UNTITLED (A short story I am working on)

Revelation.
9 months
The old passed away, a new conceived.
Simultaneously;
breaking the silence, and giving birth to my mystery man.
She disclosed
that he lived 2 separate lives
2 households
And then a then a 3rd
Contraction.
...baby on the way…

In 10 different voices
the once unspoken truth, now spoke of tales of 3 year love affairs, late night ventures, unprotected seduction, while loving him loving them loving him.
Notes of money spent
Heartfelt stories of love taken for granted
Watching time being wasted
Contraction.

I had no clue
Just a mere inkling and my woman intuition
Then premonitions visited my dreams:
I saw his phone, discovered the truth...
Just weeks prior to THIS
then
my dreams coincided with my reality,
and the startling revelation hit me…reverberating
AngerHurtConfusionConfusionHurtAnger
Disappointment.
Reality set in.
The names were accompanied by faces; a myriad of the beautiful queens of the human races
Contraction.

A phone call ensued, with the claim of a stalker initially explained until…
The follow-up.
And,
to my astonishment, my mystery man openly divulged to me the naked truth.
Contracting, my ear swallowed many accounts of mayhem prolonged…
And then
By some calculated fate he came to realize his mistakes
Eventually,
subduing his desires of the flesh, refusing to continue to par(take)
never giving
he knew too much was at stake/the price too high
so my beloved said good bye to the former…
Pushing,
the old passed away,
a new life
begun


Chapter 1

5:02pm. I routinely insert my key into the lock of my apartment door number 6401.
Sigh…
Home! Friday, the start of a fabulous weekend. Hmmm… What to do tonight? I ponder as I enter into my haven.
Tossing the keys on the granite counter top, I set my purse atop the middle barstool nestled neatly amid its two taller matches. Removing the worn pumps my feet have been badgering the past 10 hours, I begin to massage my overworked, underpaid feet.
This has been one of the longest days of my life. My mind urges. Bzzzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzz. Derailed from the train of thought, I instinctively retrieve my BlackBerry from the charger: “Cousin, what are we doing tonight?” the text message reads.
Reply. “Our usual spot. Santana Row, here we come!”
I smile to myself reminiscing on the many Santana Row ventures my cousin Robert and I have shared…

Folding my hands on the familiar oak table, I gazed out the massive window situated to my right; my eyes greeted the water and matched its dance. As the waves gently swayed, hues of tangerine orange and fiery red began to subside with the submersion of plum purple.
My gaze still intertwined with the water, I belted out “I am done. I’ve had enough of the lies and the drama.” Breaking from my dance, I then focused my attention on my cousin Robert.
With no forewarning, he chuckled urging me to continue.
“I am tired of Ben, the chaos, and this confusion. My intuition has been telling me for months that something is terribly wrong. Would you believe that some woman had the audacity to answer his phone yesterday when I called him on his lunch break?”
I asked unfolding my hands which had since gathered a small collection of sweat particles.
“WHAT?” Robert inquired in a high whisper, arching his right brow. He leaned in closer to keep the conversation discreet.
Shifting my eyes toward the left, I paused for a moment noting our waitress in close proximity. As she drifted by, I grew restless. Offering no words assuring us that she’d be with us momentarily, I gathered that she must be new. Yea, she has to be. I’ve never seen her here before, and besides, what seasoned waiter leaves their table waiting 10 minutes for a drink of water? My eyes exited from the back of her red up-do, and caught my cousin’s eager stare.
“Yea, that’s what I said to the woman who answered his phone. How in the World can you be my husband’s girlfriend?” I affirmed, voice now flux.
My eyes then diverted toward my left again. “Excuse me waiter,” Raising my hand, I impatiently motioned for the young red head.
I watched her raise a finger as an offering of her presence momentarily.
“And what was his excuse?” Robert asked tilting his head slightly, an indication that he was clearly bothered.
I gave him a sarcastic smile before continuing:
“Well, you know my dear husband assured me that an infatuated co-worker is trying to wreak havoc on our marriage.”
As I glanced at the time displayed on my phone’s screen: 9:08p, I massaged my temples as my frustration began to build with both the stagnant waitress and the painful divulgence.
My newly applied acrylic French tipped nail began to beat a soft melody against the table.
“Well, do you believe him?”
I let out a subtle sigh… “My heart believes him, Lord knows I love my husband. But… my mind keeps telling me otherwise. If this were the first time, then maybe I could accept his excuse. But, after 9 months of these incidental occurrences, I’m not so sure IBzzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzzzz. My Blackberry’s notification distracts the conversation. Scrambling around my purse, I retrieved the phone to see Ben’s name on the display.
“One second cousin, I have to answer this call. It’s Ben,” I explained giggling at the irony.
Hitting the answer button, I connected the phone to my ear:
“Hello?”
Silence countered my greeting.
“Ben?” I asked ignoring my cousin’s steadfast stare.
Our lines disconnect.
As I hit the re-dial button, a buzz jolted my phone before the call could re-connect.
“Here is your water, I am terribly sorry for the wait. Are you ready to order now?” Our absent waiter asks finally making her grand appearance. Go figure. I glanced at her awkwardly for a moment not easily swayed by her forced smile, and returned my gaze to the plum water.
“Ben, are you okay baby?” I asked with sincere concern.
“Thank you. Can we have a moment or two please?” I captured my cousin’s voice as an unfamiliar one simultaneously spoke:
“Yes, he is just fine.” A woman’s voice said as hysterical laughter ensued.
The call disconnected once more.
Turning blood red, my face broke out into a feverish temperature.
“What’s wrong Lisa?” Robert asked concerned.
“Nothing. Everything. Let’s just go.” I responded without meeting his eyes.
I snatched my cousin’s right hand into my left, spewed out five dollars for the now delivered once delayed water, and left our amateur waiter lingering onto her note pad in dismay.

