaying the top ten mistakes I made,

I can’t lay in another bed like this, because I made this shit and now I must cuddle up with this King and love it…

A solo mattress affair

Party of one, a mere three weeks ago I was laid up in arms I thought tasted like protection

The irony of his black out curtains and the fact that all I remember is his orgasm and not mine

Damn you Ciroc and bad decisions … .BFDs. Bad Fucking Decisions.

Fucking you would be a BFD to us both,

An insult to our potential and an assault on our time clocks,

We are dying with each breath we take and I’d rather not take big heaping ones from the entry of your penis before your penetrated my life

In general…no more wasted time….make me know I’m not an option on a cross contaminated plate,

Rather I am the muse of every slow song on the radio during our car rides, it is my face, riding the tip of your erected anticipations,

I am the liaison, the reason you take selfies in the mirror at the gym,

I’m the like, the love, the one, the right, the up, the guide, the blind in your sight and the sight in your blind,

Fucking you would be a disservice to every place our minds could go to complete each other’s unstructured sentences,

I can be your subject

And you can be my predicate

And we can plant kisses on paper as if we the ink in words

Like we the definition in words

Like we words….the creation of words, the calling out of random words,

Do rae me fa so la ti do jahraymecofasola, jill scott,

When we can make love like we complimentary words of each other, neo soul song loving, love jones ending – new beginning, learning and loving each other like we sinning with perfect strikes

Adverbs and actions and shit,

Matter a fact, you don’t even have to want that shit,

Just step out of the way of the man who does ….

Cause that’s the one I want to keep close

I don’t want your ignored calls

Or my confused feelings

And that’s why fucking you would be a disservice to us both.

~januarie York  

WOMAN: Expect(ed)Growth Serum

Jill Scott

WOMAN

Starting 8.23.2015

I started listening to this album in lyric form (meaning no longer just ‘jamming to the groove of the infectious JS and anything she sings) while cleaning up over the weekend. The irony of this album is how little I played it, but played it nonetheless, on the way to Cincinnati to meet a special someone. The songs and lyrics resonate unexpectedly well. As I took in different lyrics, I found myself wondering about the wonderfilled world of Ms. Jill Scott. She is only a handful of years older than me; is it possible that these feelings she is singing about were recent emotions? I haven’t read the full liner notes, so I am not currently aware of which songs she wrote, but I think I will research this information. Could Jill Scott REALLY have found herself experiencing some of the same shit that spawns from foolish actions while in pursuit of love…just like me? The lyrics stacked on top of each other and began telling her story in my eyes and my life. I started listening more intently.

From the beginning of the album until the end of the second bonus track, I have let this CD repeat and play and strum my pain with the delicate fingers of the soulful JS. I had a thought. Maybe I shouldn’t just let this be a good cd! Light of the Sun (Scott’s last release in 2011) was a good CD. There were several songs I LOVED from that release, but the album didn’t ‘resonate’ with me in nearly the same manner as the predecessor ‘The Real Thing: Words & Sounds’. For me, it was one of those ‘it’s got some good stuff but I love it more because I am a fan’ albums. This new body of work, WOMAN, is not that. WOMAN eats me alive and spits me back out in the mirror to look at my digested self. In listening to and learning the words that I am singing along with, I can’t help but face these lyrics on myself. It’s too close to home. It lessened the sting I’ve been feeling; like along came a bumble bee and stung me in my eyes. I’ve been embarrassed with myself. My most recent blog almost became a ‘draft’ and disappeared. The oldest readers know I will deactivate any blog at any moment that I feel like I’ve gone too far and too vulnerable. But I left it up because it was my truth. It was a PMS-laced emotional rant but it was MY rant and MY truth in that moment. So I left it to be. But I’ve been embarrassed at many aspects of this last scary-go-clown ride. 
I mean....i'm too old. I should know better. I DO know better and this blog is proof of what I know.....but i looooooove me some La Douleur Exquise to the fullest extent I guess.......

