An Open Letter to My Hair, My Crown

You betwixt me.

Each strand of your defiance is something that pushes me harder to understand you, your will is my command.

You lead me on a journey unheard of by many women, as killing your soul with chemicals would have been their first task at hand....my first task too, but I was given a chance. Frances killed you, along with most of my child-self, and I resurrected you with impish spunk and calamitous youth.

I chopped off all of your lye soaked sprouts in a twisted double-visit pas de deux, and began the journey of getting to know the real you.

An end-result of Creole, Indian, and Black beings harmonizing together to create thee most un-harmonious mane this side of the Atlantic Ocean. Each and every single strand tight and perfectly spiraled like a bed spring, I hated you from the moment we met. However, I used your lemons to make Lemoncello, because nothing weaker could have prepared me for the journey ahead.

Days into weeks into months into years, tears, songs of sixpence, tears, tugging, ironing, blowing, twisting, yearning, none of which I enjoyed but needed to get through.

I knew that I needed to prove that beauty was beyond long, flaxen, ironed, hair, and I wouldn't stop until I felt the mirror reflected as such. Here we are 3 years, many haircuts, and weak moments later, and I love you; I love me. My relative beauty is present irregardless of my hair flow, length, or color.

So, I just wanted to send you a thanks for the help in guaranteeing my confidence will always be in place. They'll be days I'll still feel ugly, days that I still hate you, but moreover even on those days I'll know that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder....and these eyes behold an exquisite bounty!

Fools Transcend

Foolish to want solace I am

My words are without weight, feathery and forgotten

Tears without tracks, wry yet not beguiling

Nightmares are dreams of a past reality

Enomorato I am without you as night without illuminance

The heart of a hummingbird dawdles in comparison to mine

My soul sleeps without comfort awaiting the day when hearts and minds coincide

At the shore's edge of this life waiting, when perhaps our time is in the next

I need you now

Humility in Choices

Everyday in life you make choices, some subtle and some stark. With every choice comes along a consequence, a result. Even when you highlight the possible outcomes and convince yourself you are at ease with them, once they actually do arrive the taste may actually be bitterer than you can withstand.

I make all of these big decisions and I convince myself its for the best at that moment, and I take measures to convince myself that all of the positives will outweigh the possible negatives…yet and still it’s not always that way.

For my foolish yet proud decisions, I take full blame. I realize its bad, but could be worse. I realize I got myself to that place, no encouragement needed. Moreover, I realize that it hurts.

I don’t believe its wrong to have pride, I think its quite admirable even. However, sometimes I can’t help but feel like my pride is being thrown back in my face, like I’m being punished for it. I think the concept of being both humble and proud has been construed as an idea of fiction, when it can actually be a reality with the right amount of balance.

I believe balance should live in everything that you do, and every part of you. I’m smart yet dense, Guarded yet vulnerable, good girl yet bad bitch, so of course I strive to have humility in all things I’m proud of. Is there such a thing of being too proud though? When there’s no one else there to say a “congrats”, “I’m proud of you”, “I’m happy for you” is it not okay to fill in for their absence? And if you do end up with too much pride, do your subsequent choices deliver the dose of humility much needed?

Nothing more than an etc...

People always want to know why I move so much. Literally, if I'm not moving state to state, its city to city, house to house, job to job; in the likeness of a hermit crab, I take on whatever new thing that fits me best.

A lot of people actually express admiration of me, saying that I am "brave", "adventuresome", and "crazy but amazing" because of my ability to just set my sights on a change, then make it happen.

The real truth is, I am none of the above. I am merely living my existence as an etc...

I am an etc..., I will never be nothing more; because in this world I only have those who I can call friends, and not family. I will always be simply someone's etc... No matter the bond between myself and a friend, in the end I know that when it all comes down I am not a member of the family, therefore I am a very replaceable, extinguishable, etc...

When I was a child every night like a "good Christian girl" bruises on my torso, knots on my forehead, I would kneel before God and beg for a pronoun in the form of a sister, mother, anyone who would make me a love of their life.

Now that I'm an adult every night I take a moment "like a good studying Buddhist" scars from those bruises and knots still on my body, and I acknowledge what I can't change in others, and what I can change in myself. -but that doesn't stop the hurt.

It hurts to realize that I can and will lose every single friend I have to their families, because I already have. The weekends "at home" the dinners, the calls, the emails, texts, and even Facebook messages-there is no contest.

Every crowning glory moment to every lower than low point I've lost you to "them" and weathered it all on my lonesome.

But I can't be mad at you for this , and I'm not. I just want to be a part of it. I want to be more than just an etc... I want to feel so much a part of someone, that I won't want to be that "adventuresome", "brave" hermit who moves a lot, I'll only want to be close to my pronoun....my friend, my family.