5:12pm. Wiping away the nostalgic images, I plug my Blackberry into the charger located in the outlet behind the barstool where my purse lies, and rush down the hallway to my bedroom. What to wear, what to wear? Pulling back the finicky mirrored closet doors, I begin to ponder. I’m feeling quite divaesque this eve…Red? No. Form-fitting dress? Not tonight. Hmmmm. Oh, here it is: purple silk blouse, Italian silk bubble skirt that situates just above the knee, and 3 –inch leopard print heels; Mission accomplished! Rushing to shower, I pass the dated 1999 clock radio, and glance at the time, 5:31. Okay, I’ve got roughly an hour and a half; I need to make it to the South Bay no later than 7:30. I decide.
6:23, I look into the mirror admiring the beauty before me. I look like a million bucks! I ascertain, marveling at the baby faced, all woman body reflected in the mirror. My thought is cut short as I catch the time blaring from the clock radio: 6:28. Shoot, I still have to stop and get gas. Where is my leopard print purse? Frantically searching, my mind pinpoints its location after several mishaps: Oh yea, I let my baby sis Justine use it. I guess I’ll have to settle for the black clutch; that neglected thing needs some use anyway. Retrieving the clutch amid the myriad of other handbags atop my closet shelf, I discover a prescription bottle nestled inside its confines. Examining the bottle, my eyes affix on a name. Stacy Kirk, the label reads. My hands convulse in fury losing grip on the bottle; as it meets the floor seconds later, round white pills fly erratically. Freezing in a temporal trance, my mind retreats back to recent memory…

75, 80, 90mph my Infiniti pushes...
“Cousin, slow the hell down before you kill us!!!!” Robert caveats in terror.
Silence.
That darn bastard! My mind sped up with the pace of the car. I felt blood shoot up to meet my brain.
“What the heck is wrong with you woman? Have you lost your damned mind?!” He shouted in frustration.
I grunted.
I’m gonna kill him!! I reasoned, beginning to conjure a scheme: I’ll park a block away so he doesn’t notice me. No, I’ll have my cousin drop me off, and make th“Lisa, talk to me please!” Stunting my plot, Robert began to shake my shoulder with a sense of urgency, as he pleaded in desperation.
My eyes remained steadfast on the road, pulsating out of their sockets.
Silence.
I’ll have my cousin drop me off a few houses away and make the block. By the time he circles around, I should be done. My mind re-wanders. Just 10 more minutAbruptly, Robert tackled the wheel in a panicked frenzy…

Snapping back into reality, I impulsively pick up the bottle which now consists of only three tablets, and toss it into the clutch along with sixty dollars cash, a tube of clear lip gloss, my well-used cosmetic mirror, driver’s license, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer. Retrieving my keys from the countertop, I check the time once more 6:32pm, and hit the door heading toward Interstate 880.
7:17, I pull up to Robert’s two-story mustard and sage brick condo. Parking in front of a neighboring home, I exit my car and catch a view of his emerging silhouette.
“Lisa, you are killing them!!” My cousin utters swirling me around to get a 360 view of my attire. “Look at you all diva’d up, you look fabulous!”
I smile modeling 20 of my snow white Colgate’s.
“It’s been some time. I think I deserve it, don’t you think? It is long over due.”
I embrace my cousin’s chiseled 5’11 frame as though it’s the last time I’ll ever see him again.
“And you are fashionably clad yourself might I add” I chuckle admiring his dark grey, double-breasted Alfani suit.
“Well you know how we do it cousin,” Robert contends flicking his collar as he stepped back into a model stance as if he were posing for paparazzi. He let’s out a hearty laugh refuting my mere chuckle.
“Your car or mine?” I ask dancing my fingers through my curly locs.
“Well, I suppose yours would be the only one befitting for all of this fabulosity” He joked spinning around before trotting off in the direction of my Q45.
“Ok, let’s go.” I said clinging onto his right arm with my left as if my life depended on it. I secure my clutch in a chokehold under my right arm, setting off for the South Bay’s prestige Santana Row strip as my mind quickly detours…

My black 2004 Infiniti Q45 swerved just missing the center divide.
“What in the hell are you thinking? Are you trying to kill us??” My lungs peaked as I reclaimed control of the vehicle.
Heart beating with ferocity, I drum out “What would possess you to do something so stupid? You are an idiot!” Now singing, the reverberation of my lungs produced a high pitched melody.
My cousin’s hazel eyes glared at me. Parting his lips, he snapped “Woman, if you ever in your life check out on me again, I will personally kill you myself before we can even make it to John George.”
I began to laugh in hysteria until a river of tears conjured a waterfall which cascaded down my face, and landed into the sea of my lap.
“Are you bi-polar? One minute your crazy behind is dazed out, the next you’re yelling at me, and now your psycho self just went from laughing to crying. I am concerned, this is abnormal. Did you stop taking your meds?” He concluded, laughing at his own humor.
I wiped my tear-soaked face with the back of my hands and stared intently into Robert’s eyes.
“I’m not crazy, but right now I do feel insane.” I explained grabbing his left hand into mine. “After tonight, just make sure that I’m prescribed a lifetime supply of psych meds.” I calmly finished before returning my eyes to the highway.
Hegenberger Road the sign read, almost there. I mashed on the gas and set-off once more determined to reach my initial destination…