Actually, embarrassed is a simple word for a multitude of conflicting emotions from ‘dammit kendria’ to ‘fuck that nigga’ to ‘I can’t trust myself’. Of course I’ve thought of a 101 different things to have done differently and even more things to have said. But hindsight is for after thoughts. I’m so much better when I have time to think.

It's the same with music..... 

I take in lyrics differently when I have time to absorb them. As I listened and cleaned and danced around, I felt Jill’s voice take me into orbit with the ghost of love’s past plus the woman of the present. I started reflecting and evaluating myself with some of the songs and noticed my parallels and missteps; not with just the last encounter, but in general.

INCOMING EPIPHANY: I dumb myself down when in an affect mood. I am a confident woman when I am single; when I am being pursued (or when I have foolishly pursued), that confidence goes out the window. Some of the songs on this album brought that to light for me. I"m sure I've said this in so many words in previous blogs, but it never presented itself to me as lack of confidence. I don't know what I've ever thought it to be other than lack of confidence. I mean, I always feel confident. I AM confident....until I become involved in 'like'.

Something happens then. Idk why but suddenly, I don't feel as confident (but this is a subconscious thought). I don't trust my questions (I will think they are stupid), I don't carry the conversations well (I don't like my voice), I put my passions in the mouse hole and quiet them because why would he need to know anything beyond the facts. Yes I write. The end. Yes I model sometimes. The End. Yes I am a blogger for the oldest running black newspaper in the country. So what. I accept that men aren't interested in that part of me when in reality, if a man is NOT interested in these amazing accomplisments, then he isn't interested in ME. This IS me. I AM a writer, an artist, a model, a blogger, an events planner. I literally call my life into existence and so it becomes....I have an amazing amount of power in my hands yet when I start dating around, I subconsciously think and behave as if none of this is my truth. As if I can't read and am strung out on meth, therefore I should be GLAD to get anyone's attention. I can honestly say, I've met no one interested in my artistic side unless I was kicking it with another artist, who if I recall right, the artist(s) that I have spent time with were still uninterested in ME as an artist or writer; they love talking about themselves. #YeahISaidIt But for what I can recall, no one I have met, dated, fucked, kicked it with, talked to or otherwise communicated with was interested in januarie York. And so, I pretend that this is ok. A great deal of my confidence comes from januarie tho. SHE knows. SHE is the smart one. The QUEEN. The Royal. The empress. I'm still trying to catch up with her or so it seems. Idk how this could be when we are one in the same body and mind. o.O  But it's her that gives me such life and reminders of all the great possibilities of me, my goals and my hopes for the future. But when she fails to generate an interest, I seemingly ask her to step aside and let the insecure me take over. And then, nothing happens except a bomb blowing up in my face like a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

I can't believe that I've never really paid attention to how my confidence in myself as an interesting woman capable of holding a King's attention makes a mad dash towards the  Get Behind Me Satan line. It virtually disappears. This disappearance creates a rift within me that communicates to my brain that I NEED to do something 'impressive'. I need to say something impressive or dance a jig. Something about me says "I AM NOT enough" once I get involved with someone.

So I’ve decided to use this album to elevate me. Recently, I’ve been trying to think of ways to help elevate me as a black woman overall. I’ve tried to think of powerful black women with relatable testimonies to research and read. I’ve wondered how could I get closer to God, FOR REAL. Who could I listen to? What am I doing actively that is preventing my elevation? How can I get to the next step? With as few mistakes as possible?

As I was listening to WOMAN, some of these questions were answered. At least as ONE option. One of my instant favorite songs on the album is this track called ‘Say Thank You’. The beat is SICK. Just SICK!!!!! When I started taking in the lyrics, I realized it’s actually a spiritual song. I was sweeping the floors when the thought of ‘secular’ music came to mind and whether or not I can hear, see or find God in places that it is suggested I stay away from. How dare I spiritually jam and connect with God on a song by Jill Scott? But I did. The lyrics opened up some type of awareness in me. Am I on my knees? Are my hands together? Is my head to the clouds? Do I say thank you more than I say help me? So many questions from sweeping the hardwood floors and listening to Jill Scott. But this helped solidify this blog series. This reaction happened every time I listened to it after I started taking in the lyrics.

