Messenger Down...again.

Where does one begin when they have never met the person they are writing to ???  I don’t know you….i know you even less than I knew Will Da Real One, but we all have something very dear and special to us that brings us together, even in spirits: Poetry.

Poetry is an amazing thing.  Writing is a powerful source of redefinement (word I made up) …..we become equipped with the ability to define ourselves, repeatedly, in many different ways, when we write.  We are able to soar above the plains, we can touch clouds and exist deep within the pits of the ocean…..as if we were chilling on one of the benches that have been relaxing for decades on the floor of the different seas. …..writing gives us abilities that sometimes we long for in real life.......writing gives us the answers to the questions that haunt us in the daytime, writing gives us the freedom we seek in the dark and writing gives us the right…..

What right ???

All of them…..writing IS our constitution and poetry is but a small yet extremely powerful piece of the commandments our God set in forth for us in the name of eccentric thinking and ink.….poetry is the ability to pen a lifetime in short stanza’s that regardless what they look like on page, all have the ability to impact not just others, but our own selves.  I know I am not the only performing poet out here who has penned a poem so powerful to myself, that in the midst of performing it, I can feel life leaving my lips and re-inserting itself in my body…….poetry is our answer. Poetry is our right. It is our Write….it is our life.

Writing is our saving grace.

But sometimes, no matter what the word count, no matter how powerful or impactful the poem and no matter what the resume looks like, writing poems can’t stop fate.  Even though sometimes, on that stage, we believe that we have the key to save our lives right there in our notebooks…..so we read sometimes and others we study until it is memorized so that we can make direct eye contact and ask God to direct our pupils to the person or people that need to hear and believe what we say the most…..only, there is rarely a mirror in front of the stage….unless you are one of those ego-driven artists who no matter what, can only see your reflection….but even those people are just as vunerable and needy as the rest of us…..we are all flawed…..but our flaws make for great poems and stories….if only our greatness would save us past the morning we leave earth…..

If only our ink pens had the power to stop bullets

Or if our poems could re-route the anger that stops our hearts….

What if

“what if these poems really are bullets….

And whoever gets hit by them always remembers they were hit….the touch can be in more than place….lives get changed, rearranged or otherwise shifted,

Folks are lifted off the ground” 

~jY, #ShootTheMessenger

The poem that, that small word of thought comes from is entitled “Shoot the Messenger”….i wrote it when I first heard about the death of Will Da Real One….a poet who I had seen perform on DPJ and had heard of from youtube clips/BoBRhyme .....a poet, a fellow writer/performing artist, who’s life had been cut short, at the poetry venue, by a bullet.  I was so angered when I read this…..

I was hurt, I was enraged and my attitude took on this “how dare you” sort of attitude….how dare someone be so detrimental to life and society as we know it that they would actually kill a poet, at a poetry venue!!!! I felt like the chickens were roosting in the wrong neighborhood….i felt like poets, especially this one as far as I had known, had made great strides towards curbing violence and speaking PEACE in the minds and hearts of not just our children, but our adults too…..those who still need to be reminded that life is a beautiful thing that should be cherished and not taken for granted…..

The fact that his slam team’s name was Black on Black Rhyme and that he was killed in what was likely Black on Black Crime was not just disheartening to me, it truly pissed me off…..so I wrote about a man I never formally met, but who’s death left me numb for the rest of the day…..

And I titled it Shoot the Messenger. ….and the  first line, a line that is repeated throughout the piece in hopes of having an answer by the end, is “ What happens when they kill the poet???”  ….

Because these poems have all the heart but not enough power to stop a single bullet from wiping out our future ink ramblings…..

Today, as I came into work and trolled around the facebook page that I have remained relatively quiet on for the last few days (sans promoting an upcoming show), I happened to see a picture of about five or six beautiful women, one of which I had met before….idk what attracted me to click on this picture….maybe the tiny bit of caption beneath it that didn’t tell the entire story…..i clicked on it and learned that one of the women in the picture, who’s name was Anita Bee, was no longer here….

On earth….

She was also a poet……

My curiousity continued as she looked so young, I just had to know what happened to her…..a comment posted claimed to be in disbelief that someone’s life could be so violently taken and immediately my brain started processing bullets…..

By the time I was finished trolling for information on Ms Anita Bee, I had learned that she was a victim of Domestic Violence and her life ultimately had ended in her apartment, a victim of a shooting and that there had been an arrest in the case……

……while others were catching last minute flights and making superbowl party plans, a fellow poet’s family was grieving and bracing themselves for what has to be interpreted as an Early Leave of Life……she was only 28 (?)….and she was a mother…..

