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Archive for the tag “writings”

Summer Love II

Her beauty was intense and her smile forever glowed.

Capturing the hearts of many only to leave them longing for more…

First name – Summer

Last name – Love


Summer Love

She knew not to love deeply.

She knew not to love long.

She knew that the love they created in this space and time would be as hot and as intense as the summer heat that sweltered in her grandmother’s tiny two-bedroom flat on the island.

Even though their days were spent as inseparable lovers, she knew that when the time came for them to journey off in their separate ways, she would probably never see, nor hear from him again.

But she settled her heart and found solace in the fact that this short amount of time would prove to be

the most fulfilling

the most passionate

the most joyous in her life

And it always did…

every summer.


Accept Me For Me

The following is a poem I wrote as a senior in high school. I can remember dealing with many insecurities and issues about my own self and how others viewed me. People were quick to point out what I lacked…all of my “if only you were…” I finally came to the realization that I had to accept everything about myself; my hair, my lips, my nose shape, my skin tone, my height, my body size. This poem was the result of that moment of self-acceptance. 

I may not have

The long, light-brown hair

You so often fantasize,

And I may not have

A slender nose

Or sultry hazel eyes.


But I do have

Talents of sorts

And many abilities,

So I ask that you

Look beyond my outward appearance

And accept me for me


I may not be

The tall mystery

That attracts all of your affection,

And I may not have

The shapes and curves

And an unblemished, fair complexion.


But I do have

An open heart

And an unblemished inward beauty,

So once again

All I ask of you

Is to accept me for me.


Do I sound too bold?

Do I sound too proud?

Or maybe even too profound?

It’s just that I’ve seen

This inward part of me

And I’m pleased with what I’ve found.


Even though I’m not the image

You desire so much

The one of your fantasies,

It’s just that I’m striving

To be the very best

So just accept me for me.


Open My Eyes That I May See

Blindly traveling through life, I ask myself,

“Isn’t there a better way?”

How many times shall I stumble and fumble?

How many times shall I bump and bruise?

My path seems so dark sometimes that I don’t know where I’m going.

I can’t recall where I’ve been.

But I know my eyes deceive me with mirages and illusions,

fool me into thinking I see something that just isn’t there.

— Courage becomes fear

— Loyalty becomes betrayal

— Truth becomes lies

At times I want to call upon Elisha’s spirit to utter that same prayer he did for his servant —

“LORD, I pray thee, open her eyes, that she may see!”

I ask you dear Lord, anoint my eyes with clay and wash them in your chosen river so that I can receive your sight.

Open my eyes so that I can see those horses and chariots of fire you have surrounding and protecting me.

Open my eyes so that I may see the angel you sent to stand in my way when I was on the wrong path.

Open my eyes so that I can see the well of water you supplied as I wandered so long in the wilderness.

Lord, I pray thee, open my eyes, that I MAY SEE!


Sound of Silence

What does silence sound like?

Silence no longer sounds the same as it had before.

Before, the silence was filled with so much conversation

— the nonverbal understandings

— the all-knowing glances

— the all-telling touches.

But now, the silence that exists between us gets more deafening day-by-day.

Now it’s so long, now it’s so loud.

When did this silence become so uncomfortable? Almost unbearable?

When did it become dense with so many unanswered questions?

When did it become so thick with apathy and indifference?

Silence is to be quiet – but between us it’s so loud.

Silence is to be peaceful – but between us it’s so chaotic.

Silence is to be light – but between us it’s so heavy.

And this silence between us gets longer and longer – louder and louder.

Silence sounds much different than it had before and I no longer recognize this





Distraction – Doing My Own Thing

I was going about

Minding my own business

Doing my own thing

Fighting for my people

Screaming out as loud as I could to this government

Ranting and raving about the injustices of this society

Debating any right-winger who got in my way

And then —

You caught my eye

Standing as still as a statue, demanding that your presence be known

You didn’t say much

But you didn’t have to

Just the mere sight of your tall mahogany frame spoke loud enough for me

I tried to collect my thoughts

And get back to

Doing my own thing

Crying out for all to use their economic powers

Cursing those who get out of jury duty, because for each time we don’t serve another one of us gets locked up and another one of them gets away

Accusing bourgeois Negroes for being Black only when it is convenient for them

But then…

I caught a glimpse

Of 400 years of oppression sizzling in your eyes

And when you turned around, they burned right through to my soul

Your chin was held up high enough to so proudly defy all odds

But not so much as to look down on anyone

I fumbled and stumbled over my words

Trying to remember what I was doing? – Oh yeah –

Doing my own thing

So with my fist raised high in the air, I shout

Black Power!

With my hands reaching out to my people, I cry

Black Pride!

With my feet walking through the depths of the hood, I preach

Black Unity!