7:42pm. Re-capturing the time on my Blackberry, Robert and I enter through the glass doors of Le Bass, as a medley of seafood immediately welcomes us, attacking our nostrils. Hmmm I think, inhaling the sweet-smelling aroma of crab, lobster, and shrimp creations. My mouth starts to water as we approach the reservation booth.
“Table for two, please.” Robert’s baritone voice requests of the greeter.
Glancing at us, she smiles nervously. “Um, sure Sir. Just give me a few moments to clear a table, and I promise to be with you momentarily.”
“Thank you.” I slyly retort recalling the face of the amateur red-head. Mira her gold name tag reads.
Not tonight, Mira, please not tonight. I am in no mood for this.
Turning around, I note the look of amusement on Robert’s face smiling in childlike glee. I ignore his wit, and usher him toward the restaurants bar immediately adjacent to us.
Removing my trench and setting in on the back of the plush leather barstool, I fold my hands in front of me and rest my chin upon them.
“So, how has life been treating you cousin?” Robert inquires nestling his foot on the bottom rail of my stool.
“Rough.” I say sighing, slightly twisting right to left in my seat. “Quite rough. My hearing is scheduled for Tuesday, and I’m not certain what will come of it, but all I can do is pray that the charges are acquitted.” I continue, closing my eyes for a few moments in silent prayer. I open my eyes and rumble through my purse seeking the bottle of Tylenol I presume would assuredly alleviate this oncoming migraine.
“Well, you could have fooled me; you look absolutely stunning this evening.” He suggests giving me a one over. “It will be okay cousin, just keep leaning on the Lord and know that this too shall pass.” He consoles me, gently gliding his hand up and down my back.
Roberts comforting words embrace my heart.
“Can I have a glass of water with no ice please?” I ask the aged bartender. He looks about 75. Poor guy, he should be retired by now. I reason.
“And I will have a glass of Mondavi Merlot please.” Robert insisted. Glancing in the near distance, he eyed a voluptuous beauty nearing us. Her hips swaying like nobody’s business, his stare greets every asset of her robust figure.
I leave him to marvel, opting to spark a conversation with the silver-haired, pale-skinned bartender instead.
“How are you this evening Sir?” I ask as he places a glass of room temperature water in front of me.
I quickly retrieve two Tylenol pills from the bottle, and gulp them down with several sips of water.
“I am wonderful dear, thank you so kindly for asking.” His shaky voice asserts. Tossing his towel over his shoulder, he scans the inventory of wines.
Retreating to the 40-inch flat screen located in front of us, the Niner/Cowboy game pauses for break as the time flashes across the screen. 7:50
“Your table is now ready.” Mira says, attempting a willful smile as she approached us.
“Thank you Mira, as soon as my beloved cousin finishes awing his love interest, we will be ready.” I say laughing.
“Excuse me?” Robert cuts his attention from his new interest to offer an equal laugh.
Retrieving my coat from the back of the seat, I look up to see the voluptuous beauty Robert was once admiring, now before us. “Hello” she greeted, smiling at me with inquiring eyes. I catch a glimpse of her wavy, jet black, waist length hair. “Hello” I gesture moving my eyes toward her neckline which prominently displays a diamond encrusted “B” dangling from a white-gold chain. She looks familiar. Have I met her before? I’ve seen someone else with a necklace similar to that one. Prodding my brain, I don’t bother to notice Robert whip out his Iphone. She must be one of his old girlfriends from college. Hook-ups he used to refer to them as. Still confused, I stammer toward the table awaiting us, and leave Robert to tend to his business while my mind concedes to a daydream…

Arriving home minutes later, I instructed Robert to remain in the car until my return.
“Are you sure everything will be okay?” he questioned as I bolted from the vehicle leaving his question unanswered.
Heaving to catch my breath, I rested one hand on the door while using the other to insert the key into my apartment door. As the door flung open, time nervously ceased; I stand in cold shock, frozen in dismay…


Vindictive.
Clearly indicative of the pain that's been bestowed upon her
Love to her is quite eminent, while others find it very limited.
Why not just let her be, instead of inflicting debilitating injury?
Not one could grasp how it feels to be her, because in a world of hurt, let-downs, and disappointments, only loneliness stirs...
And still, she remains humble
Determined not to fall, trip, or stumble
Has she stalled? Or merely fumbled?
Too often life screams hell, feeling trapped inside a cell…of darkness
Agonizing in the cold, she hears nothing but utter silence/quite bothersome how many she finds so selfishly heartless
But,
she ponders, contemplating...Who is the one to blame?
The depths of her soul wishes for the pain to somehow wane… subside
But on the downside, in a world of rebellion, they will never abide; only incessantly conjure hurtful lies
So,
she becomes vindictive…
devising plans, schemes, releasing each and every inhibition
Some devious, others outright wicked
Not in evil sense, but in her ability to mastermind sophisticated antics
Mindful that two wrongs don’t make it right, her conscious attempts flight, but she fights, remaining steadfast.
Determined to exploit the culprits, and place them on full blast
How long will this mayhem last?
Seemingly,
for as long as it takes the initial intent to come to pass
She has had enough.
At the end of her rope, she fights back, refusing to continue to cope…with inflicted pain
Has she lost? Or did she gain?
Either way, fact remains that one should never dish out what they could never reclaim…Ten-fold
The hurt has caused her to become vindictive
As her life continues to unfold, payback has arose, and she falls
Remorseful
as the vengeance of her story seemingly remains untold

Open Ended… (A piece written about me by another writer) ;)

We sat there, enjoying the moment. Laughing, talking and eating, while others shared their work. I had lamb for the second time in my life, but it was the first time that I engage with such a beautiful mind, one that Russell Crowe would admire. We shared poetry and intimate stories about past loves and relationships. “Are there anymore who would like to speak tonight?” The crooked face, silver haired man shouted. We turned to each other with smiles that were exposing premature laughter, eyes edging the other to perform. “Want you go?” she said. Euphonious words sneaking through her commercial smile. “Naw, I’m not ready yet” I said disappointed in my self. “Maybe next time, you should go though” “Nope! I’ll go when you go” she snapped back. More laughter…

I was introduced to her by a couple of coworkers during happy hour a few years back, she went by the name Elisha. Red bone, with a Nubian touch, thick in the right places, I was visually amazed. But received the vibe that she wasn’t looking nor interested in what my immature mind had to offer. We shook hands sparingly. “Nice to meet you” she said “Likewise” as I glanced past the frames that contradicted the beauty of her eyes. As our contact faded away slowly, I pondered the word of a prolific writer… My vision has captured the world’s most beautiful eyes, emitting the mysteries of a profound soul… I quickly gathered myself, mentally brushing the dust of my swagg. The night was young, but I grew older as I blended in with the mature crowd. I watched her movements as we all relaxed and socialized.

The silver haired man introduced the next speaker. An older woman, well aged and very well spoken, who wore a scarf that tailed in the front way below her waist. She also wore a hat that represented the Fall weather that invited itself to mother’s nature party. She was the guest speaker for the night and had had a lot of poems to share. She took us upon her journey. A journey that was splendid but had the felling of a never ending story. “You ready to jet?” I whispered “Whenever you are” she replied “Aight lets cut” I said sharply. We gathered our belongings and applied our warmth protectors to our bodies. The guest speaker glanced as we prepared for the early exit. She waved goodbye as an appreciation for what we did listen to. We replied in unison with the same action. We were then escorted out by waiters who appreciated their jobs, and assisted in making this night a lovely one. As she cleaned off her specs, she looked into my face and asked “where to now” I froze like the midst in a cold winter, as I caught a glimpse of those familiar eyes. “Macarthur Bart” I mumbled as I went into thought.