And she was beautiful…..

And she was a poet

She was a writer

…..pictures of her in mid-performance told a brief story of a poet living with a secret…..its a hindsight story…..we never see the signs and even if and when we do, what exactly can you say to someone who is in such a situation ???? How do you take control of a woman’s life long enough to get her to safety…..???

And then here’s a curb ball thought:

What if someone is ready to leave but is so scared of what leaving will do, that they stay in hopes of having some type of “control” over the situation ….? Now, let me say, I don’t know Ms. Bee and I don’t know her situation, so these questions have no bearing over her life or death, but they are questions that need asking right ???

I have been there

We all know that just thru my poems and blogs……I could EASILY have been dead today….troll thru this blog and you might find out about one of the many times a gun was held, pointed and directed to my head by my ex….. so when I say I KNOW that feeling, I’m not just guessing…..

A poets life was cut short….

Words on paper never answered for her the questions that were burning in her soul when the curtains closed and no one was there but her and maybe her babygirl….

A bullet tore thru the air and cut off her ink ties to the page…..

A silenced mic sits in a coffee shop open mic wondering when the next time someone will stand in front of it and hope that “the answers” to their personal life’s questions will show face again……

Honestly, I don’t know what exactly I want to say in this blog…..seeing her face, knowing her ending and knowing that when I was celebrating my birthday, she was potentially writing, laughing, holding her babygirl or arguing …or dodging a fist…..or crying ….searching…..all while not knowing that the countdown to her end was on and would soon be over….

She is gone…..Just as is Will Da Real One and probably countless other poets who I don’t know of, have never heard of and even potential world changers who the streets and domestic violence has snatched the souls right out of …..

In this moment, I can’t help but think about April…..a young lady I met at an open mic Indy…..when I originally met her, she was laid out on a floor at a downtown college I was performing at, in the midst of an asthma attack……she would go on to frequent the open mic I frequented and I would always remember her face perched atop the railing on the upstairs portion of the spot…..

Her long her was thick, her skin was light, her voice had a bit of nervousness and her eyes were searching for that mirror….

That answer…..

That relief we all look for when we  touch that stage…..

But she would not find it in time to save herself…….soon enough, without any preparation, a fellow poet would knock on my door until I awoke to answer the unannounced visit…..and he would go on to tell me that she was gone…..

She was dead….

She hadn’t been cancer stricken and silent about it….

There was no freak car accident or fall that couldn’t be caught…..

It was a violent death….

A violent morning that would replay in my head over and over and over for years to come….someone who I knew only briefly, but connected with via a Poem Cry and a stage that we shared freedoms on, had gone on to the afterlife and there wasn’t anything either I or she could have written to change that outcome…..

I started feeling a slight bit of guilt because as a woman, how come I didn’t notice ???? How come there wasn’t something in this seemingly sacrificial life of mine that I could have said in random conversation to preserve that beautiful smile that I was lucky enough to witness…..

I can’t help but think about those that have asked themselves the same thing over the last couple of weeks…..New years always scare me…..

I always wonder how many people won’t live to see it thru…..

We poets…..we writers…..we performers…..artists…..

And we write to save ourselves…..but sometimes our own ink, our own thoughts and ramblings and shared verses STILL aren’t enough to save us from our ultimate fate…..sometimes the stage lights are so bright, we can’t see our reflection and minister back to ourselves, and sometimes, we spit so hard and with so much of our soul that we DO speak back to our own selves……

But we don’t tell anyone…..

We don’t share our darksides, our ugly……we share our pain and our past realities, but our present curses are often left on the cutting room floor ….

Until the only thing left to mop up is the blood leftover from our death. ….

Dear Ms Anita Bee,

I can’t say for certainty that our paths would have ever crossed, even with you being as close as Milwaukee……I can’t say that we would have ever shared a mic, a laugh or complimented each other on wordplay, shoes and natural hairstyles……but I can say, you touched lives……in the most simple ways, the most pure ways……

I’m so sorry that you are touching me in the afterlife, but you are not in vain love…..there are so many poets writing poems for you, your memory and the next person & poet that needs it….you are still with us….maybe our poems don’t provide us with the strength in numbers and actions the way we need them too sometimes, but our words never leave….

