Today is Good

That amazing future and glorious tomorrow. Always enticing us to move time forward so that we may rush what is now for a moment much more beautiful than this. A tomorrow much more gorgeous and radiant than the present. The present. What of this? What of now? What of our quest for some rare and perfect tomorrow when today is already a precious gift? Today is normal but it is here and living and present. We know not what the future holds. In fact, we know nothing but now. This moment. This treasure of breath in mouth. Today is good.

Good evening 💕

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Integrity

I really dislike this day and age where everyone wants to be seen and praised and prized. Purposely present to spew pillars of knowledge pulled and preserved for a time. No one wants to be silent but everyone wants to be wise. So we selfie our way into stardom on the ground. No one wants to stand behind the curtain or risk being forgotten, or admit that integrity is doing what’s right …even when no one’s looking.

Writers Wednesday – Chapter 3: The Men with Blue Eyes


Chapter 3 – The Office

Did you miss the first two Chapters? Start Here and Here


Tina balanced her Caramel Macchiato flavored coffee, car keys, and purse as she entered the office. Lawyers sat at desks answering phones and shuffling papers. They formed their own groups as they spoke in multiple conversations. The office was chaotic already and Tina’s team were already huddled around her partner’s desk. Frederick, “Freddy” Johnson saw her come in and nodded.

“Hey,” he said as she sat her things down at her own desk next to his. Tina swiveled in her large office chair and turned the computer on.

“What we got?” she said sipping her cup, her eyes catching a figure in the distance.

Oh no. Tina’s hairs stood up on her neck and arms. That was him again. The same man from the club. She was sure of it.

Freddy waved his hand in her face.

“Earth to Tina. Everything alright?”

“Yea, I’m good.”

“You sure? I can get someone else on the case. If it’s too early…”

“No”, interrupted Tina. “I’ll be fine. What do we have?”

Freddy turned to the pile on his desk. “We got seven people, all reported missing within the last 24hours.”

“And they’re all connected to the Ja’mella case?”

Freddy handed Tina a vanilla envelope, “Yep.”

Tina crossed her legs. Sidney’s face stared back at her, the Journalist from the case. She pulled out another file and Chareese face smiled back at her, Brandon’s girlfriend, one of the men accused of the rape. Nicknamed Tree for his large size, she remembered his public arrest at the Soccer Field. They got off. Was someone out for revenge? She paused, remembering that Chareese was pregnant. She pulled out another file.

“Who is this man? I don’t remember him being involved.”

Freddy walked over to Tina’s side and peered down at the documents. The face of an elderly man stared back at him. His eyes scanned down to his name. Freddy pointed, “Emmanuel Jackson. Sidney Jackson’s father.”

“So, they’re taking relatives too now? This doesn’t make any sense. What’s he got to do with it?”

“Apparently, enough”, said Freddy walking back to his own desk.

Tina took another sip of her coffee and shivered. She was the attorney in that case and had successfully got the two black men acquitted. Could she be next?

“Did anyone see anything?”

“We can check the testimonies of the families, see where everyone was last seen.”

Tina’s body stiffened at the figure in the distance.

“Tina?” Freddy looked behind him. “What’s up?”

Tina snapped out of it. She had to remember no one else could see them.

“Nothing”, she said sitting the folders on the table, “the testimonies sound good. I want a full report on every single person, where they spent their last hours, where they work, everything.”

“You got it” said Freddy picking up the phone. Tina used the opportunity to walk away, loosening the collar around her neck.

“Is the air on?”

Freddy was already on the phone and ignored her question. It was burning up or maybe it was just her. She entered the women’s bathroom, closed and then locked the door behind her.

I’m losing it.

She splashed cold water on her face and pulled the bottle of pills from her purse.

“I wouldn’t say so”, said a voice as she popped open the bottle. The white tablets fell into the sink.

“Shoot”, she said, scrambling to catch them before they all went into the drain. Now she had to convince Erica to give her another prescription. She only caught two.

Her blood raced, hands grew sweaty and the hairs stood up on her neck and arms, her knees wobbling. She couldn’t turn around or look up so she kept her eyes on the drain.

“What do you want from me?”

“I am not one of them. Well, I am but I am here to help.”

They sounded just like men. Not robotic like people thought or in the movies. It still didn’t change anything.

“You don’t help people, you murder them. What do you want from me? Have you not destroyed my life enough?”

“Listen, I know where they are. The people who are missing. I know where they took them. Most of all, I know why. Give me a chance and we can work this together.”

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Tina lifted her head to face the man in the mirror standing behind her. He looked human except for his blue crystal eyes reminding her that he was not her friend. He was one of them. And they killed humans. She thought of her nephew Ronnie and tears filled her throat, courage reaching her eyes.

“First off, we are not friends so stop acting like you can just pop in and out of my life. Secondly, I will never work with you.”