It was a year ago on a Thursday, a weird day I thought to be holding an event such as this one. As I stood camouflaged with the youngsters I figured it shouldn’t take too long given that they have school in the morning. A positive outlook. I didn’t want to be there, around a bunch of overexcited teenagers, who were giddy about the Turf Dancers from L.A. My god-brother was hosting the show and told me he needed a hand. I raced over after work, and was intrigued at the fact that I got to watch the fashion show models practice. Another plus. The show was going smooth, it was very electric inside, surprised me on how much energy and emotion was put into it. I helped where I could, but ended up being the curtain boy. And there she was a beauty, sitting in the last chair of the middle section of the first row. Familiar looking but couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “I know her from somewhere” I thought to myself. A thought that became as irritating as a persistent fly. “Where do I know her from” I ask myself over the course of the show. By this time she had noticed my consistent stare. I then focused on the job at hand every time our eyes came close to meeting. I eventually conceded on figuring out where I knew her from, instead concentrating on her rare beauty. Red bone, with a Nubian touch, tantalizing eyes. I decided to approach and maybe see if she knew me or at least use that as a starter. As I walked towards her I noticed she was a mature woman just with a teenaged face. She was accompanied by two little girls. “I know you from somewhere, or you was in my dreams or something.” I opened hoping to induce a laugh. “Oh really” she replied sarcastically no smile in sight. “Yeah one of the two, kinda scarring me though.” No response, as she lifted the youngest child who was half sleep. “Would you like a hand, I’m on my way too.” “Naw I got it, I’m used to it.” She said, given me my reason to pursue. “Well, I can at least walk you guys out, you know these youngstaz can get wild sometimes.” I chuckled trying to be a mature gentleman. She agreed. “Sure that’ll be nice of you.” “Cool.” We walked and talked, I explained my reason of being there. She did the same, expression her daughters’ enjoyment for the art. I examined her curves as she adjusted the seat belt across her daughter’s fragile chest. “You have a lovely family, their father must be proud.” I said with a conniving thought. “He is” she snapped. But that wasn’t good enough to stop my persistence. “Is he around” I asked. “For them” she replied “O’ okay I get it.” I said with a smile. “We should exchange numbers, meet up for coffee something.” She blushed and I swear she could have been a model for a Colgate commercial. “That sounds fine.” She proceeded to give me her number, as I dialed it in my phone. I was so excited I almost forgot to get her name, so as I was walking off I asked. “Elisha” she shouted.

We shared our thoughts about the open mic as we rode the boulevard. I watched the street lights as the were glowing, reminded me of moments passing. Good Moments. We were comparing the urban open mic to the more conservative. We agreed that both feed the soul in their own way. We also talked about how good the Indian cuisine was. Also noting how we were going to pay for it later. It was a wonderful night that I felt we both enjoyed. We even committed the cardinal sin for writers, by discussing future projects. We shared internal secrets about them also, and how we planned to incorporate our lives in with the fiction. We had similar ideas. “You can let me out here” I said interrupting the flow of conversation. “O’ okay, thank you again for everything” she said softly. “The pleasure was all mine, trust me, thank you! For your time” I replied generously. “Okay have a good night, see you later” she said. “Oh for sure” I snapped back, but in my mind I was thinking definitely! No Goodbyes, but a ‘see you later’, just insurance of seeing her again. I walked off towards the station securing my bag on my back. Unveiling an irremovable smile. “See you later” I said to myself. Leaving the ending open to a new beginning…

Sirr Pope

My 8 year old prodigy: Desi Keys

My Cries Didn't Go Unheard

"When will it be my turn?!” I emphatically wail.

“Why do I love so freely, so hard, and yet, it’s never reciprocated?” I retrieve my glass and imbibe the last drop.

“What is so wrong with me?” Tears now stream profusely.

“What have I done to deserve this?” My perpetual sobs now yield a blaring headache. Hyperventilating, I try to catch the last breath; reminiscing my mother’s departure...Holding onto her garment, only age 5; love was still cultivating, yet prematurely deprived.

My next breath inhales memories of the many loves I held onto…once found, only to be lost, while I was still holding on…I exhale, letting go of a ten year marriage.

“It simply is not fair.” A nostalgic image of the self I grew so fond of that I believed “she” was the answer washes away with the next tear.

“Why God, WHY??!!” I am trying to make sense of it all.

“Please help me!!”

A being emerges; sleepily. Approaching me, I feel a warm kiss upon my tear stained cheek.

The visual of innocence is now conspicuous as my ears capture a voice: “I love you mommy,” my daughter utters.

Her consequential embrace comforts me before returning to her slumber, no longer interrupted. I sob at the revelation of my answer, knowing that my daughter didn’t hear my cries, but it was God who answered my pleas.

Drained, I find my way to bed, and nestle alongside my two daughters.

As I drift into a serene sleep, I whisper “I love you guys,” and hold onto to my children a bit tighter.

As our dreams coincide, my heart rests peacefully.

Solidified, and content knowing that although I may not have any(one) to reciprocate the love I give so timelessly, I have (two) lying right here beside me; always holding on, and forever loving me…

The Beauty of Your Eyes

My vision has captured the World’s most beautiful eyes, emitting the mysteries of a profound soul.

Mystifying desire summons, burning with infatuation.

Captivating glimpses of:

a child-like innocence

an unconditional love

the hidden pain

And

longing desires

of a fateful destiny.

The intimate visual penetrates an illusion of heaven; its spiritual ecstasy ascending to places yet to be seen.

Share with me the magic, and allow me to stare into the beauty of your eyes…

Until this moment transcends forever

THE BOTTLE

Red. White. Clear. Dark.
Mixed. Shot.
Straight...to the head. Ache
Why did you always take?
Away
No longer did I wish to be in bondage. Held-CAPtive
Each time, you turned your back on me
Stabbed---
Sick. Hung...over
Indulgent-Satiated-Jaded
I hated it
No fun. You only had me tired from the run(s)……….
Sick and Tired
Always sick then tired
Loss of time and energy. Fatigued. No damn reprieve...in sight
Unable to see, give me insight
I see
Clearly
Now cognizant
Truth is: I was once a slave to the bottle

MOTHER

Surrogate
Biological
Adoptive
Foster
Step
In-Law
Portrayals of a mother
Parent
The bosom of a parent bears the heart of a mother.
Irreplaceable, she could never be another
Often duplicated
Closely replicated
Highly under-rated
Clearly stated.
The epitome of a lover.
Woman
Her
She.