“legacies can’t be bought out by bullets” ~jY, #SHootTheMessenger

You were a messenger…..and even in death, you are still sending messages…..your pages will live forever….you are infinite….your daughter will grow up and realize her mother made a century wide impact in 28 short years……beautiful Anita, may your soul be at peace…..may Will Da Real One meet you in the afterlife and escort you to the place where the poets go…..

May you breathe again, the easiest you’ve ever breathed, and may that breath be wind against skin of your family and friends and your daughter…..

And may us poets

Who are still here

Realize that we are powerful beings indeed,

But know that our power does not change our fate, our ending story or stop us from the evils of society….and may that statement alone provoke us to LIVE more fluently, speak more, act better, love harder and if ever possible, as much as possible, may we see the invisible mirror that hangs from the rafters…..may the stage lights not be so bright that we can’t minister to ourselves……if each one, teaches one, than may we all be the one plus one…..

And with that said

God bless all of us

Especially us women, who are secretly abused, battered and broken in ways that we become so numb to, that we forget there is a scary life off stage.  May the mirrors shine brighter than the lights

May the reflection be louder than the claps

And may we each see ourselves on the receiving ends of our own words....and heal ourselves in the midst of trying to heal and help others.

Be at peace Beautiful.

“If the gift is the curse

And the words meant to uplift do nothing to save our own lives

Will the lives we changed remember us….?  ….can those we touched still feel that touch….

Will the poem we were planning on writing that night ever get written….can our spirit rise from our last breath and reincarnate itself into the floating balloon that you never see pop….

Will we be stopped….forever in our tracks, remembered as a statistical victim of black on black…………….”

“…………….What if the poet lives forever…..and the queens stay queens and the messages live on cause the VOICES  get louder, to make up for he who has become a flickering sky light…

What if what happens when they kill the poet

Is

I ….along with hundreds of others

Begin to write

Until the poet becomes so powerful in the after life

That he is continuously introduced to new people in the future”

http://fox6now.com/2013/01/29/suspect-in-custody-in-connection-with-fatal-shooting-near-35th-and-highland/ 

~jY  #2

 

When the Laughter STOPS, the PLAYING starts. 0_o

I’m at work.

I just made what is likely my 150^th (real talk) playlist….its called “TheseHeauxsCantRideForFree” ….i named it after one of the songs I added that I hadn’t heard in FOREVEr…..

“Freeloaders” by Silkk the Shocker.

So yeah, I named the playlist that after changing the name twice.  * shrug *

I just listened to Push by Rick Ross.  One of my favorite songs by him.  I’m not a big RR fan by any means, but I always did take a liking to that song.  So yeah, as I am sitting here thinking about PUSHING to the LIMITS, I couldn’t help but think about Ross almost getting killed.  Now I know depending on who you are speaking with, different versions of what happened are running rampant and differing opinions on whether or not it was an actual attempt or a scare tactic.  I’m sure there are people who believe with all those shots, if they wanted to kill him, they would have.  …whoever the “they” is.  The owner and sole contributor to this blog has no idea who the “they” is. 

With that said, I read an article earlier today about what Ross’ homeboy Wale (?) (one of those dues…hell if I rEALLY know who)…maybe his name started with an “M”….is there a rapper with a name who starts with M who is good friends with Mr Ross ??? Oh well, who gaf ? No one at this blog.  Anywho, despite the fact that I don’t get heavy off into hiphop anymore, I still follow the news about it * shrug*  Anyway, back on track, the guy, whoever he was, talked about Ross being his good friend and how people/media think the situation itself is rather funny, but how everyone would line up to play videos and crank singles up loud if something were to really pop off.  And that got me thinking……

He’s really right about that…..

When Whitney Houston died, EVERYONE came out the woodwork and in the midst of evil-side-eyeing Bobby Brown and blaming him for her destruction, they all cranked up Whitney music that they forgot they even owned anymore.  Ms. Houston in death was no longer the joke of the party as people stopped talking about her defunct reality show and started shedding tears of disbelief.  As Hollywood laid out the blood carpet and walked on top of her body (my opinion of course), as she lay dead upstairs, people across the world forgot for a moment just how Wack Crack is and didn’t concern themselves about the cocaine laced blunts she admitted to smoking on…..no one cared about those things that give us RIGHTS (lol) to judge others…..everyone became immensely concerned with the fact that no matter what was said or done from this moment on, there would never be another live appearance of Ms Whitney Houston.  As the news of the fact that the next greatest Houston album would forever be silenced,  no one spoke of the raspy voice she had developed.  No one laughed at her expense while ignoring the costs of FAME and life in Hollywood and the Spotlight.  No one cared about that anymore.