I Love You Uncle, Even Though You Never Knew

Today I saw a man in a wheelchair on tv and I thought of you...

I thought of how you were voiceless, unable to express even the most mundane of emotions, because you were born unto this earth with a handicap. For me the idea of being handicapped is a punishment all on its own, but worse was yet to come for you. You were born unto a single, unemployed mom, who depended solely on the government for all of her needs, and now the needs of her special child too. Costly medications, specialty research, doctor's visits, other children, and simple ignorance rained down as a burden on her, and sadly you too. You suffered in every way possible while on this earth, and the 1 person who owed you their trust let you down. I'm not sure if she ever really loved you, or perhaps her way of showing it was simply by allowing you to live.

I'm sure until 1981 with what little comprehension God gave you, you felt scared and alone...then I came along. Granted I was merely a child, but I think God allowed me to mentally advance ahead of schedule just so we could have each other. You were my best buddy, due to your illness you never mentally progressed past the age of 7, but that was perfect for tiny me. I loved playing with you, reading to you, playing with race cars, and patty cake. Your vocabulary was less than 100 words, but I was part of the lucky 100...you called me "Sheen" because you couldn't pronounce multi-syllabic words. Our song was "row, row, row your boat", and it made you smile.

It wasn't all fun though..I hated to see you have grand-mal seizures and wirth around on the floor with no control. I hated seeing you take all of your medications daily around the clock. Mostly, I hated seeing her hurt you with belts, switches, etc..and you not being able to defend yourself. I made it my personal mission to protect you, even if it meant I would take the beating instead.

I was proud to push you around in your wheelchair when we were in public, never a single classmate ever said anything about your condition to my face, for I had already threatened them with malice. I felt guilt about leaving you when I did, but I had to save myself. Things were getting worse for me and I feared for my life, but I never for a second thought she would purposely do anything to bring about your demise.

I remember the last time I saw you...I begged my friend to drive with me to the tiny apartment we grew up in, for protection..I figured she wouldn't try to hurt me in front of others. Her health was at its very end, dementia, obesity, about a dozen other major health issues, and ironically a handicap due to her diabetes were all front and center. I saw you there at the kitchen table all alone tiny race cars spread about the table. Your hair hadn't been cut in months, your finger and toe nails were caked with dirt, jagged and inches long. The worst parts though were your always small frame practically emaciated, and your missing front tooth.

I came to you at the table ,smiled and hugged you, and you looked at me in confusion for a bit, but then you smiled and said "Sheen". That was great for me, I hope for you too....

When she died I felt nothing. I only thought of you, what next? Your sister (my aunt) came to claim you for her own. She made a promise to her now dead mother and the government to take care of your well-being. I had no real choice in the matter, as I was still barely legal age. I believed your sister would only want for you what I wanted; love, protection, safety. I was wrong...

You died a horrible death, one I could not wish for my own enemies. Drowning, alone in a bathtub, without a voice, a advocate, a hand to hold, or one last "I Love You". Your life ended before you could even have a period of unbridled joy. You suffered for your entire duration on this earth, and for that I am sorry. I'm sorry I left you, I'm sorry you couldn't express feelings, I'm sorry I wasn't born earlier, or in a better position to take you for myself when she died. I'm sorry you suffered such a horrible existence and died an equally horrid death.

When you died I pestered the police daily to investigate further into it, I could not let it go so easily. In the end they said it was an "accident". Such a casual word for a life like yours now gone. I want you to know, that even though I was suffering too, I loved you. I loved you very much and thought I was doing all I could at the time.

I think of you often, but try not to because it brings so much pain to my core. So, I wanted to write you this note, hoping that wherever you are now, be it heaven or a reincarnation, your life is that of the most beloved King in the world. You are of superior intelligence and physical ability, and are surrounded by love and adoration. And I hope, that wherever you are you know that I loved you, still do, and always will.

In my heart lies a tracing of where the happiness we shared used to live. I will never forget you Uncle, please be at peace.

All of my heart,

Sheen

Rest In Peace

Chinito Deadmon "Toto"

My failure is me dying

As a child I knew I was poor. I knew I lived in the same sort of building as the family on "Good Times", I knew the roaches were not part of a normal existence, I knew the little plastic baggies and syringes were not to be touched; basically I knew my life was nothing like those I saw on tv. However, I never thought I was impoverished, on the brink of homelessness and the possibility of undernourishment. I ate food, I wore clean clothes, I had a place to sleep at night.

Recently I did a day of servitude at a food pantry in East Harlem, where instead of serving prepared meals to the homeless, I prepared packages of discarded and sometimes expired food for those people who weren't homeless, but poor enough to take a hand-out of such caliber. That's when it struck me, that I was these people. I recall standing outside a building on the corner of Lake and Washington in Pasadena, waiting in line to receive the handouts du jour, whereas now I'm all about the soup du jour.