Is...Queen of the human race.
Female
Lady
Mother… nature
Nurtur(h)er
Fight(h)er
Lov(h)er
Comfort(h)er
Conceived by the person also known as: Mom. Mommy. Mama. Ma.
She that births beauty, nurtures love, and yields abundantly, can only be called a Mother.

The Rayne is Here

She reigns
A N N
e a
w m
e
Not a given, but a chosen
Without façade or fabrication, the new title offers a truncation of her profound make-up
Not made-up, she sees herself
Solidified; and propelling to seens unknown
The unseen
Having neither inkling nor clue of what's in store
she continues to emphatically produce more...
Organically grown transcriptions
of
her life story;
Depicting nuances of Rayne
Perpetual mind
Deep thoughts
Unrelenting
because
never could she stop.
Reigning....
A downpour of precipitation
She pours out her heart and soul
to the world
Resounding.
Quite astounding
even to her the magnificence behind her innate craft
Undesiring to do the math
she opts to write.
Formulas. Problems. Equations.
Scribing answers to a series of theories.
Reverberation
inner stimulation
deep penetration
scriptural elation
creative high
Behold,
because here she comes
Rayning...........

Truth. Unspoken.

It is you who resides in a non-verbal world

The one that was once apart of my used-to-be, former life

The one of strife, empty promises, and sad goodbyes

I try to remain patient and humble, while you seem content having me in this limbo

Honestly, do you think it’s that simple?

Admittedly, the intimacy is remarkably amazing…

so you question then what’s missing? The fruition of something called an interpersonal relationship

Dictation: the removal of short-lived physicality

and replenished with the longevity of abundant substance... in all actuality

Nourished with time, energy, and understanding,

it then cultivates into tangible communication.

Not left to ascertain unknown obscurities

which in turn alludes to the many insecurities and theories of conspiracies.

Quite simple,

yet still, the succession requires two

Become aware that none can attain the caliber of being me

You see,

the jewel before you never settles…for less; only the best

And the rest?

Omit the lies, games, and B.S, and give me You

Full Throttle

Not the pre-existing Red Bull

Break the charade of silence, and speak volumes

ALOUD

Damn the proud, pompous, egotistical

Divulge yourself to a bonafide woman that's Sublime

She that is situated

atop a diamond mine

Having since spoken.

Word.

In my own words, infused with reigning emotion, it is now your turn to speak.

Openly Allow me to hear your voice No longer aloof, reveal to me the unspoken truth...

Copyright © 2009 Rayne

Naked

Stripped.
Bare.
Vulnerable.
Combating this feeling of love…
A battle which derives from thoughts which she can’t quite divulge…
Because, while adamant that she has no clue of what’s in store,
what she detects is the chemistry that’s constantly evoked,
and her yielding to the intense desire of wanting more.
They’ve managed to contrive a compound deciphering a new basic element of life…
H2One of which can never be attained twice.
Although she could never suffice her value for the feelings that she feels,
fervent thoughts and emphatic emotions ignites a seething fire…
one that rages insatiably.
Her feelings are revealed through intimacy, exposing the truth of her inner being.
A vulnerable child who conceals herself.
Locked.
Guarded.
Hidden.
Away with the key, never to be found…
Out of fear.
Why then can’t she discern what’s real?
Or faux.
Maybe it’s best that she remains invisible… ghost.
Because, the cost may be too much to pay.
And If it is so, why it is that she continues to play...
with fire?
She repulses liars, empty desires, and dangerous admirers,
so, reiterate once more then, why she settles for this uncertain feeling of which disappointment is bound to transpire?

Copyright © 2009 Rayne

I Bid You Farewell

Today, I'd like to bid farewell to a lifelong friend.

You have been in my life for as long as I can recall. We've had a lot of time spent together. We've argued, we've struggled, and yes we fought, but I refused to allow you to keep me in bondage. Only you possess the ability to stimulate within me the intense feelings of: nervousness and butterflies in my stomach, you make me sweat like no other, cause me to cry during my most vulnerable times, and relentlessly, you keep me blushing while bearing a smile on my face.

However, our relationship has been quite tumultuous. You constantly doubt me, incessantly exploit me, and vehemently make a mockery of me. I refuse to allow you to hinder my progress any longer. No more in hiding, the removal of all fear, and weakened emotions eradicated. Although I have grown and have learned a lot from you, it is time for me to reclaim my life as I say goodbye. Sorry to disappoint you, but I have to break this cycle of imprisonment.

It's been quite a roller coaster ride, but I am glad to have known you because through you, I have become a stronger person. You have instilled in me confidence, esteem, self-assurance, and strength. I thank you my friend for aiding in my transformation, and although you may disapprove, I shall now continue my life without you. Good bye my friend Anxiety. I wish you well, and may think of you from time to time, but I will never see you again. I release you to go on about your journey... without me. (remove the handcuffs) I bid you Farewell.

Signed,
Your life long friend Rayne

Vindictive

Clearly indicative of the pain that's been bestowed upon her
Love to her is quite eminent, while others find it very limited.
Why not just let her be, instead of inflicting debilitating injury?
Not one could grasp how it feels to be her, because in a world of hurt, let-downs, and disappointments, only loneliness stirs...
And still, she remains humble
Determined not to fall, trip, or stumble
Has she stalled? Or merely fumbled?
Too often life screams hell, feeling trapped inside a cell…of darkness
Agonizing in the cold, she hears nothing but utter silence/quite bothersome how many she finds so selfishly heartless
But,
she ponders, contemplating...Who is the one to blame?
The depths of her soul wishes for the pain to somehow wane… subside
But on the downside, in a world of rebellion, they will never abide; only incessantly conjure hurtful lies
So,
she becomes vindictive…
devising plans, schemes, releasing each and every inhibition
Some devious, others outright wicked
Not in evil sense, but in her ability to mastermind sophisticated antics
Mindful that two wrongs don’t make it right, her conscious attempts flight, but she fights, remaining steadfast.
Determined to exploit the culprits, and place them on full blast
How long will this mayhem last?
Seemingly,
for as long as it takes the initial intent to come to pass
She has had enough.
At the end of her rope, she fights back, refusing to continue to cope…with inflicted pain
Has she lost? Or did she gain?
Either way, fact remains that one should never dish out what they could never reclaim…Ten-fold
The hurt has caused her to become vindictive
As her life continues to unfold, payback has arose, and she falls
Remorseful
as the vengeance of her story seemingly remains untold

