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Reflections of a Very Young Girl

The sunset is always more soothing for those who look forward to the night
But I didn’t
I knew what night would bring 
And I shivered
Shivered in a balmy 75 degree night

It was the knowing that made it worse
Knowing that it was time to work
To “put up or shut up” as he said
My pimp 
He was real smart 
Or so he told himself
Smart enough to “make this money”
I always thought he was smart enough not to get fucked 
And let the others fuck for him

That’s the kind of intelligence I wish I had
But I don’t
I dropped out of school at twelve
When the bruises my mom inflicted became too much to hide
But the social workers were too busy with other cases to take mine
Maybe I wasn’t morose enough
I was always a happy child
Maybe our neighborhood was too scary for some fully educated college grad to stop in
Or maybe I was like every other girl in the hood
A commodity made more valuable by the scar
“Good girls aren’t worth shit.” 
He was right
But I wasn’t one of them
My mom taught me that

No I was something else
Right now I was someone who had to “make this money”
I hated hearing him say that
Mostly because I knew he was right
I had to support myself
And if I didn’t work, I didn’t eat
But worse if I didn’t work
I didn’t eat and I’d get beaten
Those two things didn’t go together
Have you ever been kicked in an empty stomach
I have

I needed a drink
That’s one thing that my pimp, used to be my boyfriend, always had
“For the nerves”
You’d think I would have been out here long enough
You know, to not have nerves
To not feel
To not need the anesthetic
To be able to get on my knees
Or lift my skirt
Or to kiss amorously 
A stranger
A paying customer
But I did
I still needed the pain killer
The pain both mental and physical would leave me
If I had a drink
Well, not one
“Just don’t be sloppy, bitch.”

I could hold my liquor
Enough to remember how to get most men off quickly
Quick was a necessity
You didn’t want to be with a trick all night
It didn’t make money
And if it didn’t make money it didn’t make sense
A young impressionable girl might get it into her head that she’s special
I’d done that before 
Two years ago on my fifteenth birthday
I’d thought I was special (briefly)
That one of my regulars might really care
That he might take me away from here
Like Julia Roberts’ character

What a dumb ass movie
It’d been my favorite
But I was a “dumb ass bitch”
See, my pimp agrees
And he knows me
He’d been sniffing around before I was a teen
He was a regular part of my community
A predator
Wiser, older 
He was a real man
He even had a “real woman” and a good job
I had this

But I guess he kept his promises
Said he’d take me away from a broken home
And he had
Said he’d take care of me
And he was
I mean as long as I did my part
We were a team
Said he’d always love me
And he does
He spends more time on me than any of his other girls
So I know he loves me
And one day he’ll take me away from even this
I feel it
I know it 
He told me so

But right now I’ve got to make him proud
Got to make him happy
Got to find someone who
“Wanna date?”

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I guess our cou…

I guess our country is full of contradictions and it’s hard for us to find the middle ground.  Seems to me when we were kids we should have spent more time playing with others and doing group projects.  Instead we all have a “it can only be me” strategy which leaves everyone fighting for a piece of the pie.  If we could work together maybe we could find the recipe and make a personal pie for everyone.  I know, sounds crazy.


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Science and Sex

Cliché #3: Men enjoy casual flings more than women do Samantha Jones might have had her share of one-night stands and meaningless encounters, but the average woman just isn’t into that… at least, not according to findings published in the journal, Human Nature. Why? Evolutionarily speaking, women bear the brunt of child-rearing, so it’s important for them to enter relationships with men who could be potential husbands — making them less likely to hook up with just anyone. When the study’s researchers at Durham University in the UK asked almost 2,000 men and women to talk about their feelings after partaking in a one-night stand, 80 percent of the male participants had positive feelings about their night of passion, saying they secretly wanted their friends to find out about their escapades. Only slightly more than half of the women surveyed echoed those positive feelings (54 percent). In fact, the female participants were more likely to say that they had “let themselves down” and were worried about damaging their reputation, saying they found the experience less sexually satisfying than the men did. Another study conducted by researchers at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA found that when given a choice, guys opt for hooking up instead of dating and women prefer dating over a casual fling. Who knew?

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What is Love?

How can you tell if you are in love?  What are the signs?  Is it really like in the movies where your heart skips a beat, or you see them and a special knowing comes upon you?  Is it a tingling sensation?

What is it?  Is it like a curable or incurable disease?  Will you feel the acute affects of it for a time but then be able to kick it or do you fall in love for life?  And who exactly is qualified to answer any of these questions?

I mean really.  In an age where we marry and divorce as often as we get our tires rotated or get an alignment, I’m wondering what love and marriage and all that is really about.  How do you know when you’ve found the ONE?  And when you’ve found him or her how do you know they believe you’re the ONE?  I mean really.  Couldn’t you believe they’re that special and they believe you’re…all right?

There seems to be no one answer.  No universal truth.  The only truth I know about love is that God is love.