I want to go listen now.

So I will wrap this introduction up. I would like to welcome you to a series within #AMuseD….WOMAN is an album about being a woman (duh), growth, love, self respect, God and faith. In order to meet this alleged person that is somewhere out there in the world waiting to meet me I need these things in abundance and this last experience proves that point. I still have growing to do. And realizing that I become a complete opposite of myself security-wise when I date is a big fucking deal. It has to stop. Stopping that means opening myself up to exactly what I want vs. accepting what is given. So using this album, I am going to challenge the importance of music. By now you have noticed that most blogs are accompanied by a ‘Blogtrack’ with lyrics that go with it. For the next couple of weeks, I will be blogging using each one of the songs on Jill Scott’s WOMAN album. It will be one part song-interpretation, one part life growth and interpretation. If I happen to meet someone, it should be interesting to see if this album can help to remind me of who I am through the process. Isn’t that what we love about music? It’s ability to create a story or tell our lives and current situations with a head bobbing melody?

Welp….this is where I am with it. I don’t even know if it makes sense, but just tag along. I’m gonna keep a low profile otherwise. I need to hear. I need to listen. I think that was a question Jill Scott even asked on one of the songs. It’s like she was a neo-soul preacher for my artistic in-need-of-God heart. I’ve been talking too much. I’ve been talking over my own voice. I have the expertise and the experience yet I get out here in the wild and become a novice in the belly of the beast. It’s no wonder I get eaten alive. The loneliness subsided. The disappointment about afropunk will fade. I’ve got a new show coming up and a possibility of something else on October 3^rd (tba).

And love. I will always want love. But God. I need more God. And more listening ears. I am committed to no longer making the same mistakes with men again. I will probably never forget TheGuy for the simple fact that …..that I just won’t. He was what I wanted and I ran so fast that I tripped all over both of us. Like vomit. I hurt myself in the process of trying to keep from getting hurt by someone who wasn't necessarily out for that. I changed us as quickly as I connected us. My lack of confidence changed our direction. I definitely bruised his scorpoio ego by suggesting he was full of shit. He couldn't handle that and his interest in me wasn't enough to recover. He tried. But I had already pushed our ball in a new direction and that was the end. I don't want to do that again. I still feel like it's his loss.....but it's mine too. Sometimes you lose to win, right Fantasia?

Or better yet, sometimes you Muse to Win. 

And I never want to see myself as my own #muse again.

Since this blog is long, I will start a song tomorrow. There is no blog track today.

Unless you count the one playing in my head.

“I just want to be prepared”

~Jill Scott, Prepared #WOMAN

 #MuseJanuarie 

Stuck in a Silent Whisper: VentSession

“I used to be stuck”

I’ve listened to this song many times since the release of this album (Jill Scott, WOMAN).  The beat is SICK so it was easy to take a liking to it. Today, in the silence of my mind as I drove westward on 86^th street, I started listening to the lyrics that until today, I had only allowed my mind to skim the surface of. I love that moment of impact when a song you’ve heard 1000 times hits you in a connecting place and shocks you into submission. I pulled into a parking space at Tuesday Morning with the intent on going in to browse randomly on my lunch break.

Instead, I sat in my truck listening to this on repeat. I turned the data back on for my phone because I couldn’t wait until I got back to work to see if I heard those lyrics correctly. I looked them up in the parking lot, started the song over and got lost somewhere between Jill’s voice and the strings of the electric guitar. I assume that’s an electric guitar I’m hearing.

The drum beats felt like my heartbeat charging at the thoughts being shared through my radio. Was she talking to me? Was this a private conversation with music in the background? Am I even in the truck? On my lunch break? Do I work? Live here? Is this my life? HTF is Jill Scott resonating this song with me like such right now??

I had a mind full of thoughts.

My whole lunch break was spent with me in silence besides Jill Scott. Everywhere I went, I felt like I didn’t belong there so I didn’t go in. I only went to Walmart and after browsing a three level bookcase that was on sale for $15, I decided against adding something to make my move harder and moved along to the plug-in section of the store.