All we all cared about was playing I Will Always Love You and singing at the top of our lungs as tears fell and cars pulled over to collect their thoughts from the breaking  radio news…….the joke was over…..at least for a minute.

The same happened with MJ……people who had denounced Mike for years, decades even, were buried in open-palmed hands, crying like babies.  People who had dedicated their blogs and sites to diffusing his claims of a skin disease, folks who called him a child molester every time the name Jackson was mentioned, were now sitting in living rooms watching the haunting coverage of Jackson’s body being removed from his home for the final time.  How many people who hadn’t so much as even thought of a MJ song or spoken to the Man in the Mirror in years were watching reruns of nonstop videos….who went to the crates and put on Can You Feel It for the hell of it ???

Probably many…..again, the joke was over.

Reality had set in….

MJ was dead.

And suddenly, we remembered we knew him once before.

Which brings me back to Rick Ross. …..the ongoing joke of the month is how none of the shots made it to the inside of his car.  50 Cent (who is known Ross beef-er), “took shots” so to speak, at Ross on his (50’s) radio show.  He used his format to laugh at the fact that a man, regardless of him being a rapper, a liar, a fraud or whatever other colorful words decorate his career, was almost gunned down in the streets.  50 of all people probably should have used that opportunity to express some type of “concern of life”, seeing as though he is a survivor of gun violence himself.  But I guess that’s thinking to far inside the box.  But the truth is people, rappers, fans/nonfans, radio personalities and more are all taking this opportunity to joke, laugh and bwahaha at the expense of someone who almost and could have easily just lost his life…..

Or maybe his girl, who was in the passenger side, might have lost her life….

Or maybe his kids

Or her kids

Could be fatherless….motherless……at this point. 

But that is not our reality right now. 
Right now, the joke is still going. …..

The laughter doesn’t stop until right before the casket drop…..

And that is unfortunate…….Uncle Luke from 2 Live Crew, took this opportunity to address Ross via letter and try to instill some sense or what I would just like to call “brotherly love” in his head.  He spoke on rap beefs and rap lies and where all of that landed both Pac & Biggie and shit….if we really think about it, the list goes on….

Proof

JMJ

Freaky Tah

I mean the list can continue and those are just rappers…..of course we know Chicago closed the year out with 500 murders, mostly black and young.  And I bet they all listen to 50 or Rick Ross or who ever is the hottest rapper with the most deadly-weight-pushing rhymes…….the sad thing is no one will speak on it ……or least they haven’t….with the exception of Luke....and i must say, as i listened to Russ Parr read the letter over the air this morning on my way into work, i couldn't help but feel like wooooow... SOMEONE said SOMETHING.....
....But how many rappers/hip hop artists out there that have worked with Ross or tried to capitalize off of his successes in some way.....i mean, lets be serious....Ross isnt a FAILURE by any means and i dont care what kind of lack of street cred he has.....truth is, it worked for him....whether he was a the jail corrections officer or the dude driving the Kilo of Dope across the border, he is in a position where NEITHER of those things are no longer a necissity for his survival...whichever is the truth.....so with that said, where are the people ??? ?Where are the voices???? Why the FUCK do we NOT stand together....i am so sick of that shit, i could scream my fucking lungs out of my body.....folks dont want to stand side by side no matter what....but wanna exercise every ounce of the freedoms that people of our same shades/hues/colors had to stand, SIDE BY SIDE, to fight for......VoTE ON THAT! 
People always talk about voting because it shows you respect your ancestors....but no one says shit when violence is an every day thing.....we too desensitized from violence ....and each other.
   

Ross has remained mum at this point and I kind of don’t blame him….what can you say, what should you say? ????  What WONT get you shot at again because likely, the next time, they won’t miss…..i admit, i have a hard to time swallowing the thought that this should be used as a platform to campaign to curb the violence and NOT a pump pump pump it up session at the studio....

I hope that this doesn’t end up being a story in a rap song….i hope this doesn’t become the “validation” Ross needs to be an accredited gangsta 0_o

I hope, when finally ready to speak on it, Rick Ross uses this opportunity to address the violence in our neighborhoods and streets.  I watched a documentary on 2Pacs last 48 hours and one of his homeboys said “how do you make it out, only not to make it out?”  * I could be slightly paraphrasing*

That is one hell of a question. 

