Naked and in all your glory

There you are, standing there.  Everything for me to see, feel touch and enjoy. At your want, at my need.

I never saw something so nice, so tasty and genorous to my eye. Extra helpings of chocolate.  At some time I had been a very good girl, because you are surely my dessert. And I will lick and taste each inch, centimeter of your chocolate goodness.

Your eyes so full of fire; many nights of late night drinking clouding the whites, causing the brown specs to shine even more – looking at me; speaking to me; your need, my want.

I am secure, and smile wickedly at you, not yet, I am not ready yet to loose my resolve. Only I know these thoughts, and they are not to be shared with you, yet.

Just show me, how hot, how hot is your desire?  How much do your want me? When do you think of me?  What do you think?; tell me, I want to know.

This continues, and goes on and on, as my desire continues to grow pulsate and ripen each year this love affair continues.  Each new year, I challenge our existence, and you continue to grow stronger. You have taken over my consciousness, but not my will. My willpower is my own, even if my needs, wants and emotions cross into havoc.

Thank you for each visit, at the oddest times. and in the oddest ways; and now finally, naked in all your glory.  You are mine, but I still can not be yours.

That blonde ambition

Brown hair roots with blonde ambition:

Bey Once, Lil Kim, Christina Aguilar, Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow….and most white girls I know.

Is it a frame of mind; like covering the gray makes you feel younger?  When white friends want to impress upon me how pretty they were when they were a child – they always tell me how blonde they were – as if that means anything to me.  They don’t understand that to me, (and most people of color), too much blonde with ice-blue eyes, put you on your guard; your gut says, ghost.

Anyway when men like Sisqo (an eighties pre-hip hop singer)  and black women go blonde, are they now thinking blonder?  What does that mean? Are they feeling more frisky, sexy, adventurous and carefree?  Because of course the blonde hair does get them noticed.  (I think it is really funny, when the hair is dyed blonde and then pieces of matching weave are strategically placed culminating  the dyed blonde hair into a whipped blonde froth of perfection. She looks beautiful, like a dream, a picture of perfection.  One problem, it’s not real, none of it, including the hair color.

That is not all.  I will cover weaves, lacefronts, and wigs on black woman, in due time.  Jennifer Hudson, are you reading? (take that horses tail cap off of your head – Come strong, come real).

I’m driving now

And, in full control.

That blonde value system

After marinating on this observation, it lead to another, or could this possibly be the tip of a very large iceberg.
I naturally resist how EVERYTHING is based on the blonde value system. The reason being it usually feels like I am being taught against my own natural inclinations. Soon I will be reisisting my own familiarity and looking in the mirror for familiar attributes that are more blonde-logic like.

Skin not light enough, hair not straight enough, body not flat and thin enough, and it can go on. But it won’t even start. You have to be strong to stand up to a system like this. The search and destroy.

So I don’t follow the mass logic (and unspoken caste system) blonde value system. Actually I do something quite unique, I just look inside and do what feels right to a person, not someone of a specific race, but a person.

Native Americans and people of color – what they are saying in code is they fear us, since we don’t look like them. They will suspect us before their own, when their own are really the guilty one.

Never fear, their time of power is done. It is over. All we have now is the clinging on to their false illusions and hate mongoring.

Step back, and let them sink their own boat.

All the here is there

And the there is everywhere.
Except where you are now.

It’s the minds that are so closed.
Everything is compared to their reality.

You wouldn’t think he would be a Craiglist Killer.
Why?
Because he looked like the – boy next door; blonde; from a good family, good school…

See, see what I mean? He fits into the paradigm (model) of what a good person is – what they can trust.
And, anything outside of this idea (especially those on the opposite side of the scale – dark, curly hair) are seen in a fearful light. You would expect to fear them, they will do bad things, etc…

Ha! but the joke, if there is one (because it is all so tragic but still fitting in a way) is on them, in trusting him, they entrust themselves to a ruthless, sadistic and cold killer – who only has a taste for his own kind.

Just some observations.

The ackee is killing them in Jamaica

Ackee is the national fruit of Jamaica, and the national dish is ackee and saltfish (much like bacon and eggs in the US). Although it contains many important and essential nurtrients, it can also be toxic and poisonious, unto death.

If it is not prepared correctly for consumption people will get sick. These days news reports out of Jamaica state that people are being admitted to the hospital and dying after eating this delicious tree-grown fruit.

What does that mean?
That cooks have grown lax in their ackee cooking methods? Or the fruit is going the way many things on earth are these days – to a dangerous toxicity?

Tasty and delicious, but also dangerous. Dangerous enough to kill.
I know the truth of these statements, after eating (and enjoying a great meal of stir-fryed ackee, with tomatoes and onions); and soon after swelling into a knobby elephant man/woman character.

It wasn’t fatal for me, but it was scary and it was not enjoyable, besides hard for my ego to be so unattractive. To this day, whenever I see ackee, I stay at least 10 feet away.

And, what I find so intriguing, but also really scary is that “canned” ackee is a major export of Jamaica.
Canned foods, botulism….
It is a very tasty poison.

My breaking point has passed

And now I am holding on.
I have to remind myself to love him
There are so many reasons to go
I am always guilty of staying too long
My kindness, compassion and the good man that he is keeps me holding on.

All of this and thoughts of you is what has gotten me through.
I don’t even know you, but I do.
I don’t need to, I feel you.
Your power is greater than mine, I like that.
You are the deep wine, dark blood I will never have a chance to taste.
Oh this life, the pain and the pleasure.
The bittersweetness of living on.

Never gone

Always here.

Living life. Developing style.
Always come back to you.

Contain my curiosity

My name all night long, or is that a moan?

My mind constantly slips to thoughts of you.  I tell myself I can do this forever.

You will still never know.  But it is you that I think of, sometimes at all times.

But you will never know.  What did I do to my life.

From the outside it is good.

On the inside, I miss you.

I got the message

It is the holidays, and I always dread this time of year.

It’s not the lonely factor, that’s just fine.  It’s dealing with his mother

and her games. 

Of course he doesn’t notice and he thinks she is as pure as the undriven snow.

Further from the truth, trust me.

She has money, more than most and she tries to use it to her advantage

at every possible turn. It is a disease that has taken over her mind.

I have been with her son almost 20 years and raised 2 of her grandchildren;

granted, I didn’t birth them, but I came along and did right by them.

Still, it all means nothing. I am an afterthought, and here I thought I was doing things worthy to be considered a family treasure.

Exactly the opposite, she never misses the opportunity to let me know that she values absolutely nothing about me.  This is how she operates.  Any holiday, birthday, Father’s Day, etc…, she will make such a big deal of getting him or his daughters very a very choice and expensive gift, and mine will be seperate.  An inexpensive plant, a card, something, cheap, cheap, cheap.  Never any of the tasteful expensive gifts she gives them.

Thank GOD, I have a brain and can take GOOD care of myself, so it doesn’t matter what a twit she is.

I got the message, mother-in-law, and the message is I am not and never will be good enough for him.

But, I AM good enough for my self.