“You are acting like I killed Ronnie.”

“It’s your kind ain’t it? Same difference.”

“Listen, the government is trying to cover up the truth. Give me a chance and I’ll explain. We can be partners.”

“What? Why would I work with you? I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Azbuga, meaning Strength, but you can call me Az.”

Tina shook her head, “Whatever.”

“Everyone has a job. Just like here. Ours is to watch over mankind. So, that’s what we are. Watchers.”

Tina turned around to face him. She thought Az was attractive for an alien, though she didn’t know what he really looked like. The 7ft being was clothed in Hispanic skin with black hair and thick, black eyelashes. He wore blue jeans and sneakers which made him look normal. His blue jean jacket covered the white t-shirt. Except for his crystal blue eyes, he could be mistaken for a normal, Hispanic looking man. A very tall man. Tina wondered what his true image was. Maybe he’s a fire breathing dragon.

“Why should I believe you?”

Az dug into his right hand and his skin gave way to his fingers like clay to the hands of a child.

“Eww”, said Tina, watching until he pulled out a coin.

“You can see for yourself”, said Az, extending the coin.

“I’m not touching that.”

“It’s the only way to get in touch with me. Whenever you need me, hold it in your hands and think of my name.”

“I still don’t know how this proves anything”, Tina folded her arms.

Az pointed to the symbol on the coin, “Just like we have jobs, we also have symbols. We’re the watchers so the eye is ours. CBS, the back of the dollar bill, camera’s everywhere. All us.”

“So where were you? Huh? Where were ‘The Watchers’ when…” Tina’s voice trailed off as tears filled her throat.

“Not all Watchers are good. Some fell. We were supposed to watch you not…not harm you. Some of my brothers came down and did things with humans that were not right for them to do and now they’re just trying to cover their tracks. But not all of us are bad, Tina.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Where were you when Ron…”

“Everything alright?”

The coin fell to the floor and Tina froze. She had not checked the bathroom stalls coming in. She picked up the coin and put it into her pocket.

“Amy. Hi. Yes, everything’s fine,” Tina stumbled over her words, her arch enemy staring her in the face. Amy walked over to the sink and turned the water on. Her dark chocolate skin and dred loc’d hair pulled up in a pin. The woman washed her hands, cutting her eyes at Tina.

“Alright”, she said smirking.

Dammit T. Now you know she talk too much. Of all the people to screw up in front of, it had to be Amy.  This would be all over the office by tomorrow. Tina looked around the bathroom. There was no sign of him.

“Why is the door locked?” asked Amy unlatching the door.

Shoot. I’m definitely not thinking straight.

Tina shrugged and swallowed the pills in her hand dry as Amy rolled her eyes on the way out the bathroom. Tina washed her hands and straightened her clothing on the way out the door. She stopped when she heard murmurs.

“I’m serious. The girl was in there talking to herself. I told you she wasn’t ready to come back”, said Amy.

“She’s grieving. Give it some time”, said Freddy.

“Well, she can grieve on her own time.”

Tina rolled her eyes and shook her head. It hadn’t even been two minutes and Amy was already talking.

I bet that coffee cold as hell now too. Damn. Today is not my day.

The Right Poem

When the right poem is born it is all feeling. Taste and touch and nourishment. All heart and aching and lifting. Poetry is a revolution with a profound sense of strength. When the right poem arrives I notice it instantly. It is all moving like earthquakes so powerful that it breaks down mental barriers and knocks ignorance off Richer Scales. The right poem is not merely the ability to paint pictures with words. The right poem is a full manifestation of the heart. A complete contextualizing of the soul. The right poem is my entire body into words. Every piece of flesh, every tingling nerve. A spiritual essence poured out on the page.

What Really Grinds My Gears

You wanna know what really grinds my gears?

  1. When you see someone doing something you perceive to be wrong, or maybe it is wrong, and instead of pulling them to the side (a personal message or email) you create a whole blog post about it or social media post, that you know the person will see in the next 3 minutes. A lot of confusion and assumption would be eliminated if people just talked to each other. If you see someone doing something wrong, don’t talk about them. Help them. Pull them aside privately, “Hey sista”, or “Hey brother, you’re doing this wrong.” Wars are built on a misunderstanding. (And, for the record people, everyone’s not hating on you. Sometimes you’re just wrong.)

 

  1. Goodreads Reviews. Goodreads reviews really grinds my gears. Of course, this doesn’t apply to everyone but I’ve noticed that reviews left on Goodreads are a lot less tactful and professional. An honest review does not mean you have to humiliate people. If an author is going to be on Goodreads then they should have thick skin because people are mean there, sometimes bringing up valid points but with no filter. And yes, I did grow up in the projects so I am used to this behavior (laughing but serious), but not everyone is. We seem to forget that people (even adults) have feelings.