And here is another one…..

When will we take people seriously and stop making a joke of LIFE…..???
at least,

Until

……the news breaks

That LIFE for (insert name) is over.

*cue nonstop radio mixes, plays and top of lung singing in pulled over cars as people collect thoughts and feel remorse* 

Sometimes the joke never existed.

In the case of MJ being the challenged being that he was ... the public daily-SNL caricature .. the person who was all but DISOWNED from the public, the same public that had become the only REAL FAMILY he knew, the joke ended just before his birthday.  The laughter stopped.  The songs started and people started remembering the little boy on the Ed Sullivan show.

(was he ever on Ed Sullivan???)

Whitney was no different……I Wanna Dance With Somebody started playing in every bar and hotspot across the country……the joke for her ended Feb 11, the night of the Grammy Party...the proverbial songs started and cars pulled over to the side of the road to collect their thoughts in disbelief...

Rick Ross is in the midst of his joke.  He is living thru his comrades tweeting insults and LOL’s…..but the bright side to this story, is his end has not arrived. 

Which means for the rest of us

There is still time to give a fuck.

And not wait until its all over to start feeling…….remorseful.

Take all of this as you will. 

Here's to hope. 

jY #1

Gain.Profit.Loss.-......think i'm done hosting.

..... think i'm done hosting.

Gain – A name for myself.  Ms Januarie York……is she in demand ??? Not really, but definitely she has made a name for herself.  She has become a staple in her own right with writing.  She has been invited to her beloved city, NY twice in 3 months…..she has won spots on all star line ups, she has had possibilities of books, shows and more.  She has traveled outside of her own comfort zones and she has had her hand in a little bit of everything in hopes that at least one of those things would be so much fun that it awakened the kid inside of her.  She had a successful CD Party, a dope show, she has met & welcomed beautiful people to share the greatest moments with her.  She has freelancing jobs (TWO), she has a chapbook coming out, she has toggled with making another cd just  for fun and has been secretly working on tribute show to black women in Indiana.  She is and has been successful.  She has shared the stage with some of the people she’s watched on tv, people she has looked up to, people who she gives a damn about.  She has gained weight.
But was it the weight of the world ???

Profit – A profit is a benefit.  What has she benefited from the weight of the world we are told not to become “of”.

Lose – To lose your soul is not to be dead.  To lose your soul is to be alive and lost.  It is to feel less of yourself than you did when you started gaining “the world”.  If the devil has the power to bring us blessings and make us think they were gifts from God, then how does one discern what is a blessing and what is a trick of the jester?  Personally, I don’t know.  Everything can’t be a sign from God and everything can’t be a blessing from Him, but EVERYTHING has a lesson attached and mostly everything is doused with a bit of Karma.  I attempted to put out good into the world but in the recent weeks, two to be exact, I have found out quite of bit of failure on my behalf as a business woman, a woman and a friend/person/human.  Shit.  That’s a lot of failing.  Hence the reason I call it MASSIVE FAILURE.  I admitted to this mass fail on fb and people “like” it.  Idk if its because ppl like to know that you are failing or if its because people like it when you take responsibility.  I’ve never been a good communicator and without going into a long “oh my childhood was the pits and is the cause” violin assisted story, I will just say that I’m too old to just be ok with that.  I have to communicate.  My best form of communication is with written words.  I can say everything I need I to say and want to say in paper form, but in person or just in real life, not out of fear but out of internal stalling, I cant.  I never have been good at expression. But in this big flaw of mine, I have surrended a part of myself, hence a loss.  Lack of communication creates gaps and I have created so many gaps.  I have felt entitled.  I have not felt “owed” but I have put the weight of being me, ironically, on other people.  I cannot expect, nor should I, other ppl to do as I would or say what I would.  Especially when I’m quiet and nonconfrontational and have lost myself.  Who am I has become the question or better yet, who am I BECOMING and how do I stop it before I am  totally her?  Have I lost myself ? Have I turned states evidence on myself ?  Have I kicked up dust and enemies and let go of friends when I shouldn’t have ?  Lose of self is powerful and its something that no matter how quick your back to back tweets are and no matter who thanks you for being publically honest and vunerable, you alone will have to deal with.  There is no one else here that can “like” these tears enough for me to be ok with them.  You ever wanna go running back to someone, arms wide open and say I don’t give a fuck how you treat me, at least you were honest with me ????  I tell you, in an honest moment, I truly truly miss my friend.  I miss having a trusting comraderie, I miss feeling like a sister, like I belonged and like I have someone to confide in without having to wonder how much of what I said will leak in the grapevine lines and become NONE of what it started out being …….Lose of self is a powerful thing.