Copyright © 2009 Rayne

He Disclosed

That he possessed the ability to reach me
telepathically
Why me?
You were never my type
The,
stereotypical, easy on the eyes, ladies man didn’t awe me to look twice
So,
why send harmonic vibes?
My vice?
His beauty, luster, and presence was strikingly nice.
The
fleshly desire that all ladies love to admire.
Devour.
But it was he that possessed the power…to a mythical degree΅
his pedigree?
Was one that all women could agree…unanimously
It was he that we all wished, desired, and fantasized to be as WE
So tell me.
Telepathy?
Why use it one me?
I was never your “type”, initially stereotyped until you came to the realization that I was “the prototype” which compelled you to think twice
We both discovered that our initial inclinations were incorrect. Both per-fect-ly, im-per-fect
But as you stated.
"It was time,
And a Blessing"
Far from perfection, just heed the lesson, while we keep them guessing...with mental cues
Funny thing is they have NO clue
Nor can they fathom the degree that your te-le-path-y possessed to capture me
In the eyes, is where everything lied. Hoping they aren’t mere lies I wish to never despise.
No dismal surprises or upsetting discoveries, just learn me, teach me, and continually reach me---spiritually---mentally---physically---tel-e-pathic-al-ly


Copyright © 2009 Rayne

I Gave You ALL of Me

I gave you all of me.
Every inch, ounce, piece, and bit of me.
Genuinely;
I offered you me, the one that only few bare witness or gain the right to see.
Many wish, desire, and long for me, not one of them could ever be… because only you, could I give my entirety.
Openly;
Why did I give you so much of me?
Certainly; I was stupid to give you my heart, love, and allow you to partake in my ecstasy.
Because clearly, you didn’t want me, only the use of my body.
Damn, this is hard for me, and you never even uttered sorry…
I take it as you being ignorant and immature…
translation: a nobody.
Even presently;
I admire your creativity…
the initial plan, hashed out, implemented, but in the end, it was only you that cashed out.
Then you chalk it up as having clout?
Now that, I highly doubt…
because coward is more befitting, it’s the name you should tout.
You say I should just let it be?
Look at me, do you not see my feelings? Tear stained cheeks…slowly drying.
I wish to rewind, back to the time when m.e. was e.m., still me, only inadvertently. Fast forward…
Now look at me.
Pitiful, sorry, wasted, and abused…
never once did I see any clues.
The way I feel? I ache to heal.
Damaged goods, leftovers, expired, not even recyclables, just someone NOT for hire. When then will I love again?
Unanswered.
I still need time for my heart to mend.
And then… is when I can possibly love again.
Reluctantly; this time, can I only offer glimpses, visuals, some of, and only part of me

Copyright © 2009 Rayne

The Makings of Me

The only Me that there could possibly be:
the loving, compassionate, nurturing, altruistic She; all synonymous depictions of Me
Coinciding with the Me that’s:
self-proclaimed
God ordained
Non-mundane
Her name? Should have been Rayne instead of her government acclaim
Because She reigns……
the inundation of an essence that not even She can explain
Still, fact remains, that only She can ascertain the makings of She
the one they continuously repel Her right to be
Undefined, well refined, the only possession which She has the right to claim as Mine
Who is She?
The one they struggle and blindly fail to see… Translucently
The She that so desperately awaits on the World to see
the She that is inevitably, undoubtedly, unequivocally, undeniably the Underlying

In Me
And in Her growth, the real She discovers what only She could ever fully know. Although some allege to know, don’t believe the hoax
Cause there’s only one Me that She could ever be: and that She lies behind the title, the name, and the makings of Me.



Copyright © 2009 Rayne

Obscure Intent

Look into my eyes and tell me what you see:
An elated openness?
An eager yearning?
The disposition of my inward substance is learning…
to disclose the epitome of me.
Is my intent ambiguous?
Or my feelings merely obsolete?
The expression of the love I have come to know one can only wish to grow.
To evolve and revolutionize.
Or, am I setting myself up for a somber demise?
At times, I feel as though I may have stumbled upon a pleasant surprise…
While others?
I wish to hide…
enamored in full disguise.
Self exile,
wanting to exhale,
hoping that in the process,
the ex’s will somehow fail…
or better yet,
not come to pass.
For in my heart there lives this thing called love,
with intensity quite vast.
"Too fast." you reveal?
My rebuttal…
"What I feel is REAL."
Even still,
this feeling that I now know,
only resides here…
In my heart.
Yours?
Close, but even further apart...
Well at least that’s a start.
Because in order to win, it must first begin, and then…
only time, improvement, and discovery is when…
the once obscure intent can culminate into whatever is meant…
while in the process, I am emotionally spent.
My feelings have yet to relent...
or better yet, circumvent
allowing whatever is meant.
To be.
We?
Only time will tell…
And in the meanwhile,
there remains You, Me, and many possibilities...

Copyright © 2009 Rayne

My Mystery Man

You were once my silent communicator,
and have since gained the title of my “Mystery Man”
The audacity of your bold attempts to intrigue my inner being,
prod and mock my endless thoughts..,..,..
and daringness to keep my mind c8nv8luted remains a mystery.
Why?
Is the question I pose.
Is it that you evoke intricacy, confusion, and complexity
Yet
seemingly, it's quite simple
Our souls effortlessly intertwine;
daringyearningseekinglonging for more…
What is the more?
more answers perhaps.
more of you?
more of me?
more of truth?
The truth that's said to set one
free
Please do not fret, fear, or doubt me my mystery man,
I am someone real
honest
sincere
pure
As a confidante, companion, and friend,
your secrets lie safe with me.
Without biases, judgments, or preconceived notions,
just the eagerness to discover what lies behind the eyes of my mystery man,
to unfold the splendor of your enigmatic being,
and to partake in the pleasure of discerning your true person.
Perhaps
no longer a mere a mystery ??

