In Black Love, Black Men, Black Women, Dating, Love on 11.16.2014 at 10:32 PM
There are men who call you in desperation. They call you when their self-esteem is low, even when it is masked by bravado that may sound like confidence, depending on the listening ear. They call you when they are hurting. They call you when they are drunk. They ask you, not overtly, but subtly in a way your soul can hear, to pour into them. They aren’t full. They need filling. You may be reliable and willing. It is easy to mistake his calling on you in the down times as respect, care, and love. So, you do what you can.
But, who does he call when he is full? Is it you? When his day has been amazing, and he knows himself and his worth, does your phone buzz not at all subtly against your desk while you’re doing paperwork? When he has done his work, made amends, built himself up, and grown into his manhood, is your line as active? After he has prayed his morning prayer and treated himself with care, there is a fullness to him. His cup, his bucket, his ounce or gallon, is overflowing. Are you his first pour?
Are you sure?
In Black Love, Black Women on 11.09.2014 at 10:30 PM
This is the 300th post on SATS! Yaaaaaaaaaaay! Thank you so much for your support. We appreciate you, your comments, and your shares.
A few months back, I did a series of yoga poses and poetry and prose to help me pass the time creatively and healthily before my internship began. Some poses came naturally. I have been a dancer since the age of 3, and although my workouts aren’t quite as extensive, I still maintain flexibility. But, there were some poses that were difficult to hold. The minute I contorted my body into them, I fell over. Or, the pain of the stretch had me shaking within a few seconds. In my journey of self-reflection, I’ve found the same to be true about some emotions. Emotions that are familiar to me, I hold with ease. I’m a natural at confidence, empathy, and recently, loneliness. What I am not so good at holding is happy.
In Honey Pot, Prose on 11.07.2014 at 9:43 PM
“some things are just meant to be. pre-ordained. ‘for i know the plans i have for you…’” Jackson mused as he saw the girl in the blue dress walk out the store, the weight of two grocery bags in each fist pulling her shoulder blades back until they neatly kissed under her smooth lemon-bar skin. he watched her cross the parking lot and climb the hill before he started the engine of his ’87 lincoln continental. she had sturdy legs, sho’ ‘nuff, but it was hot, no question.