......
..... think i'm done hosting.

The artist in me is having trouble sitting her ass down and not turn this new life stump into a one woman show that potentially encourages others to go with the flow of life and attempt to avoid Profit Gaining for Self Losing.  I think it would be great.

But that is not the lesson of all of this.

What is the lesson ???

The true lesson is looking at myself in the mirror in the morning and realizing that all of my successes from 2012 to current, and what a successful year it really truly was and has been, are either one of two things: From the devil’s workshop OR about to have ZERO meaning if I don’t get my fucking shit together and correct wtf is wrong with me. 

It is a reminder of much self-sabotage I have put in work  for.  Its nothing new, this has always been me.  I remember I once paid $120 to get the license to strip in ATL, $120 to walk past the doorman and get dressed (house fees/superbowl) and then went on to make a fraction of what everyone else made that night because I sabotaged myself.  The possibility to make thousands was there. But I stood there after an hour or more of working and decided I wasn’t about that life right then.  And so, I got dressed and wasted $240. #SelfSabotage.

What have I sabotaged in  2013??? A lot.  But there is time to clean it up.  Let the rumor mill continue, as that is my Karma and I am deserving of it.  But the truth can always been found,  right here. I feel like i owe out a lot of apologies.....and part of me thinks that is me doing my proverbial overthinking, because most would not think to apologize to me for different shit, but that is not how life works. Apologies are about freeing yourself from the guilt.  Acknowledging your mistakes and asking for forgiveness is what God wants from us.  So ....i guess now, i will get to apologizing (what a list), talk less, pay more attention, just like the old me used to do.......trust less......expect nothing.....be prepared for anything.....love still....respect in ACTIONS and WORDS. ....and most of all, balance the ratio between GAIN & PROFIT because no good can come from Loss of Soul. Its a true STRUGGLE not to just deactivate EVERYTHING ....facebook, twitter....all accounts, but running solves nothing and i'm not attempting to run anyway.....i just need to reboot.  I got totally out of control.  Maybe it was that very EGO that i hate so much. Man.....if i have offended or hurt you, in any way, on purpose or not, i sincerely apologize.  I mean that from the pit of my heart, from the nucleus of these words, i am sorry.  I feel like an asshole.  But its not a cry for sympathy....assholes don't need sympathy, they need laxatives.  Shutting down, forgetting my obligations and expectations as a result (of obligations) will not do me any great service.  It will not help me locate myself.  But rebooting.....not starting over, but just rebooting my system....the way i do things and more importantly THE WAY I REACT to things......is what is very fucking important to me finding myself again.  I"m not so lost that i don't know who i am.  I am just lost enough to know that something is in need of fixing. 

My name is januarieYork

And I have gained a lot in & of this world

And in the process

I think I accidentally lost my soul.

And I am here to declare there is no profit in that.  

which brings me to my final thoughts......i would go into all the joys that i get from hosting....i would go into the challenges of hosting....i would go into what i think about hosting, but for what...i've already lost myself and apparently people have already drawn a conclusion based on my own actions and self sabotage.....
..... they think i'm done hosting.

well.....
for anyone who thinks otherwise cause i see the grapevine is making wine outta grapes,
I'm not done hosting.
Nor will i be April 30th.  ...i don't think....truth is, i don't know what my future really holds, especially where poetry is concerned.....i been knowing for years that i aint about that full time artist life....i. been knowing for years that poetry was one of those safe havens i would have to WORK to protect....and i've learned that i allowed the gate to be open to my safe haven and have in a sense whore'd it out to anyone that would listen.....i have to be more protective about what matters to me and in being protective that means i have to think before i speak, i have to look towards the future, i have to accept other ppl, i have to be more open (which i thought i was good at...perhaps not) and i have to treat it like its our last time together.  I am concerned about leaving a good legacy. I dont have kids...i cant have them. I likely will never be married and the fear of it being JUST ME on this earth is strong in my life, but whatever it is i leave behind me, i want it to tell the story of strong, successful woman who managed PRofitGainLoss successfully.  But i'm just me at the same time....and growing up is an easy want, but a harder execution....so yeah, um....
i most definitely have thought hard about it quitting hosting.  But that is the story of my life, thats the shit i do. There is NOTHING in my life that i have done and not thought about quitting.  Not ANYTHING.  I'm the same one who took three years to release a poetry CD for this very reason...(i quit...no i dont...yes i do....)
The mistake was thinking out loud.  So allow me to specifically apologize to my ladies who brought me on to their vision, Neena Taree & Kia Wells, because they don't deserve that.  I think we've worked very well together over this last almost year but no one wants to put that in other ppl's ears....They don't deserve for ppl who are eager to say women cant work together or just set something into motion to make them second guess their decision....not that, that is even happening...and again, the blame lies within me....i totally blame myself for being too needy for an ear.  ..knowing i know better.....because All Pussy, No Period muthafuckas will turn your bible against you if you hand it to them and walk off.  Smh.  