Copyright © 2009 Rayne

The Silence Has Been Broken (THE INTERLUDE)

You initiated the smile
mine countered yours
then a spoken “Hello” gave a Name to my once Mute Friend
Now that the silence has ceased, I have yet to discover pIeNaNcEeR
My anticipation of what's to follow is rampant
My new found friend, with a name;

has my words been read and felt with the same passion that was input into it?
Were you able to discern the validity of the context while simultaneously replaying the scenario?
Thoughts coupled with abundant questions has risen;

and I contemplate whether I should take, or give-in.
Take away any further possibility of "nothing"

Or give-in to the exhilaration of the feelings that have emerged.
Was the brief exchange an exaggerated fragment of my imagination?
Or does a minute truth reside in our current situation?
It is a new year my friend, and yes this is something quite new
The only question that remains is "Can this be true?"

Copyright © 2008

The Introduction (FOLLOW-UP)

Then the I's and you's b e g i n t o f a d e
No more he's, just WE's.
No more she's, only possibly's; even maybes.
Cause lately, I've been struck by this urge, an onset of emotion.
Thoughts immersed with intricate visuals of US.
Potentially?
Just maybe
Shall we just let it be; The way things once were and have always been?
Our reality is normalcy.
Then the dreams and fantasies, start to succumb me, and it happens:
a whirlwind of violent sensations
h e a r t r a c e
bOdY s H a K e S
oooh the intensity of the aches
I feel the warm desire, as the spark transcends to
a raging fire.
The build up:

ERUPTION… the climax of a sensual seduction
f
o
followed by the sweet sensation
then communication
first the admiration

You had me, you have me, but the question is: “Do you want me?”
The answer. “Yes.” “No.” “Maybe?”
Shall I continue in this bout of written emotion?
Perhaps, our best bet would be to master The Art of a Formal Introduction

Copyright © 2008

Silent Communication (THE PRELUDE)

Tall Stature
caramel coated skin
perfectly toned physique
succulent lips
dreamy eyes
c
a
s
c
a
d
i
n
g
locs
heart-melting smile
Is the visual in the scope of my path when I frequent this locale
I prepare to partake in a full body conditioning, until by some subtle destiny, or calculated fate, you happen to cross my path
Startled, yet pleasantly surprised, our eyes lock.
my mouth waters; throat parched; heart palpitating……
Your looks turn to stares, and you smile with your lips as well as daring eyes
We then exchange mute goodbyes, as you disappear,vanishing with the drift of your stride

You have me mesmerized... fantasizing, dreaming, wishful thinking?
I notice you, noticing me, noticing you.
Words never exchanged, only gazes, stares, and silent forms of communication.
The possibilities have me perplexed, as I attempt to decipher our frequent, yet voiceless communication.
You come alone, I come alone, the chemistry apparent, yet still, we wait.
Patiently.
The anticipation is killing me.
Perhaps it isn't meant to be, or perhaps, it is time...in due time, our paths are bound to collide, and it is then we shall exchange more than our pre-existing silence.
The he's will have a Name, the him's a voice, the she's will be identified, and the her's will have the potential to become his.
Yours.
OURS.
Until some profound change occurs, I shall continue to wait. Patiently, silently, mute.
Copyright © 2008

Let’s Give Them Something to Talk About

You won't fight for Obama and change, but you combat warfare daily on the streets in sheer pain?
Glorifying guns, while they defecate all over our young sons.
The babies can flawlessly recite the lyrics to every song,
but when asked to read a book, they fall silent...the look of dumb!
Infiltrating these young minds, with the repetition of the lyrics they chant,
and you tell them to go to school, the sad excuse given is "I Can't."
You continue to be played for the fool, while our youth constantly drop out of school.
You'd rather have street smarts?
Define it!
Not in Ebonics terms, or are you illiterate? Incapable of constructing a standard sentence.
My heart aches at the revelation of our destiny.
Sitting here with this paper and pen, giving you knowledge on the importance of college, as you remain there listless, remote in hand?
Oh so conspicuous.

You'd rather make love in the club?
Well, wake up!
They are raping our youth!
Compelling them to take the easy way out, dreams of fast money, jobs instead of careers, Bryman College?
Let me school you on some real knowledge.
Put down the bottle and the blunt which enslaves us, pick up your paper and pen, captivate them, and blow out something dangerous.
They spoon you lies, while I feast my eyes on the prize, my struggle and strife is all worthwhile...in immeasurable size.
Accept nothing but the best, that's my constant conquest.
I fear no man but God, Allah, Yahwe. And you can't even fall to your knees and pray! Contradicting yourself while praising man made laws.
Abide? Never. Not to these repulsive flaws.
Preposterous.
The influx of fallacious.
You copulate their fables, while they torture us, puncture us, bestialize and taunt at us.
Leaving us bruised, broken, and tarnished.

Stop laboring their empires, building their dreams, paying you pennies on the dollar, well guess what: multi-billions is what their earnings bequeaths.
You say that I'm the exception?
Whitewashed?
No, I repel stupidity while it's you that's brainwashed.
As their toxins seethe through your brain, tell me who's the one to blame.
Trillion dollar deficit?
Can't fault Bush, or even his followers.
It's you who failed to cast the ballot, putting an end to this malice.
Because for you, just about anything will suffice.
You better start thinking twice, Christ paid the price.
Blood seeping, while we stay weeping; saddened by the tolerance of our people amid this mess...
Who is the man behind my brothers keeping?

Switching from biology to English, I rather write a thesis than to study metaphysics.
Science vs Religion?
I give insight and speak knowledge, that I'm sure most of you won't even bother to acknowledge.
Birthed by my spirit, soaked in nothing but truth.
Which I'm sure you can clearly see, for in my actions, I am living proof.
Give us back our independence, rightful thrones.
Your tenure is over, our life has just begun.

Let's give them something to talk about.





I was nervous as ever, and dead tired after lack of sleep, but I did it. I am so proud of myself. Facing my fears head on each day...I've added another stepping stone! ..

I Have Arrived... 1st Poetry Piece

Having NEVER written a poetry piece, this is what my mind conjured up just now:

When I think of my king,
I see you.
It's in the way you touch me,
gently.
The way you caress me,
passionately.
The way you nurture me,
effortlessly.
The way you love me,
endlessly.
Not on the basis of promise,
rather, the fulfilment of honest.
When I think of my king,
I think of you.
And then there's me.
Like no other.
In full attire,
elegance conspicuous,
intelligence by definition...
the epitome of a queen, you've found it in me.
My substance.
Not in the sway of my hips,
nor the touch of my lips,
but in my ability to make love to your mind ravenously,
your spirit succulently,
your soul substantially...
It's you my king that I see.
Intangible?
Possibly.
But it is my vow,
to never cease;
undying faith,
as I wait for you...patiently.
When I think of you my king,
I envision me.
And then subsequently,
I see WE.
The distinguished duo?
Definitely.
For the world to see...