The creed I live by is 'I'm not going back". While seemingly materialistic in its roots since its creation derived from the nightmares of waking up once again in those projects, on that food line, at the food stamps office, its also steeped in my emotional history. I'm not going back to being mistreated, cheated, lied to, or neglected. I used to think I didn't have goals, but I realized they weren't goals as much as they were survival tactics. I've never had the option of not meeting my goals, for in my life failure is akin to dying.

I can't die, I have yet to fix all the wrongs of my childhood. I have yet to fill my room with things that make me smile, fill my stomach with things that delight my palate, have my heart filled by a love requited.

So the next time you ask yourself why Phoenix is so intense, ask yourself how you would be if you felt failure was your death.

St.Maarten/St.Barths -Carribean Dreams

So much happened on my first excursion to the Caribbean, that its a rather lengthy story...instead I'll just list it all as it comes out.

I'll start by saying all I really wanted was: sun, sand, pina coladas, and a hammock.

Instead I got...

* A US Airways ticket counter employee snatching passes out of my hand, me slapping him, him canceling my seat, his district manager witnessing it, apologizing for it, and then escorting me to the door of the plane

* A hypoglycemic occurrence because of the stress from the incident and lack of food

* A packed plane sitting on the runway for 1 hour

* A flight with no tv, radio, movies, or snacks

* Arriving late to my connecting flight and running through the airport with my Diana Ross fro flowing like the wind to my gate

* Meeting a place called "Bojangles" where I fell in love with a chicken biscuit

* Customs kick me out of line because I don't have the address to where I'll be staying on the island

* Meeting 2 cool peoples

* Finally sun, sand, beach

* Best meal I've ever had at handsome Italian man's bar

* Dance off, pants off!!!

* Frenchman #1

* Canadian Twins

* Strip Club after-hours

* Pina Colada!!!! (times 40)

* More rum than I've ever had in my life

* Explaining to locals I am not 1 of them in English

* Staring at locals blankly as they continue to speak to me in French or Creole

* Ditching a angry, misogynistic, old cab driver

* Risking my life in the jungle above the trees for 2 hours on 13 zip-lines

* Risking my life at the zoo that was more of a safari, with lots of the animals free to roam, and angry monkeys that threw rocks at us

* My 1st ferry ride

* Beautiful St. Barths!!!

* Nude sun-bathing after my $50 salad and Pina Colada

* Finding foreign candies including the Haribo Smurfs

* Boys, boys, boys

* Gay local guy and his French clique I had dance-offs with

* Frenchman #2

* Dutch guy...wandering hands

* All you can eat ribs!

* Nighttime beach drinks and lounging

* Conch!

* Cab drivers similar to the ones in NY

* Locals who will offer you rides for free while you're walking down the street

* Sun Rash 2010

All in all a fabulous time was had, and I am eternally grateful for the experience <3

Dear United States Census

Its that time again..the time when you get to put millions and millions of us who are native to this country, but are comprised of this "melting pot" behavior you tout, in 1 bland category that doesn't even begin to highlight our rich individual cultures.

I (and both maternal and paternal sides of my lineage) are not simply Black, African American, or Negro, but we are American Creole. Descendants of French and Spanish settlers, Africans, and Native Americans. We eat different foods, speak different languages, and even live our lives according to different superstitions infused with spiritual and religious hues, that vary greatly from other Black Americans.

Please do a historical review, and perhaps consider the fact that not all Black people are the same...really.

I can't get a man to be friends with me

True Story- I can't get a single man to be friends with me.

I meet girls all the time. They come up to me, shower me with compliments, offer me free drinks, just genuinely put it out there that they're interested in being friends; I am the same way. I make at least 1 new friend every other month, that I invite out with me and my other friends because I dig her personality, style, vibe. Its not sexual, out of jealousy, or anything other than pure desire to make a new friend. Whenever I attempt to do the same with a man, its automatically awkward..because he takes it there. To that little place that should be in the recesses of his mind, but are instead at the very forefront screaming "she wants to sex you"!!!

Oh and by friends I mean neither of us has constant thoughts of doing dirty unmentionable deeds to the other , and just have the same camaraderie as I do with my friends of the female persuasion. We go to exhibits, movies, lunch, just hang out.

A couple of months ago I came across such a guy...I was intrigued by his completely transparent self-absorbent behavior, as well as his penchant for contrasting hobbies. Hunting & poetry, wine & foreign languages, art & sports car racing, his wildly different interests mimicked my own untamed desires for things that lack correlation. I thought to myself "what if his egotism was just a sign of insecurity? I can't fault people for feeling insecure."