“I used to be stuck”

The way she said it……like she really was at some point. Or like she was my mentor and then she asked me “how about you” ???

I subconsciouslessly nodded my head in agreeance. Yes Jill, I too have been stuck. In fact, I am stuck now.  

“Inviting new dumb shit

And more loss of peacefulness”

Yeah…..how is it you know me so well Jill? I literally JUST invited new dumb shit in my life and relinquished at least a small amount of my inner peace with that invitation.  To color myself ashamed of myself is a stretch…I’m not ashamed. I’m just disappointed….and I keep trying to act like I’m not disappointed but I am….why did I sleep with that dude? I.Dont.Even.Remember.It.

If that ain’t the universe speaking back in the highest VOLUME MAXIMUM allowed in the world, then what is?

I wonder, even with all these blogs full of answers and questions and clarity, how is it even possible to make the same mistake for life? It’s not twice; not even thrice (as Rose once said on Golden Girls). It’s life. It’s the same effin story of my life, different year…..sex literally messed up a good thing. It absolutely crushed a hopeful opportunity to continue to enjoy a connection……

Ahhhhh that word is so whored out in this blog.

I ain’t connected with none of these niggas. They connect with me. They have fed and eaten my energy and all that I exude and put out in effort for them to see what stands right before them….i have time and time again downplayed my role in life and who I am in effort for them to see what stands right before them. I have fucked when I didn’t want to and hoped that things wouldn’t change in effort for them to see what stands right in front of them. I have held back, shared fears and thoughts and hopes and wants with them, at their fucking request, in effort for them to see what stands right in front of them. …..and nothing happens every time.

“Say thank you”

I’m trying Jill. I have been taught so well. LIFE has literally taught me every thing I know.  Yet, for whatever reason, I tend to continue to believe that I have a better way at going about getting the best possible result and in the end, all I have to show for it is a mind that is trying to block out the latest casualty of war that I want to never remember. 

 I liked that dude. Lol.

If he was truly for me, then he’d still be around. And that’s cool. It’s not the fact that we weren’t a good fit for each other. It’s the fact that I went about things on my end wrong. It’s ok to wait. It’s ok to say not yet. And for whatever reason, as much as I feel and believe these things, I went backwards and said yes. I wanted to say yes tho, so understand I don’t mean this as a sticky situation. I just wish I hadn’t have done that. ….and the prime reason for this wish is because I’ve done it before and before and before again and that’s why I have a whole blog dedicated to my non-existant love life.

Today, I was scrolling through the mean streets of facebook and noticed #TheExample (Kevin Powell) had posted a picture of one of my favorite black female authors, Zora Neale Hurston. He labeled her one of his favorites and glorified her book “Their Eyes Were Watching God’’ as one of his favorite books ever.  WHOA.

Kevin Powell. ….don’t do this. That’s MY favorite writer too. That’s MY favorite book too. I just re-read it back in 2013. Why not you ?

I had to repost it and tagged it as ‘maybe next lifetime, I will be born his wife’.

#TheExample – He continues to prove to me that this dream guy in my head that I think would be the best possible fit for me actually does exist. He does run and train and is disciplined. He does listen to old records and have a huge collection of books, music and dreams. He works for and towards the betterment of his people. He reads. He reads fiction and non-fiction, women and men. He is well versed in life. ….he didn’t grow with a silver spoon as they say and he learned the hard way how to manage not just his money, but his life. That man DOES exist. Kevin shows me this every day that I log into facebook and see his posts. I find myself wondering aimlessly in my head, trying to figure out why I wasn’t created or born to be the perfect counterpart for this type of man (not specifically Kevin….but that too!!!!)? Why oh why am I the one that is #STUCK, as Jill says?

I don’t want to be.

I don’t want to be stuck. Anywhere…..in poor behavior, accepting bullshit, being over tolerant, in Indiana or “Listening to it happened to me again songs” (JS).

And I am.