So for all that i say, "they think i'm done hosting.....
and in the midst of relocating the ME that is somewhere between the high hills and the need for love, let me set this in stone real quick....
..... they think i'm done hosting.
But oh how i am not.  
i'm riding this lesson, this full blown life/success lesson all the way out until the wheels disintegrate.  Thanks for the push tho!!! No matter what, it aint suicide if you can fly....and it aint murder if i needed the push!
Run tell that.
***kicks over soapbox and retreats to find soul*** 

Background Noise.

 

When he dialogues with her in the background, I feel like scratching my own fucking ears off as if they were sinful eyes in need of gouging out. He talks to her as if she is less than human and definitely nothing like a woman. He has imbedded his scornful and hurtful words into her head and not only changed her opinion of herself, but he has also taken the drive in her right out. I am not sure at what point she crossed a line of no return, but it definitely happened.

There are days when our random conversations somehow mold into her claiming her ugliness like a broken badge of honor. There are times when she refers to herself in third person as if the person she is talking about is three people from the edge. She’s at the edge but she’s also not going to jump….although there are times where I wonder if she has ever thought about it. One of my favorite homemade sayings, which was taken from a poem I wrote, is “It aint suicide if you can fly.” But if you can’t fly…..if your wings have been pushed into the ground where the worms and bottom feeders have deducted every feather from being attached, if you jump, it might just be suicide. And sometimes, I wonder how many times she has taken at least one foot off the ground.

Remembering the years I spent fighting and arguing with a man over my right to breath….my right to BE…..to exhale and inhale without it being such a big issue….remembering how angry my reflection had become….how I would stand in the mirror and bawl out crying, snot and tears pitching themselves off my face and into oblivion…..i remember how hard it was to find me again. I remember how stuck I was….how I would not leave for one reason or another, but each reason being something so significant that it qualified me to stay for good reasons. #NOT. Remembering those days and that last year brings a dose of melancholy over me that is hard to rid myself of in a phone call. When I talk to her, I am like a child witnesses the reduction of my aunt’s goals and dreams.

Her legs are long. Her beauty is still there, although in her earlier years, she was a Fashion Fair make up lover who never went anywhere without her Plum lipstick. She had a bathroom fit for a queen with a long double sink and wall to wall mirrors. She gave herself facials and gave them to me, even when I didn’t want them and was too young to understand their importance. She loved me. She still does. She used to model and family says she used to sing and had one of the most beautiful songbird voices there was. I used to hear her humming the words to any Luther Vandross song and try to envision a glimpse of her singing in front of people, like maybe she should have gone on to do. She had a major crush on Luther and one of the easiest gifts to buy her was his new tape/cd. It was no fail assignment. She had so much life left in her. Even in her 50’s, 60,s, she was still a woman of amazing grace and beauty. She taught me things about womanhood that I received from no where else. Its only as an adult who occasionally finds herself wondering where she learned XYZ from that I realize a great deal came from her. She wanted a daughter. But she was with someone that I don’t think she could fathom being tied to in such a way.

And yet the anchor still holds her. The love left the port many moons ago and I think the only thing left is the footprints of what was once unconditional. She’s been berated….disrespected. …she’s been told she’s ugly….she’s nothing like she used to be. ….she looks like a tramp and no one, including her niece, wants to be around her. …..she’s been told she’s not sick when she was…..she’s been told what hospital to pick, how to park her car, where to put her mail….how to use her cane…..she’s been pulled from the mirror and thrown into it……pieces of her are probably still scattered along her bathroom walls.

