So let it be…
I Promise You a Woman
I know what kind of girls you’re used to.
I know that
kindergarten fingers on small hands don’t know how to hold you
like I do see
she pushes buttons on your heart like that
cause she’s not hip to the fact that a man can lose focus too
but see she’s just a little girl
so she plays catch with your emotions
cause she feels that if she hits you hard enough
you’ll start coughing up tokens for her to play games with
see
I know that your body to these little girls is merely a myth
And every trip to your mouth is a quiz
enveloped in living water that she ain’t learned how to swim in yet
so she apologizes for getting lost in your kiss
and every vibration of your body simply doesn’t make sense to her
and every word of truth coming from your lips is like a puzzle
that she ain’t figured out yet
and she’s insecure because what she’s selling has failed
and its cause the way you love to her is reminiscent of fairy tales
see
they mistake my trust for you as some kind of façade
don’t know what a real man is so they think you are a God to me
mistaken the heavenly embrace of your arms for wings
cause I told ‘em I’m willing to fly away with you
and they mistakenly discern that you grant me wishes like the milky ways
and the stars
cause they see me praying for you
and your mind they can’t dissect
your ways are hidden from them like the life of tiny insects
so she dismisses you as too perfect and she ain’t ready for all that yet
you’re just too nice for her
yea, I know what kind of girls you’re used to
But what I promise you
Is a woman
I promise you support sweeter than any tea you could fathom
I promise you words of love and not temper tantrums
I promise to be strong so when it comes to bearing my burdens you don’t have to
Because I promise to help and not hinder you
I promise to cry tears on your shoulders so I can properly communicate with you
And I promise to bear soldiers and little soliderettes for you
You see I promise not to walk in your shoes
cause I’m woman enough to know that you’re the head of me
And like the neck I support you
Cause what I promise you
I promise you, not a little girl,
but what I promise you
is a woman.
Not Because
#StayEncouraged
The Writer in Me: TV
Does the writer in you get in the way of certain normal activities? Do you react differently in certain situations because of how you analyze the writing in it? Maybe you used to read books strictly for entertainment, but now you can’t stop noticing run-on sentences and comma splices. Well, maybe that’s more along the lines of the Grammatical Geeks (of which I happen to not be one of them, for those of you who’ve counted all of my grammatical mistakes in the first two sentences of this post) but you get the point. For instance, watching movies is not just about watching movies anymore. I don’t know about you, but TV means so much more now than entertainment on a number of levels. One of those levels is writing. When I sit down to watch a good TV show or movie, one thing I notice is how well (or poorly) the writer outlined a scene. Sure the director and actors play a major role, but I’m also looking at how the story was written, what was left out, and why. Its kinda weird I’ll admit. I’m probably the only person who yells at the screen:
“What? That doesn’t even make any sense. Who wrote this?”
On occasion I do blame the actors but mostly for me its the writers. I mean, don’t say Sara hates the color red and then have her skipping down the street in red platforms. And please don’t overdue the dialogue. The second season of American Horror Story almost lost me, way too much talking going on between the head guy of the catholic mental institution and the demonically possessed Nun (yea, forgot both their names). That season just seemed to be a lot slower than the first one. The writer in me therefore sought to mentally ask the writer what happened. Supernatural on the other hand is totally awesome when it comes to dialogue. I love the conversations between Sam and Dean, the humor that is incorporated into the story, and the carrying out of the roles by the actors. Speaking of awesome, when a TV show is excellent the writer again gets all of my praise. It rarely occurs to me that the actors merely improvised or that the director deleted a scene. In the end, I just can’t help the writers eye. But believe it or not this actually helps me in my own writing. When I write, I like to picture it playing out like a movie. I figure if I picture the story unfolding like a movie, chances are I’ll critique it with the same level of attention. Nope,. doesn’t always work but I still do it. In the same way, when I watch TV shows or movies I sometimes see it as a manuscript. I mean, someone had to write it first… write?
Guest Feature – Alone
Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don’t believe I’m wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
There are some millionaires
With money they can’t use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They’ve got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Now if you listen closely
I’ll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
‘Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.
– Maya Angelou, Alone
Summer Smells
I love the smell of summer. Though you really can’t experience it until the sun starts to set and darkness sets in. Right now the sun is overtaking any whiff of delicacy in the air with its blazing heat, so you’d have to wait a while to experience what I mean. It has to be the perfect mixture of cool and warm mixed in a giant bowl called your backyard. I would describe it like freshly cut grass or the new growth of leaves on tree branches. Or maybe we can associate it with the smell of a coming rain. These aren’t very good descriptions. I know I have not enticed your creative mind to the extent of sight. I know you have not tasted the air of freshness melting on your tongue and all, but I have no other way to describe it aside from these basic examples. Besides, how does one explain the fragrance of life? Sometimes you can see a flower pouring all of its insides out, and cracking shells; shedding the once imperfect exterior to one more fitting for the season. Its growth is in many ways like our own. On first sight it looks like total destruction, and there is no gold at the end of the rainbow, at least not until we have weathered the storm. Always the hard stuff first, pain, suffering, tears, loneliness, doubt. I imagine it is a difficult process too for the flower. So much work to be done and change to endure early on. Only when it has shed its old casing do we begin to see the pretty pinks and reds of softer petals peek out from under the new coat of skin, see the dazzling beauty of what it has now become, and taste of the fresh smells of life.
This Summer…
Go “Beyond The Colored Line” (a short story)
A Short Story, coming August, 2015: Available in Print, Amazon, B&N, Kobo, and the Apple iBookstore. Visit my author website to see the Book Trailer or to learn more and to Sign-Up for the Newsletter. More information about the pending launch campaign, to include contests and free promotional products, will be available soon.And thanks so much for your support.
The PBS Blog 