And today, it was like  God said ‘this dummy will not listen….maybe if I make her more conscious of Jill, she will hear something” …….

“Everybody can use a little bit of help sometimes

Come on, you know things ain’t moving right

Ask for correction

Ask for direction

Ask for protection

Since you want to feel like you’re you, inside…

Say thank you”

I feel like two different people. One who knows better and one who acts like FTW I’ma get minez. O.o

I just want to be the better woman. The woman I am when I'm alone. I literally do not trust myself to date ANYONE else....PERIOD. I am FINE and CROWN when I'm single. When these cakies come around holding their balls and rubbing their foreheads, it's like I can't figure out who I am anymore.....i gotta backburner myself. Dumb myself down. Do ignorant shit in the name of GiveMeNothing in Return. o.O
I just want to relish in the woman I know I am. The woman who writes the poems and fights for women and believes in women. I want to be who I am when I'm not whoever I turn into .....I don’t even care about dating and fucking and men and niggas and nigga shit. Fuck em. I will never again in this life beg a nigga for respect or love. Yes, I have done it before. I have begged and cried for a no good nigga not to walk away from me. Looking back on it, it wasn’t about him leaving as much as it was him leaving ME. I wanted to beg them to pay attention to who I was. Not the poet, but the woman. I was begging niggas to "please please please don't leave: stay because here are 15 reasons why I"m a great woman. Grow with me!!! I'm really not like all the rest...i just need someone to take the chance to notice it"  << Words I never said that are the exact words I said. 

The things I feel about myself are wishy washy on any  given day. I never not feel royal or legendary. That’s my word!! But I think sometimes i have to make myself NOT fall into this mindset that if I were truly any of these things, then every man in my life wouldn’t have left me. The fact that they have ALL (related and nonrelated) seen something in me that makes them run the other way means something. ….in reality, I personally believe my Light is too bright…sort of like staring directly into the sun. But in theory, I have to keep myself from thinking there is something madly wrong with me and that this wrongful personality is what made my dad, brother, stepfather and the countless men I have liked, loved or lost run away from me or push me away. I’ve tried to force them to see the light in me. You know that much if you read the majority of this blog.

I’ve tried to buy them into me

Love them into me.

Hold them into me.

Support them into me.

Teach them into me. 

I have tried every avenue when the right person, or even the right  TYPE of person (i.e. Kevin Powell) would recognize it without me having to try. I can’t show my light if I continue to hold the darkness in my right hand like a baseball ready for pitch. I can’t act or even react in ways that cause a break in previous patterns. I can’t think that everyone is out to get me and hurt me and even fuck me, even though it does often seem like everyone wants to fuck me, without a condom. Like they seek to give me AIDS or get me pregnant …like there’s some type of secret illuminati-10pt coalition set up that meets in the basement of where I live and plots on how and who will get the chance to destroy me. It’s like damn ,why is your FIRST mind to NOT wear a condom? O.o  :/  

This isn’t blame.

We all I know I LET this shit happen either by allowing it or by giving actions that create this type of result.

But it does seem like dudes just really want to take me down and say ‘yeah, she’s no real Queen…she’ a fraud”.

It’s been this way since I moved to 39^th & Cornelius. It was like they sniffed out a young and dumb one. A chick with no direction where men are concerned. And no Kevin Powell for an example. When I used to watch him on the Real World, I was AMAZED by him….i remember reading the Autobiography of Malcolm X and had a bedroom of Malcolm X posters up in my room. I loooooved MX. I loved him. But neither of these men gave me that ‘example’ feeling until it was too late. I was too young to know I needed an example.

I’m deep in my 30s. I’m not ashamed but perhaps a bit embarrassed to look in the mirror without tear stains…..shitty that I let myself put on fools gold hard hat when I wasn’t even in the mining cave. I was somewhere else. And now I’m back to square one. Back to feeling like I'm forgetful. I've mentioned being forgotten in this blog before. It's a fear that has kept me overstaying a welcome or 3. ...the thought that I am not memorable seems to pull up some type of repressed childhood memory of being forgotten...perhaps by my brother. I think having no relationship with my brother did more damage to me than not having one with TWO fathers (real dad & stepfather).  What's the line from John Mayer's song ?? 
"there I just said it, 
I'm scared you'll forget about me" (Edge of Desire...one of my favorite JM songs ever). 

