made me to be
Continue reading The Creator
made me to be
Continue reading The Creator
[It is a funeral in a typical church on the north side women are crying while fanning themselves because it’s summer. It has come to the time where loved ones get to share a word. The pastor declares a two-minute limit.]
Me: God is good all the time…
Audience: And all the time God is good.
Me: This raggedy muthafucka ain’t never been shit, and God saw that and killed that nigga. In addition, fuck boys cannot prosper spewing fuckery.
[An usher comes to encourage me off the stage. I motion with my pointer finger. One more thing must be said.]
Me: singing Come inside. Take off your coat. I’ll make you feel at home. Now let’s pour a glass of wine cause now we’re all alone. [There are two ushers now.] I been waiting for you babe just let meeeee… [They’re pushing me off stage.] …hold you close to me… [I break away and run to the casket] cuz I been dying for you to make love to meeeeee.
Audience: [mouths dropped]
Me: [a distinct bow]
Me: [flips off funeral goers and leaves]
The ballad of the lemon
(Small poem on chromatic prohibitions)
(Yellow sun-blinding yellow-yellow yellow)
If you eat lemons will not have your period
If you eat lemons you will not have satisfactions
If you brush your hair while you have “those” things
You block them for sure
I come in and drop my bags. We arrived. 2 cats and our little lady for a month long excursion in the city. Neither of us is really seeking to complete this, however, it has to be done. I come with low expectations-as lowering my expectations was a strategy I used to sustain what is left of a 20-year long relationship. Lower and lower expectations went to find a level which was feasible to hold a semblance of balance.
I find myself tidying up the place while the baby is out my teen- our teen, actually, but mostly “my” day to day teen over the last 17 years. My day to day baby-as in the youngest vs immature- day to day youngest child.
I pick up clothing spilling out of bags and luggage. I place dirty dishes in the sink in prep for the dishwasher. I toss a load into the washing machine-set boneless chicken in the fridge to defrost for dinner. Log onto my computer to work from home; I cannot help but to bring my multi tasking habits with me. I sure meant to, however, I know an argument will ensue if I do not appear to be above the high expectations still expected of me as a mom, a partner, a house guest. An Apple living in an Oranges home for the next 4 weeks.
Sitting underneath the lamp at a side table located adjacent to the 50” screen flat screen is a book I have used a resource to building healthy relationships, “5 Love Languages”. Quizzically, I review the book -is it real? I am considering this because my partner clearly is missing the point of the book to know one’s own love language in an effort to leverage that strength-that language- to actively engage in a meaningful manner with your partner.
Acts of service
Words of affirmation
My #1 is Quality Time and #5 is Receiving Gifts. The exact opposite of my partner; per the book this combination is the hardest because the 2 people need to travel the farthest to get to a place of balance.
My possession of this knowledge has permitted me to give a pragmatic method to build strategies to have a semi-viable relationship.
Naïve at the time.
The book is not meant to be read alone; the challenges do not go away if only one person is the sole owner of the premise behind the 5 love languages.
My partnership has taken me to the point of desiccation where I have limited trust or reliability in this person. Where I now see this person and expect so little of him that a sur name and this last baby is what we share.
I have often thought that Gary Chapman needs to write a book titled, ‘Now that you are mature enough to be in a relationship- and have broken it-what can you do to get to center.’ Or a book called, ‘Were you ever at a center?’, because I suspect that is where I am at now; a desiccated Apple partnered with a plump Orange w/ hints of Apple undertones.
Artist Jennifer Shepit resides in Abbotsford, British Columbia, Canada where she constructs other galaxies with her bare hands, a bit of paint, and universes of imagination, so much so that I found myself sending poetry over to her to request her visual representation of my work. When I laid eyes on this piece of art, I love it so much that I am not even sharing a photo of it in this post as it is the part of a larger project that I cannot wait to reveal. I will say that it is more beautiful in person than it was in the image that she sent me upon completion, and I am stingily am holding onto the painting only parceling out glimpses to others as though it is a secret lover.
Sauntering down the wynd, wearing my aplomb and prestige, hearsay passed by,
My corpulence wasn’t just my chassis, but a riposte to their unwanted why.
Unceasing my footfalls, I carried myself with a muted smile and masked tears,
Sheathing my arms with my trembling hands, and my eyes bespoke fears.
The vein of the pelvis numbs
It slams the bone ridge
It thought of the night currents of the Sky
It thought of knowing
the Sand and the Moon.
It got wild
and surprised the Moon.
pupils pulled wide
excitement cannot hide
unless kept behind shade
lenses or frames
a smile slowly spreading
bright as teal
true feelings revealed.
-J. Bright Jr. | @thatguywhowrote
Art by: weheartit