My Fairytale Story (True Story)

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BASED ON A TRUE STORY:
I wanna’ tell you all a story-
About a young princess who was born with her crown in her hand and not on her head
Whose fairytale stories consisted of praying to God each night that her father wouldn’t be dead
See,
The story begins with a needle piercing his veins and filling his life with false glee
Heroin loved his veins, cocaine loved his nose, and it was all for the will to be free
Every night the princess would sit at her window and watch her father falter below
At a tender age of seven she understood this is something he himself only could outgrow
When the nights ended and the demons left his body, he would return to his dwelling
Instead of a loving and heartfelt reunion, the castle would erupt in the most boisterous yelling
And the princess would sit on her throne and watch the queen run away with bruises and tears
She could hear her scream in agony from the pain that sat in her heart for so many years
And the young princess would cringe from the screams and the sounds of the king’s fists hitting skin
So the young princess did what any child did and yearned for the happy life of “could have beens”
And as time tic’d, the princess grew to become a queen who knew nothing of true love
For true love to her was only what romance books and movies speak of –
The queen began to follow the path of love that was taught to her as child
To her, love was pain, love was abuse, and love was nothing short of living wild
She became her father’s child and chased revelry down with a bottle of death
And with her crown swaying in her inebriated hands and corrosion on her breath
You could hear her hurtful voice shivering in the wind–
“I am a woman who you all look at with concern,
You pity this woman but know nothing until it’s your turn
What is it like being called beautiful first by your father, I wouldn’t know…
Does it make you feel special inside, does that feeling ever go?
Do you know the story of the princess whose crown was placed in her hands?
And she searched for the definition of love all throughout the lands?
I am the woman that has found man after man searching for that void
And with each failure to find it, a piece of me has been destroyed
You think you know the sorrows, you think you know my truths
Then answer why did I deserve to have such a poisonous youth?”
Without receiving the answers, she faltered away like her father once did, barely able to stand
Innocent shades of broken eyes and a rusted crown shaking in her handheartbreak

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The Low-Quality Man

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AN OPEN LETTER TO MY WOMEN (ABOUT THESE MEN, THIS WONT SIT WELL WITH MANY):

I’ve wanted to pen this letter for quite some time about the condition of certain men that we have roaming society, today. Seems like, many of us women are often finding ourselves with low quality men. When I say low quality, what I mean is a man with a feverish mindset that results in the same vicious cycle of troubling behavior: multiple flings, constant deception, inability to commit (despite being with that individual for years), and the list continues. What I’m going to say next will sit hard with many of you. The reason there are “low-value” men is because of “low-value” women. Therefore, the F%*kboys that roam the Earth today were actually created by women.

Women must understand that we are the mothers of society. Every person that roams the Earth today is here because of a WOMAN. Thus, we are the creators of flesh.

Yet, many women who don’t understand their importance have limited their value. When you place your value at low levels, you won’t receive anything higher than your standards. Hence, if you place your value at high levels then a man must WORK in order to match the highest point of your value. In doing so, you’ve created a man whose quality has enhanced because of the skills he had to learn to acquire you. Many women of today are having difficulty because of the low quality women.

The low quality will give it to you free; the high quality will make you work for it.

The low quality woman is a hurt woman because she doesn’t understand her cycle. You don’t give a dog a bone and expect him to automatically learn to do obey. You teach the dog to obey and then you provide an incentive. Yet, the low quality woman will do the former and expect the latter.

Until the low quality woman understands her worth, she will remain in this vicious cycle and with each man that comes and goes out of her life – the cycle will transfer to the next woman. Hence, with the passing of woman to woman, the standards of today have declined.

Until women understand their truth worth – the quality of man will remain how it is.

