I just had a conversation that started one way and then went another. By the time we hung up, I didn’t know whether I wanted a shot, to listen to Jeezy, listen to Adele or just cry. Let me tell you where this began. Yesterday, Boston-Black-Twitter was in an uproar about a fake page. You know something a bitter female with too much time on her hands usually makes. I don’t want to throw too much shade, I wasn’t on the page. (Praise God) Though, I have been on one before. It’s extremely frustrating.

So side conversations were had. It dawned on me that I don’t know any “boys from the hood” anymore. It was a proud moment. Gossip isn’t as entertaining when you don’t know the cast of characters. I noticed how many girls were dealing with street dudes, and dudes behind bars. I felt SO BAD for them. Why? Because I used to be them. Waiting on letters, phone calls and whatever else could be cooked up from behind bars. Your life takes a ghetto turn no matter how well you are doing for yourself. You overcompensate for what’s missing. The minimal seems extraordinary. Then one day, it embarrassed me. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to talk about it partially because I didn’t want the person I was in love with to be reduced to just another criminal. I also looked at my life and I realized, I wasn’t happy. I’d become good at riding out temporary highs and reliving old ones. I lived a certain lifestyle for so long and it breaks my heart every. single. time. i think about it. Every time.

I decided I deserve more. Tonight, I’m sitting under this laptop freezing. Like BURR for real (that’s another story). I miss the home I shared with the love of my life. I miss our daily and weekly schedule. I confess, I miss a lot of things. You know what I miss most of all? Being off the radar. During my call, the person said, “You’re still living that life…” and for some reason, that irritated the shit out of me. I am so over being associated with someone who is no longer here. Every phone call I get that puts me back in that mode from my old life just irritates me.

I really want to act like it never happened.

I miss my privacy. I miss people not knowing whether I lived in this city– or this country. I love running into people and hearing them ask, “Are you back? Do you live here now?” I worked hard to fix myself mentally. Yes fix, because going through that life, breaks you. That shit isn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination. I didn’t want to have a child by a man in the streets— no matter how much money he has. I definitely didn’t want to marry one. I had to ensure that what I was projecting didn’t scream ryde or die chick. For a while, I felt like it did.

The moral of my rant is. Fuck my former life. It will not define me. If you want better, you have to be better, demand better and surround yourself with better. I am still illustrating that everyday. For every woman who I know– whether we are close or not– if they are in that spot that I was in. I sincerely hope you all get out of that “slump” as well. You will appreciate what the highs and the lows have done for your womanhood. You will also experience yourself blossoming so beautifully. You can and will look back and say, “WOW! This is what I was missing.” Live for yourself. Being a “ryde or die”, you live for someone else. It’s loving yourself first.

This post isn’t meant to insult anyone by any means. I just want you to know, it does get greater later… and the picture is so much prettier on the other side of the fence. It took me a while to climb it and get a look… and damn… it’s breath-taking.

…And so worth it.

Something had my attention.

Maybe it was your tolerance for my spoiled ways. Maybe it was because I felt comfortable being a Fat Kid in front of you.

Hey, a girl’s gotta eat.

But something had my attention.

Maybe it was the way you called me by my government name and made it sound like ecstasy.

Or maybe that just happened because we both know you’re nas– …I digress.

I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I just know I found myself awaiting the next time I could put my arms around you.

You have my attention.

…to be continued.

Washington DC - NYE 2011

I thought I could handle all of the above. I was wrong. The fucked up part? I loved you on purpose. I saw something different in you. Something special in you. Sure, I could’ve judged you by your friends. Afterall, that’s what I was told to do. I can’t name one good thing anyone had to say about you– with the exception of your sister. Not one. Yet I fell for that small smile you always gave after a pleasant surprise. The warmth on your face that told me I was getting to you. Snapshots that replayed in my mind every time I deleted your number out of my phone.

My snapshots > The ones cascaded of you on social networks.

The game had changed. The vacuum had shattered. Dancing on possibility was interrupted with harsh realities. Funny. I thought I was the one with the fucking issues. It’s the lies that bother me. It’s the fact that our first conversation was one about self-proclaimed “bad bitches” and what they lack, and how meticulous choices was the key to having a long run. Here I am though, scrolling through my phone of you and your cougar. For someone who wanted to experience firsts with their partner, you sit very well in family photos. Photo shoots on beds that probably smell like 4 different perfumes.

See, there I go talking shit. And really, the situation isn’t worth it.

… That. And it’s too easy.

End of the day, you don’t deserve me. The pictures that I paint are too beautiful. My imagination is too extraordinary. Afterall, I started out believing in you and me. Extraordinarily. I almost started to think I was missing out. After the smoke, I wondered how I could be so blind. Yet, where it seemed like they had a fraction of it all, they have it all in common. Only we can tell this story. My character can be written out of the story and no one would miss it. I save myself. I save my heart and I save face.