So, we began what I would call the dance of the opposite gender friendship. Where man & woman have obvious chemistry in several areas, but are not immediately drawn to the idea of simply pouncing on the other. Sort of like a slow simmer to whatever kind of relationship you are to have, until it either boils over or the little sauce that was simmering dries up. We simmered along quite nicely for a couple of months, and 1 day I put the question out there "when are we going to hang out?" Simple enough question for someone whom you share personal stories with semi-regularly, and wish to continue to in a more relaxed setting.

His response was instant, "next week!" he declared, as he proposed 2 possible events we could attend. I was happy that we appeared to be on the same page, and to finally chat even more openly than we had been doing thus far.

Fast forward to the day of, and I get a text message (not a call) 1.5 hours before our time to meet-up that something happened to his car, and he's sorry for the last minute message. Dissapointed, but empathetic, I text him my regards and brush it off. 2 days later I text him just saying hi, and hope all is moving along with his ordeal- no reply. The next day I see him and he says absolutely nothing to me, not even hello! I instant message him with the message "hi, how's it going? *awkward pause*" - I never got a reply.

What the fuck? What happened that now you are terrified to even tell me you're busy or not interested in being cool? I'm offended, disappointed, and just hurt. I don't understand this sort of passive behavior. I really just wanted to maybe be friends; at the least learn more about the potentially beautiful mind you may or may not have. But it doesn't matter about your mind, especially not when your heart is rotten.

This is what I mean...sigh... would I be this upset if a female behaved this way? Yes and no. Yes, offended because she put on the show of wanting to hang out. No, because she's a girl and ultimately I don't care whether or not she thinks I'm attractive enough to even be friends with.

I was watching a dating show the other day where the high priestess of dating told a female client of hers that she had "masculine energy" and that turns men away from her. This sentiment made me think that maybe this afflicts me as well. Men simply stare at me, rarely speaking their minds. When I actually do finally get around to having a guy friend, they eventually tell me that they find me "scary, or intimidating". This not only upsets me, but it hurts. What exactly is feminine energy? Should I slink around purring in every man's direction just to get him to not take the defensive position towards me?

I just want to be friends!!!

ps...I got a im from jerkboy the next day, that was timestamped from actual day I sent him the original message. So apparently he did message back, but this doesn't change the fact he didn't text back, or say hello.

I'm a mid-twenties single woman, thus I must be gay

You read it correctly, apparently I missed the memo that if you are a single female in your mid-twenties then perhaps you are a lesbian.

Several people have inquired about my sexual orientation over the years, to which I brushed off as ignorance of not only individuality, but of who I really am as a person. Recently though, a person whom I thought knew me fairly well asked a question that I still do not take as a joke "Do you have a girlfriend....a boyfriend?" Seriously? Did we not make out like lovebirds for more than 7 hours dancing dirty enough to put "Baby" back in the damn corner? Have our correspondences over the past year not been frequent, flirty, and frank? Why would you ask me something so profoundly asinine?

I'm not offended by the lesbian label, as there are some fantastic lesbians in our society, mostly due in part to their character and less to do with who they roll in the sheets with. I'm offended because you have decided that because I choose to be a lady of decorum, a baroness of self-respect, an empress of elegance, I must be gay. I mean who wouldn't want to sex every single man that looks their way? Why would I not want to dance on every disco stick that I meet?

Where in the hell have we gone as a society that not being promiscuous or pathetic enough to be in a relationship you don't enjoy, puts you in the "outcast" category of being a lesbian? Both the women's revolution and the sexual revolution were not about women becoming abject sluts who intern themselves in dead-end, joyless relationships. The word revolution itself speaks to freedom; freedom to choose, to not choose, to simply be.

My freedom is in abundance when it comes to what I choose to do with my lovelife. I am a bigger romantic than most Hollywood film directors could ever create, I know more about real connections, bonds, love, passion, its an art that I have taken a keen interest in for sometime. Therefore, I know what I want..most importantly I know what I don't want. I'm not really a seat-filler girl, I'm not going to use someone until I find someone I actually have a spark with.

A cold side of the bed is nothing compared to the feeling of repressed resentment, boredom, and unrequited lust or love if you like. I awake each day with a open & free heart. I go out and live my life not placing its fulfillment on whether or not I possess a +1. I go on dates (lots) sometimes with guys who I don't even think are attractive, all to challenge myself, make sure I am still being open-minded to the possibilities of what attraction is, or can be.

I'm not only fine, but pretty proud of the woman I am. I even embrace my imperfections as I do what I can to convert those puzzles into a state of resolved. I advise you to do the same, and leave the part about who I sex and how often to each her own.