And with my arms extended to embrace and feel you, I sigh

Black Love!

Your soul speaks to me, beckoning me to respond

But I’m

Doing my own thing

Your infectious smile spreads across full moistened lips

I’m trying to

Do my own thing

Your long strides diminish the distance between us

I’m supposed to be

Doing my own thing

The deep timbre of your voice makes my body shudder

Keep my mind focused on

Doing my own thing

The words that drip from your lips and the language that oozes from your body divert my attention and I ask myself

How can I concentrate on

Doing my own thing

When all I want to do is. . .

~ BeautifulMind17 ~

Word Play

You lyrically tantalize my mind, taking my thoughts to unknown levels of my psyche. I can’t help myself with you. I willingly fall into the trap you lay out while your tongue weaves webs of words through the space and time we create.

They possessively caress my curiosity, tease the walls of my imagination, penetrate my open mind. I succumb to your control, allowing you to lead my fantasies through paths unknown. Through this exploration of my honesty, I discover just how far I could go.

Entangled in your words – I have no fears

Possessed by your imagination – there are no boundaries

Ensnared with your boldness – I have no inhibitions

Twisted inside your intensity – there are no limits


Love Me Beyond

Love me beyond —–

My hang ups

Love me beyond —–

My boundaries

Love me beyond —–

My inhibitions

Lying in space together

—– no doubts

—– no fears

—– no anxieties

Eyes interlocking, knowing but not knowing

Slow, methodical, purposeful caresses over my body

Come bend this moment in time with me

I want to let down my guard with you

I want to put so much trust in you

Take me where I’ve never been before and I’ll do things I’ve never done before

Love Me Beyond —–

~ Beautifulmind17~

4-Letter Word

We have danced around that 4-letter word for so long, afraid to mention it by name, not daring to speak it into existence.

Intense – Powerful – Undeniable – Indescribable – Justifiable

Choosing to call it everything but…

For so long, it has been a lifeless word waiting for life to be breathed into it. Under each sentence, between each word it would hide, waiting for us to find it.

At times, we looked dead at it only to ignore it, but it remained, refusing to leave.

The idea of acknowledging it was such a frightening thought, but it courageously stood it’s ground, unwilling to be move or chased away.

And now it so boldly stands before us, waiting to slip past our thoughts and lips and into our conversations.

Then, how easily will it grace our tongues. Will it sound intriguing, innocent, alluring, honest, sincere, passionate?

How beautiful will it sound when it’s finally spoken into existence

– that little 4-Letter Word.

~ BeautifulMind17~

The Myth of the Strong Black Woman

“Hey Mama Jean? How are you doing?”

“Chile, my doctor had to change my blood pressure medication again, my arthritis is acting up, can’t hardly walk, my grandbaby done had her baby and they at house along with these other grown folks who ain’t working, and you know I take care of Ms. Etta Mae down the street cuz you know she ain’t got nobody else to help her. But other than that, I’ll make it. I’ve got to cuz who gonna do it if I don’t?”

I know I may not get a lot of praise for this post, but I need to address an issue that has been weighing heavily on my heart. That is the myth of the “Strong Black Woman.” I am not taking away from the fact that I come from a long line of black women that have stood up against so much and have endured so much and still survived. The women I’ve seen have displayed so much tenacity and longsuffering. I am not negating any of that at all. But what I want to do is address this idea of the “Strong Black Woman.”

Just as I mentioned, those women in my life and in my family that displayed amazing strength are in fact not doing well at all. So many of them are taking so much medication, some are so depressed, some have so many physical ailments, some are carrying so much emotional pains, but still they continue to take it all on. It makes me wonder if we are buying into the whole idea of the “Strong Black Woman.” For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard this. Since a little girl, I have been indoctrinated to believe this. In as much that I needed to hear it, did it counteract what it was supposed to do? Do we as black women take too much upon ourselves? Do we try so hard to do it all? Do we somehow not ask for help even when we need it the most?

And what about our black men? They observe their women, their mothers, their grandmothers. Are they so used to seeing them do it all by themselves? Does that make it easier for them to leave the children when things don’t go well in the relationship? Do they depend on mama and grandmama too much to carry them well beyond their youth?

I am by no means saying that we as black women should just throw our hands up in defeat and wait for someone to come save us as damsels in distress. I, for a fact realize and understand that most black men admire our strength and want a woman that can stand up with him and not crumble at the mere sight of danger. But does this veil of strength cause them not to be as in tune with the need we have to be cared for, appreciated, cherished…loved? Or are those characteristics viewed to be too delicate for us because we are supposed to be these tough, strong super women?

I don’t profess to have the answer nor the solution, but I truly believe that the dialogue needs to begin in our community. We all invest so much and so heavily into this “Strong Black Woman” mentality that it just might be to our own demise.

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