 

  1. Non-Creative Author Interview Questions. Seriously people, stop asking the same questions over and over again. Be creative. The more wild and crazy the questions, the more wild and crazy the answers! “So, who is that cross-eyed guy I saw on your Facebook? Is that your man? Are you into cockeyed guys? You can tell us, we won’t judge you.” Readers eat this stuff up.

 

  1. People who keep their air conditioning at 65 degrees or lower.

 

  1. When people think everything is supposed to be free. Everything you have to pay for is not a scam. If you buy into the notion that you are somehow taking advantage of or scamming people just because you are charging for your hard work and time, then you will not make it as an entrepreneur (because you won’t make enough money for it to work. Rent/Mortgage and bills are not imaginary.) As long as you are building trust and adding value (know what you’re talking about), there’s nothing wrong with charging for your service and your time.  Some of you can afford to do everything free. Maybe you got a little change stored away or you just have the time but that’s not everyone’s life. Everybody ain’t got it like that.

 

  1. When people use “Freedom” as an excuse not to believe the truth or justify their wrong. Everyone wants the truth, but no one wants to be honest. There is no freedom without responsibility.

 

  1. When Bloggers create private blogs and really think they’re private.

  1. When people like all your social media posts but don’t reach out to you in real life.

 

  1. Potato chip bags with a handful of chips in them.

 

  1. When relatives spend 364 days not supporting your writing and on the day, you release a book ask, “Where can I buy yo book?” and you never hear from them again.

 

  1. Religious debates from people who hate to hear the truth about their God/Gods. Here’s the thing: Your beliefs don’t make you a better person, your behavior does.

 

  1. Photo-shopped pictures of fast food that looks nothing like the picture in real life.

 

  1. People who walk all over you and then get mad at you for establishing boundaries. Order is not abuse.

 

  1. Racists whites who don’t know that they’re racists and get mad at you for pointing it out.

  1. Telling fast food places not to put mayonnaise on your burger (I hate mayonnaise) and they do it anyway.

 

  1. When people think saying, “I’m not religious, I’m spiritual” makes them deep. Saying, “I’m spiritual” doesn’t make you better than anyone else. What’s better is to just explain exactly what it is you believe in and why (because demons are spiritual too.)

 

  1. People asking, “So what you eat then?” because you said you didn’t eat pork as if no other food exist. (Though I don’t consider pork food)

 

  1. People who compare you to others. Stop saying, “so and so is doing it like this.” I don’t care what so and so is doing. That has nothing to do with me or how I do things.

 

  1. Religious people who act like they never lied, stole, cheated, or whored before. The more relatable you are, the easier it is to reach people. Just saying.

 

  1. and Indie/Trad. Publishing debates about which is better. Seriously people, just pick one that best suits you and move on. (Hint: Both require work)

Yecheilyah is an Independent Author, Blogger, and Poet. Her latest release

Renaissance: The Nora White Story (Book One) is available now on Amazon. 

“The characters all sound real. I really really liked all the dialogues, it seems like hearing true people speaking. Even the crowd scenes (and there are a few in the ‘southern’ thread) are involving and easy to follow.” – Amazon Customer Review

We Feel

Image Credit: Unsplash

We think and we feel and leak emotion in black ink in hopes to build bridges of commonality with others. Those who aren’t afraid to feel. To admit that last night had us hungover in our own feelings and that we sought to heal on paper. So, we sat there. Knee deep in tears from thoughts that marinated too long. The liquid-shaped hurt that rose from someplace we vowed to keep hidden for fear feeling wasn’t allowed. And still, we slipped up and let our thoughts hit the page where readers are left now to sit and mourn thoughts accidentally left on WordPress readers because someone left us a cracked smile. A “LOL” that came out just as twisted and crooked as reciting letters instead of coughing up a belly of laughter. You see, we don’t expect you to understand. You text in a language only your computer understands. For us? We cry out loud, dripping puddles of emotions we miracle into coherent sentences. For those of us who aren’t afraid to bleed real on the page. We feel.

Her

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I’ve grown an extra set of eyes just to catch the shadow in her walk. Micro-managed every detail of her smile, every light in her footsteps, and every scar in her heart. I stalk her intentions and pick out pieces of glass that may have found themselves in her thoughts when the levees poured over when the skies darkened and there was no light; when the glass broke. I scan her body with the intrigue of a man caught lusting for the first time. You see I need to make sure that her back is not bent, that her shoulders are sharp, and her head held high. I am intrigued with tasting her words before they exit her mouth, and I refuse to release my stare from the interior of her mind. I understand that my ways can be likened to that of a stalker but tell me, is it too much to zoom into her soul every morning to make sure that she smiles? Is it too much to hover over her sleeping eyes and find my way into her dreams? You see I have to make sure that she’s not distracted by destruction. I can never stop watching this woman’s ways and monitoring her heart. If I am to be of assistance to anyone it starts with her because she is me.