It could be your son

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Imagine your children going to the playground – your son and daughter to be exact. Because of innate behaviors, they’re fascinated by different things so therefore when they arrive, they chase their own imaginations independently. Your daughter on the swings and your son chasing imaginary monsters with a toy gun. Imagine the winter breeze snuggling against their cold skins and their childish refusal to end their treasure hunts in their world because fun is where they find solace. Imagine your son in his own little world playing with his toy gun and respectfully not pointing it at anyone. But someone is afraid. A bystander sees the child playing with a gun and decides to call the law – the right thing to do when in fear. Imagine you being the adult and reassuring the dispatchers the gun is most likely fake but just to be on the safe side. Imagine the boy, with his toy gun in his waistband – talking to his imaginary friends about his fun. And as he stands and begins to walk away, imagine these officers driving up to him and in the 2 seconds of arriving, your son being shot in the stomach. And imagine your daughter – whose imagination abruptly shudders away from the sounds of gun shots. And with the help of sisterly love, she sees the victim is her brother and she runs – she runs to protect and care for him. Yet, imagine when she approaches she is tackled and handcuffed and put into a police car. Imagine your daughter, sitting and crying and watching her brother toss on the ground in agony as his life cries from him.Imagine his cries and her cries – of innocence. Imagine that being your last memory of your son and the wailing from your soul from knowing your baby is gone. Imagine ….Tamir Rice could be your son.

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CAN I TELL YOU SOMETHING?!

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Can I tell you something?
Can I tell you how often my mind runs to you?
And how easy it is that it finds you in this confusing maze of a life?
Can I tell you something?
Can I tell you how sometimes when night takes us to slumber
That your coarse beard against my back cuddles with me
And that your bottom lip curls in slight satisfaction of meeting temporary peace
And how your arms wake in the of the night to fit hand in glove with the grooves of my hips
And your heart runs catch up – in a race with mine, when you get near
Can I tell you something?
Did you know that your eyes light up when you talk about your passion?
And that your eyelashes curl into a perfect edged cliff
And that your wide almond nose becomes a stampede of fearful bulls when you’re upset
And when you’re angry your tree trump neck sways like the air in the spring
Can I tell you something?
Can I tell you how often my mind sits at the windows of my eyes waiting for you
And that my heart often runs around in the pits of my stomach playing hide and seek
That my soul whispers between the cracks of doors that were once closed?
Can I tell you something?
Can I tell you how your departure breathed brisk reality into my summer’s love
That my mind, soul, and heart have somehow found each other and wept into my tomorrows
And that my tomorrows seem to repeat my yesterdays
And my yesterdays already hate the todays – without you
Can I tell you something?
Can I tell you when you said you didn’t love me that hell woke up
And that she stormed through this delicate fortress of a good woman
Lightening fires where once stood the shadows of you
And how she took down the castle of happiness
And how happiness was tied and bound –
OH, how innocent she was!
And we watched as her body was raised and displayed to the entire kingdom
Naked, beaten and broken – exposed for all to see
And she wept
A once beautiful woman now oddly filled with the void of pain
Alone, she wept for loving a man like you
Can I tell you something?
Are you still listening?
Are you there?
-Silence-

(Author: Voice Of a Black Girl)

WHY I SECRETLY LOATHE SOCIAL MEDIA

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WHY I SECRETLY LOATHE SOCIAL MEDIA (Well, it’s not so much a secret): I’m going to be completely honest with you here. I am obsessed with social media. I have two platforms I use, Instagram and Facebook. Despite the limit of pictures I take (I am not here for this selfie movement) I still manage to be on these two sites every day and at least twice or more an hour. And although I love it, I absolutely hate it! Why?Because these sites may possibly be the most failed thing my generation has ever thought of. Here’s why:

TROLLING/HARRASSMENT: Never in the age of all kindness has trolling been so prevalent. Social media has been implicated in its direct influence with suicides and depression (insert your own observation here). It’s a daily thing when hearing about a child’s bullying incident and how many of their aggressors were able to verbally attack them on these sites.

I do recall the old saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me”. Times have changed and so has the saying.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones and the trolls will forever haunt me”.

If children aren’t dealing with these trolls then famous stars are. If you have Instagram, look for your favorite star and read the comments below them. It’s one thing to criticize an individual for their looks but these sites have allowed individuals to sit behind screens and berate any and every one.

I CAN BE ANYONE: Social media allows individuals the access to persons that they may never have access to in real life. Instagram is literally a catalog. You know what you like and you’re able to go shopping and see through the eyes of the other person.

Here’s the catch though – chances are that the pictures taken are set up to make one’s life seem grander than it actually is!

So if you want to be someone else, social media allows you to be whoever you want to be. Except, the problem with that is – it takes away from who you actually are. You’re living through someone else’s footsteps which causes one to redirect their own life and lose sight of their own destiny. It’s a trend but this trend doesn’t seem like it will burn out soon. It’s quite similar to a fashion trend. When you see someone wear an outfit, one will purchase the same outfit or mimic certain components of it and when another sees your outfit, they’ll do the same thing. Except with social media, the craze is wide spread – people begin to look alike, act a like, etc. and originality goes running off (and boy does she run fast)!