Yes, I care that much.

It’s just a shame looking back… I was ready to give you too much.

Mind over matter… and you never cross my mind because you don’t matter. Jada said it best, “What you so mad at now?”

It still lives in me.

Love.

I can still cook that up and serve it warm. I can still inspire a blush, a gush and shed a light of sincerity through the darkness. I can inspire a cold heart. I can sway a stubborn mind.

I can make someone mine.

I made you want to love me.

I did that. And, I didn’t know I could still do that. I may have gotten lucky a few times and it happened accidentally. The relationship type. This girl made it fun. Best of both? I guess that was a part of living in mine.

But you. Something about you made me want to. It was my gift to you and though I’m not sure if you deserved it, I’m glad you received it.

So thank you, I guess.

For everything. For the memories.

And for reminding me… that I still know how to be with someone, and give them what really is the very best part of me.

*Readers, Happy Thanksgiving from whoever’s kitchen I’m eating in (bc you all know I’m not cooking) to your’s. xo

...yeah i instagramed. LOL!

*crickets*

Me: Who is keeping you?
Ma: At the hospital… to run tests.
Me: Wait, what? Whats wrong with you?
Ma: Don’t know yet… trying to find out.

See, this is what pisses me off about my mother. She is super private. I’m sure she has several conditions being 60 years old. Make no mistake, my momma looks damn good and definitely not old. However, your body will start to show signs of age whether you feel 40 or not. So a few days later, I get home to get another text, my mother is still in the hosptial.

…………….Umm, wtf?

Long story short, it went from a serious Cancer scare to who knows what’s killing her. To she’s really dying, to she just has asthma– which WE all have but miraculously, she has never had. Watching someone die from Cancer is one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life–and I had to do it more than once. Especially that last burst of energy day. Those of you who’ve been there, know what that day is like.

I wonder why the body does that?

I have one parent. My mother is my crutch… whenever I decide I need one. I don’t think I lean heavily. I treat family as I do friends in the sense that I’ll stay to myself before I ask for help. But when I need it, she is it. Can you imagine waking up and you mother is sick like she’s dying? Go to the hospital when you get in town to see tubes everywhere. Like what the fuck? Have you been sick or is this new?

*sigh* I’m against personal blogs… but I guess I felt the need to share this.

I’ve learned– as I grow into my womanhood– to keep to myself. Say less. Do more. Nevermind anyone else because at the end of the day all I have is me… and if I need… my mother. SO! I say that to say the cliche, cherish each day with your family. BTW, incase I wasn’t clear… my mother is live a kicking, just with asthma. LOL. (shurgs) However, in your own life, you can wake up one day and it damn near be over for you. You could be the one sending that text like “they think I’m dying…” So live like everyday is your last. OH! That situation caused me to see not only life differently, but my “friends”. I was surprised who checked on my mother’s status. I think there was more out-of-town/semi-friend love shown than some I consider my closest “friends”. It’s another reason why I say less… do more. Lead with actions, sometimes words are overrated.

So yes. Live like it’s your last. And if nothing has happened to you that makes you put things into perspective and reevaluate your life, don’t let it be a near death experience that does it. My ending was happy, but all endings aren’t. I always say, everyday I write my legacy. I’m not perfect, not always right. I am better today than I was yesterday, though. So I guess this was my little share– more like overshare– to try to inspire the rest of you to put things into perspective. All you need in life is yourself and your piece of mind. However, if you need that ace in the hole, mine is my mother, then make sure you’re living for who/what matters. Like I said, something about death makes me sit up straight. I’d been daydreaming for a little bit. I’m paying attention now.

xo!

Drunk with love. That luxury of never having to think. Being forgetful but having someone to remember. The little things. The things that matter. The big things that you didn’t think would be that serious. Like scratching that one spot your hands can’t reach. That small moan that automatically is spoken when touching your favorite spot. Like your favorite meal just being finished just as you walk through the door. Climbing into fresh, warm sheets on a winter night. That tingling sensation from the jets in your tub as they soothe your back. Manicured fingers running gently along your scalp… around your ears… down your neck and all over your back.

That’s the view from my cloud.

Feeling like the earth’s axis. To getting it right the first time, not needing practice. Like your favorite team winning the championship knowing everyone bet against them. You know, when it’s time to collect. Getting your hands on that money that you thought you’d never be repaid. Like Saturdays to a teenage boy on Jordan release day. All types of high– not some but all of the time. Feeling like the only two amongst hundreds. Giving a toast to being the only thing that matters. To feeling like “Nothing Even Matters.” Bet you didn’t think Lauryn Hill’s melody could become your reality. Sunshine everyday. To inside jokes. To the infectious giggle that you hadn’t experienced since you were a kid.

Yeah.

That’s how my love is.