I read a lot of stuff. I see a lot of posts. Ppl talk about folks like me all the time and I read them and smile. I am who I am and people will think whatever they want. I'm trying. Idk if I'm even doing my best...until #TheGuy, I actually thought I was. I just got caught up in excitement perhaps. I really wanted the whole package and thought I found a good friend. A friend who, just like the rest before him, thought me to be forgettable. I am a woman who has exhausted her heart to a point of armor so thick that if Kevin Powell asked me out on a date, I’d have to politely decline because I wouldn’t want him to see a side of me that I wish didn’t exist. Idk how to even explain that side. I wouldn't want TheExample to see ME. Once upon a time, I wanted all their ugly and wanted to give them mine in return. I wanted to show them how we could fucking change the spin of the world together....the only thing that changes is the way I twirl and release black girl glitter.... I don't want this anymore. Not their ugly and definitely won't be sharing mine. 

“Ask for correction

Ask for direction

Ask for protection”

There is a part of me that knows that as long as I live in Indianapolis, IN, I will be the same. It’s not because of Indianapolis. It’s not because I’m weak. It’s because it’s my truth. As long as I am here, surrounded by the ghosts of my failures, contacted on social media by old pasts that seek to have some type of string tied to me so they can keep tabs on their dirty work and stuck in the spin cycle of my personal AMuseMENt Park, I will retort by nature to the old me. I just have to accept that. I can keep trying to work on it, I can keep repositioning my crown but I have exhausted Indianapolis where my healthy side is concerned. I feel like I run monument circles around these ghosts.

The broken heart that started spilling on Cornelius in 92 when I met the two best friends #MuseSlevin and his partner in crime, and has leaked and left trails from Indy to Cincinnati and back is killing me internally. I try to present this strong woman. I am a strong woman. Probably stronger than I will ever fully give myself credit for….idk. Most times, even when people tell me they understand or have experienced similar, I know that I am the only person experiencing these things this way. I am the only me. From the way I think to the way I hurt and the decisions I make and how I make them -  
- ...no one else feels this to the exact. It's always just similar. It's my age. Being this old presents a harder time moving on from doing DUMB SHIT.  Shit. It's like damn Ken, will you set yourself back ten years every 16 months ? Or nah? 

There are days, like today, when I hear a certain song….

And see a certain type of post….

And think extra hard about moving ……

And it all hits me like a semi on a midnight highway turnpike……

The loneliness…..<<<the thing no woman is supposed to admit to. She’s not supposed to talk about being lonely because that means she’s not happy with herself or doesn’t love her own company.

Lol.

Luckily I’m not that woman. I DO get lonely. And guess what: I DO LOVE MYSELF. Actually, I enjoy TF out of myself. I spend a lot of time treating myself well and having a good time doing it. I LOVE eating out alone and i love going to concerts alone. It's one of my favorite past times. I am not afraid of my own company. I just get tired of entertaining myself and more than that, I just miss the energy trade. How many times have I said that in this blog?? Lolol.... 

Not all the time, but sometimes, I do get a little lonely...i mean is that really abnormal? And then I start overthinking….and then I see an example of the type of man that I desire to be connected at the IV Drip to….and I look at myself and say ‘love, you weren’t made for that…it's easier to get a plane ticket’. 

Or, it's easy to get one of these flagrant ass easy niggas. They throwing dick around like it's Woodstock 1972. But few are throwing more than that. And the ones that are, I push them off the Edge of My Cliff. 

Today is one of those days.

Probably because I’m not going to NYC and I’m pretty bummed TF out about it.

I’m tired of feeling stuck.
I’m ready to move.

I’m ready to fly.

And I’m ready to no longer be stuck……………………………….

"Done saying I'm done playing" 
~drake