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO COMMUNICATE: Do you people watch? If not then you should. You’ll notice that most of the world around you – aren’t talking to one another. It’s almost like you’re watching robots. The faces are unreadable, their walking directions are steered by the music pumping from their earphones, and their eyes are usually down – glued to the phone.

 With social media, one is able to communicate without actually being in front of the individual. You’re able to connect with someone in other parts of the country and don’t get me wrong – we’ve been doing that for years with the whole pen pal movement. Yet, with social media you’re able to send human emotions through a few emojis and limit your wording to a few letters! WTH IS ^ w/ THAT (I’m sure the younger generation can say that in like 4 letters)!

The downside to all of this, you ask? Well what is real and what is superficial? You can’t tell the difference between sarcasm and surprise by wording and you wouldn’t know that an individual was crying by their words (unless they tell you so but chances are, they won’t). We’re getting comfortable without reading body language, without having an actual argument that isn’t only limited by the pounding of keys (or phone screens for that matter). I can’t tell if you’re mad or sad so I’m left to make my own assumption and I’m going to go with …happy? – Boy will that assumption end well.

CAN I SIGN OFF NOW:  While writing this piece, I checked my social media about 40 times already and responded to messages then asked myself “what was I doing before I just went on FB?”. Often times, I get lost in the craze of social media just like others in my generation.

Yet, unlike others – I do unplug from time to time. When I unplug, I deactivate my FB (I can’t deactivate IG so I just uninstall the app) and don’t access my page for weeks or sometimes a month or two. What do I do on my spare time? I communicate! I talk my head off with friends and strangers, I read body language and I go out to social events but here’s the best part, I don’t post about any of it.

I don’t post my emotions, I don’t post what I’m going through, I don’t post where I am, I don’t post anything of that nature unless I want to (which isn’t very often). And that leaves a mystery about me. It causes individuals to ask who I am. Who is this person? That’s something that a person should question when they’ve accessed your sites. You should be a mystery – a curious character. A shadow on social media, you should leave individuals wanting to know more – like a cliff hanger.

I Wish She Knew

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I wish I could tell her that her worth was more than the content of wallets
And that her presence, alone was enough for all of us to admire.
I wish I could tell her that the pain she felt inside was nothing but life’s blessings
And that the heart itself is a selfless creature who only wishes for her brain to understand.
I wish I could explain that the tears she is accustomed to are her dearest friends
And that the feelings of agony are just the softened blows of life saying “I love you”.
I wish she knew these things…

Instead…
I watch as she closes her eyes and lingers in the dark, cradling her knees like a frightened child
She rocks back and forth and watches her past approach her with a hand and a smile
& with curiosity, she takes the past’s hands and together they stumble onto a familiar path
A path filled with the beauty of roses and the thorns that brush against them in a burning wrath
And with each step she takes, she holds onto the past’s hands more tightly hoping to cure the pain
But the pain gets deeper and stronger the further they travel life’s terrain
“You have to let me go,” the past explains, “That’s the only way you’ll make it to where you want to be”!
“I can’t let you go”, she responds, “Don’t you see you are a part of me”?
And with blood, sweat, and tears she and the past make it to the end of the path with nowhere to go
“Which way is it” she asks the past, receiving a shrug as an answer, “I do not know –“
“—I can’t go any further with you; I am to be left behind, my path ends here,
Although I am out of sight know that my presence will never truly disappear,
I am to teach you lessons and to remind you of paths you have once taken
For some paths in life will be granted while others will be forsaken,
You have a choice, to continue on with me and forever linger in your darkened tomorrows
But I can promise you now, the only feeling you will have here will only be unpleasant sorrows”..

And with that, she let the past’s hands go and continued with the residing aching pain
But she understands now that this is all part of traveling life’s terrain…

I wish I could tell her that her worth was more than the content of wallets
And that her presence, alone was enough for all of us to admire.
I wish I could tell her that the pain she felt inside was nothing but life’s blessings
And that the heart itself is a selfless creature who only wishes for her brain to understand.
I wish I could explain that the tears she is accustomed to are her dearest friends
And that the feelings of agony are just the softened blows of life saying “I love you”.
I wish she knew these things…