Writing Addiction Symptom #3: Dirty Diapers and Complaining Husbands

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• Dirty Diapers and Complaining Husbands

 
Oh you know the feeling. You make yourself a cup of Joe, get back to that switch button, and for the next 8 hours or so (hey, that’s pretty modest), you’ve taken yourself a mini vacation. Where are you going? Who knows, somewhere between Character Development and Turning Points; your only problems are: screaming kids, annoyed husbands and microwaved dinners. You’ve been at that computer so long your one year old knows what a Setting is, (and it’s not from the soggy Wheaties in his diaper either). Your husband has brought over his annoying friend for company (yes, the one you can’t stand), and your nine year old has painted her face pink and red at your distracted consent. Now, I want you to pay attention now because this is important:

 
The writer herself (yours truly), has neither one year old or nine year old and what you’ve just read is a list of completely made up events but, the fact that you’ve spent the last two minutes glued to these words in order that you may verify this condition is reason enough to count you among the worthy so take a bow, I now present to you the following prescription:

 

pres

CAUTION: If you’ve counted my every grammatical error I’m sorry but Grammatical Geeks is for another day and this prescription is not for you.

YOUR NAME HERE
Rx #1234567A
WRITER ADDICTION RELIEF 500mg Tab
TAKE ONE TABLET BY WRITING/TYPING EVERY DAY FOR WRITERS BLOCK
***TAKE WITH INSPIRATION

 

 

Cousin

black-girl

She walks but she sleeps…
she sleeps her way down 35th street,

Chicago’s State Streets.
The project life booming
lights
camera
action,
whistles blowing the street life calling
undressing her body with its eyes
for she blooms into this new body just as suddenly as the sky rises
she rises
into womanhood…….
since that first flow of blood sent hormones racing against waves she sleeps
with those waves
feelings of pretend love from the streets
swallow that pill of ignorance,
dazed in ecstasy
she sleeps.

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Hennessy bottles, homo sags and Baphomet signs,

he sleeps
getting this paper either on the basketball court or the recording studio he stays true to the streets, so he thinks.
Blind hormones and rap songz creating another generation of sleepers
too bad he doesn’t know
that by the age of 10 he’s already red listed as one of NYPD’s takers.
polished A-k 47’s eagerly await just 8 more years until it’s their turn to accidentally
shoot away what consciousness he’s got left.
But he sleeps
and she sleeps
living dreams to the fullest only to never realize that it was just a dream
living life to the fullest only to die
wake up and not live.
never giving ourselves the opportunity to realize that sleep is just the cousin of death.
Because the almighty never sleeps

and his righteous angels you see they don’t sleep
and the messiah died
dying physically
only to wake up from this sort of temporary sleep because he was ordained to never sleep again.
cause you can only live once…..physically
your body’s life fading away in the distance
rats and insects tearing away at past dreams of disobedience
but will you ever wake up from this past slumber and really live?
or will you sleep,
and sleep,
and sleep…
to become more acquainted
with the cousin of death.

The Relationship – My Love Affair with Poetry

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Smitten.

You know the feeling

that refreshing taste of newness

the aching agony that occurs merely from having to wait

until you can see him again

the love sick hurricane in your stomach

just to hear him say your name

the sweat that hides itself beneath your fingertips

when he’s around

the sudden sense of laughter

upon seeing his face

because you know like he does

the secret that lets its guard down

upon the blinking of your eyelids

the pace of a heartbeat

when a word of kindness escapes his lips

you know it

the feeling of fresh love

like the aroma of gourmet coffee

like when the caffeine simply invites you

like the pupils of his eyes when they mentally undress you

because the kindness pouring forth from these thoughts

is strangely exhilarating

the feeling that reminds you

why you were ever single,

the masculinity of a voice

strong, and incredibly calm

whatever I could do to convince poetry that it was necessary that we speak

was a chance to breathe,

for he was a ventilator

and I just needed air.

so I rushed home just to grab a book

or pry open my diary

and hold his thoughts in my hand until my paper

bled its first period.

Deeper.

Over time, we got closer and I became more open

I grew out of childhood

and demanded more attention from my lover

I became jealous and obsessive with my need to be seen with him

in the classroom, in the library, and late into Open mic nights

I ate up words with the speed of speech

and wrapped alliterations

around alphabets

like it was oxygen.

Smoking lyric

and sipping on rhythm slow

like the stride

of a black man

Commitment.

It was no longer convenient to lock me away,

cover me under the flap of notebooks and journals,

it was time to come out of the closet.

I tried to stay focused really,

but paper had proved to be too cluttered

and too slow for us,

too polluted to allow the thing we’d attempted through privacy

to ever grow into what I needed

How could I allow our particular version of intimacy

to be buried by the commas and blue lines

and falling parenthesis that make up the creative world?

After all, we were in love and as such it was time for marriage

and the introduction of this relationship

into the mainstream

The way these words were so finely crafted

almost as if they wrapped themselves around my lips

and took trips inside my memories

Euphoria

any feeling this good has got to be a sin…isn’t it?

No,

What I’d stumbled upon was a gift and no,

this was not a transgression of law

this

was

love.

The Happiness of Seeking Wisdom

wisdom1

Happy is the person who meditates on wisdom

who reflects in his heart on her ways

and ponders her secrets

pursuing her like a hunter

and lying in wait on her paths

and listens at her doors

who camps near her house

and fastens his tent peg to her walls

who pitches his tent near her

and so occupies an excellent lodging place

who places his children under her boughs

who is sheltered by her from the heat

and dwells in the midst of her glory

– Ecclesiasticus / Sirach 14:20-27

Something 2 do

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“There is always something to do. There are hungry people to feed, naked people to clothe, sick people to comfort and make well. And while I don’t expect you to save the world I do think it’s not asking too much for you to love those with whom you sleep, share the happiness of those whom you call friend, engage those among you who are visionary and remove from your life those who offer you depression, despair, and disrespect.”- Nikki Giovanni

Welcome!

Welcome!

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To the Pearls Before Swine Bloggers website! Please see the “About” tab to get a better understanding of what this book (and blog) is all about.
In the meantime, I need you (and your friends) to SUBSCRIBE to this blog for a chance to win prizes, play games, gain further insight into the book by asking questions, post your reviews, and for a chance to read sneak peek excerpts into Season #2.

Writing is something that brings me joy, and that makes me happy regardless of the gain. But in addition to writing, I also like to have a lot of fun, and to inspire as many brothers and sisters as I can through innovation and creativity. In short, I really enjoy doing what I love, and what I LOVE is to engage my readers in games, activities, and contest whenever I come out with a book (for those that remember The Aftermath blog).

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