Copyright © 2008

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings...

Anxiety is what has held me captive for the past twenty-one and a half years. Drug abuse violently disintegrated my family at age five, and in that moment, everything had been stripped away from me. The confidence, the nurturing, and the love which was once instilled in me, had all ceased to exist. My childhood consisted of being pressured into becoming the epitome of perfection. I constantly carried the labels of the "favorite child", the "pretty girl", "intelligent", and "teachers pet" which branded me the black-sheep amongst my family and friends. With no outlet for retreat, I began to shy away as I poured my emotions into my writing, dance, and cries that went unheard. I had always been said to be an eloquent writer, for this was the mechanism I often used to express myself while my voice remained mute. The assumption was that I was weak, when the reality was that I was never built. Like the caged bird that sings, verbal communication was non-existent in my world, so I conformed. Lying dormant and still mute, I awaited my chance to break free.

It wasn't until I reached the age of twenty-three that the startling discovery of my affliction was unveiled. It had taken eighteen years for a close friend of mine to reveal the symptoms and inform me that I was suffering from "social anxiety". Then it all began to make sense. I now understand that the smiles which I wore so frequently were mere gestures of nervousness; The lack of eye contact I subconsciously displayed was visual evidence of my lack of confidence; The need to cover my body and hide behind a jacket or purse, and the sensation of always feeling cold was in fact confirmation of my insecurity. Avoiding conflict, saving face, and being constantly taken advantage of were signs of my passive aggression. Not having the strength to say no, or voice my concerns and feelings freely were signs of my underlying weakness. The overwhelming desire to give an abundance of love, while ignoring the conspicuous signs of infidelity and lies was due to the fear of being alone. In this prolonged state of imprisonment, relentlessly trying to break free, my subtle cries were my only source of comfort, and I wept. Gaining strength with each falling tear, I yearned to be heard. Although my previously perceived "introvert" qualities were now given a confirmed name, I knew that this was still just the first step of my long journey to freedom.

My initial inclination for taking a communications course was to overcome my affliction with Anxiety. As we formed groups and collectively performed tasks and assignments, I gained a bit of confidence with each passing day. The class, only three weeks in length, had given me necessary tools required to build and sustain more meaningful inter-personal relationships. We were given an assignment to research one of the pre-selected topics and deliver a speech about it. Having never delivered a speech or a presentation, I was terribly frightened. Initially, I wrestled with the topic of my speech and the direction in which to present it. On the first day of presentations, I came to class with my prepared speech in hand, but still sensed that something was missing. As I gave my full attention to each speaker, I sought the opportunity to build the confidence to give my speech, but something in me forced me to wait. As I listened to each message, some boring, while others informative, something hit my spirit and compelled me to take my speech into another direction. I couldn't quite gauge at the time that this was the beginning of my spiritual journey of healing, but I obliged, and decided to give my speech a few days later after making several revisions. With each passing day, I'd find myself utilizing the information I gained from the course to better resolve situations I found myself in. The situation that proved to be most detrimental took place the day I was to deliver my speech. My mother who lives in Chicago called me at seven in the morning, yelling in my ear, and attacking my parental skills (for which she never had). Holding a calm demeanor, I didn't get upset, I just simply asked her to not yell at me, and give me the respect I deserved. Her unwillingness to comply took a toll on me, and I politely explained to her that if she could not give me the respect I demanded, I would have to end the call. The conversation ended with her hanging up in my face. Going on three hours of sleep and running late to class, my spirit was broken again, while I attempted to hide behind the façade that everything was okay. I somehow managed to hold it together, destined to not allow her actions to deter me from delivering my speech. My daughter in tow, I asked a friend if she wouldn't mind my daughter sitting in her class because I was uncertain if I could bring her to mine. As the speeches proceeded, I slowly began to lose it, finding myself unable to maintain my composure any longer. Thoughts of my past resurfaced, and I once more succumbed to fear. Fear of judgement, disappointment, rejection, and failure. As the time neared for me to present my speech, a sensation of needing my daughter there overcame me. I went and got her, desperate to "make her proud of me". She has always voiced to me how much she admired me, how I was her hero, and how she wanted to follow in my footsteps. With those phrases tattooed in mind, I slowly found my way to the podium. I thought "I can do this", just focus and remain calm. I wrote my name on the board, then turned to face the class and my daughter. Vulnerable, I looked around and opened my mouth, nothing came out, only silence. Unable to maintain my composure, I broke down and wept. After a few deep breaths, and some sips of water, I stood there again, naked. In a second attempt to exert my freedom of speech right, I managed to get an opening statement out by briefly sharing the events that occurred that morning during the interaction with my mother. I looked out at my daughter, and once again overwhelmed with emotion, I lost it completely. Uncontrollably crying, my daughter exited her seat, and came over to console me. My assurance that I was confident, that I was strong, and that I could do it, came in the form of my six year old daughter. After twenty-six and a half years, my daughter was the one to embed in me what my own mother had once stripped away. In that instant, I knew what I had to do. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled, regaining my composure, I faced the class once more. In full relinquishment, and with my daughter by my side, I delivered my speech. This time the struggle was minor, and although I read from the paper, I made sure to connect with my audience as I presented the speech. At the conclusion of the roughly four minute presentation, I became overwhelmingly empowered. Empowered because I had finally gained the ability to win the battle with my fears; Empowered because my own daughter managed to instill confidence in me for which I had always longed for; And even more so empowered that the succession of my courage moved not only myself, but those present that day to tears. The transformation that had transpired was the power of my inner child finding her voice.


My chains of slavery and bondage have since been broken. I now possess the ability without thought or reason to walk with confidence - my head held high. I am no longer afraid, nor do I surrender to the bondage of "Anxiety". Although a continuous and conscious process, I become stronger with each passing day, and ensure that my voice never goes unheard. The sweet melody, played by the tune of my voice, sings that I have arrived. Set free, like a caged bird spreading her wings for the world to see. Through the power of my experience, and the song of my voice, I now with assurance contend that I have been freed.

Copyright © 2008