How one could be so evil, so mean spirited and so anything but of God is baffling……or maybe the baffle comes in, in how one can stay around such, day in and day out…..or….maybe the true baffle is in how the beloved niece manages to still love the man who she hates how he treats her aunt. Her last remaining, seventy something year old aunt. The aunt who no longer believes there is anything beautiful about her. In easy conversations, the damage he has done to her becomes more and more evident the longer the call. Its like walking thru the park with a battered woman and suggesting she run like hell while you keep cover….and that battered woman just keep walking, one slow step at a time, with you. She no longer knows what freedom is or what it means…..hell, even she does, the fear that has now entered her existence in place of the strong, fuck you attitude that used to be there has altered her ability to see beyond the now. How would she move on? Where would she go ? What if she gets too lonely and no one comes over for days or weeks at a time??? What if she falls and there is no one there to help her ??? What if she can’t reach the phone or hear the door or what if she just needs some in house help ???? The saddest thing about getting older is the idea that no one will be there to help you when you need it…..

But to become institutionalized in a relationship that is deadly to your emotional capabilities has to be more damaging and scary than the POSSIBILITY that no one will be there when you are alone……her sisters have died and the one left is the hard ass but even she, deep down and not too far from the surface, wants her sister to pack up and leave……but he’s sick too……what if HE needs help….what kind of person are you if you leave a person who can’t read the words on his medicine bottle and has suffered (and survived) prostate cancer? ???

She has all but settled into letting her life end this way…..day by day, she sounds less confident that things will get better, whether its her health or just her living. Bits and pieces of her are still lying on the bathroom floor next to the empty tube of Fashion Fair Plum lipstick…….she wishes she had stopped to save herself years ago and maybe today wouldn’t be as it is……they are too old to throw punches…..so he slings words like IED’s that detonate on emotional contact. People say words only hurt if you allow them too…..

Clearly those people have the strength and will power of Goliath. Truth is, for LOTS of people, it’s not about “allowing” words to hurt……sometimes, words just hurt…..and before you know it, many years of hurtful words have passed and now ….all you know is to be numb from hurting.

I can’t help but wonder how often it is that she cries. Todays phone call that consisted of me and her, no three way, turned into a ménage trios of me, her and the background noise of him responding to things being said to me. His attitude, his interruption, his eagerness to argue pissed me off too easily. When she repeated my response to such, which I am usually able to contain, all I could do was shake my head on my side of the telecommunication while listening to him get even more fired up. All I wanted to say is STOP FUCKING WITH MY AUNT BEFORE I INTRODUCE YOU TO A BRAND NEW ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But its hard to do that

When you love people the way I do. And how, on Gods green and un-green Earth, I am still able to love this man….as my uncle….as one of the only uncles I’ve ever had any real relationship with…..is like fighting with your reflection in the mirror…..there aint shit you can do to change it. 0_o  I mean I LOVE my uncle…..my uncle loves me…..he always has…..he still will drop everything to tell some old wacky ass story about me growing up on the race track with him.  He named one of his racing horses after me.  Kendria’s Killer. 

Ahhhh, the irony. 

But he loves me…..I am not in doubt or wonder of that….and I love him back…..my relationship with men has always been topsy tervy, so the undying love I have for my uncle, the same man who appears throughout this blog as a monster, will likely not be challenged by his actions……but his actions, by the same token, are challenging me.  Not my love, but me.

The woman in me.

The been there done that in me.

the why must you talk to my aunt like that me.

The WOMAN in me…….. and I meant to say that twice. 

 

Dear God,

May you continue to watch over my aunt. One day she will no longer be here with me. ….and that is one of the scariest days I look no forward to. But more scarier than her “going up to yonder’, is her leaving this earth, having lived these last decades as an emotionally battered and broken woman. Today, I heard it. I heard the defeat in her voice. I heard her body literally throw its hands up in the air and just say “auggghgghhh” …..she asked me to never let any man treat me the way my uncle treats her. I wanted to tell her, “I already have, but I ended up letting go 4 years later.” God I ask you that if there is any healthy way to keep my aunt here and keep my uncle here and yet not have them together, I ask your mercy to be. No woman deserves this treatment.

And especially not the long legged beauty with the crush on Luther Vandross that I have known all my life as my favorite aunt. May peace protect her mind.

May You protect her life.

And may I one day climb out of my shell and inspire her to just leave so she can finish LIVING while she still has life left.

jY