I understand God’s love from the perspective of being a relatively young human on this earth with a limited amount of experiences.  I have found that God’s love is the kind that never lets you down.  It’s the kind where when you feel like you have no one you always have someone.  I know that love.  That love reminds me that no matter my flaws there is God who is never forgetting about me, always giving me a chance to repent and do better, and always calling me home.  But what about that other type?

What about earthly love?  Eros.  Is there really long-lasting eros love or do people fall in love, get married and then fall in and out of love during the course of their marriage?  Do some people call it quits during that out of love period while others persevere mostly based on the commitment they made?

I’ve never been married so I don’t know.  I’ve never been loved in that way so I don’t know.  But who really does?  Is a divorcee the one who should council me or a priest or even a person who’s been married 40 years?

There’s no real answer that I’m looking for but I can’t help but wonder how I can crave love so much when I don’t even know what it is.

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Top Ten Random Thoughts/Desires

I’m trying to make myself type stuff because there’s so much in my head that never gets out.  Random thoughts.

1)  I want a job at Booz, Allen and Hamilton Consulting when I finish my MBA in Dubai.

2) I want to live in Columbia, MD.

3) I want to get married at Elkhorn Park

4) I want to finish editing my book.

5) I want to finish writing my book.

6) I want to do super well at my MBA program.

7) I want to have enough money to pay the rent for the rest of my apartment contract and pay my bills.

8) I want to play professional football and get paid for it.

9) I want to actually write every day instead of thinking about it.

10) I want to be in a healthy, growing relationship with a man.

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Satisfaction and Trepidation

I find it amazing how much satisfaction I get from writing.  When I actually force my mind to be quiet enough and my body to be still enough, I get the gift of my muse.  I get to sit and create.  What wasn’t becomes.  What was nebulous becomes concrete.  It’s truly a gift.  I thank God that he chose me to be a vessel for stories floating around in the ether.  I think of all the people who can be helped, encouraged, and validated through my writing and I feel such elation. 

The only drawback to this kind of joy is that you have to be brave enough to open yourself up to other’s opinions and criticisms.  You have to be willing to hear someone say “Eh.”  And that’s scary.  If they love it then yeah.  If they hate it then…okay.  But what if it finds that scary middle where it is as forgotten as the cobweb in the corner of the ceiling over the kitchen cabinet?  Existing but not of any real consequence.  I fear this and this fear cripples my ability to let anyone but my closest friends read my writing.  So the help, encouragement, and validation that others could receive is trapped between the fibers of my paper and the eyes of my inner circle.  What a shame. 

Useless is a blessing that is never accessed.  So then, how do you get past that stage?  To move past the trepidation, past potential to the actualization of the blessing?

I don’t know.

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I think I spend…

I think I spend more time daydreaming about writing than actually writing.  I think its because staring at a blank page can be daunting.  It’s so white and judgmental.  Its purpose lacking without being filled by random thoughts, memories, or philosophy.  Its blank pages mock me. “Do you really know what you’re talking about?”  It asks in a superior voice as if it were the school marm and I the recalcitrant child.  I slouch in my chair and shrug.  “Well,” I say, “I’ve had people say they like it.”  Then the paper just stares at me blankly, clearly unconvinced.  Words aren’t needed in this exchange.  I know that look means: “Oh really?”

Which begs the question: Do friends and loved ones count when it comes to judging your writing?  Aren’t they preconditioned to say nice things or really horrible things.  Doesn’t your family almost instinctively cut you down or build you up?  The extremes that either bolster your courage or have you throwing in the towel even before you’ve gotten in the ring.  Or is it that if people know you their judgment is colored by what they know about your personality or what they expect from you instead of the writing itself.  Can you trust family and friends to be honest and do you even want them to be?  Isn’t it enough to be judged by the paper itself?  Do you really want others to do so as well?

I suppose those answers are different for every writer.  Maybe some are motivated by the praise of the people around them or galvanized by their haters.  I assume others feel their family can be honest, brutally so, and others choose mediums that expose them to the critique of strangers.  But I had no good answer to the blank page.  Instead, I filled it with these ramblings hoping to make daydreams reality and give purpose to this paper.  Image


The Writing Profession

Writing is difficult as a profession.  As hard as trying to pin down the creative spirit.  It’s like demanding your muse perform on queue but it doesn’t.  It’s fickle.  Showing up when it gets ready.  The star of the show, a diva.  Cancelling shows, throwing tantrums and finding the most inconvenient times to show up.  Then, I try to box it in, demanding it perform from this hour to another preset time and it feels stifling.  It ekes out as if the pen I write with no longer has ink.  Thanks for that.  I mean is showing up with a fortune cookie worth of talent even worth the time?  Who knows.  Yet when the need to write undulates through my spirit culminating in a connection between heart, mind and the keys of my Mac, I feel vibrant and alive.  I want to share the feeling with the whole world.  Call up all my phone faves and tell them the good news.  “Read what I wrote,” I request as I post it to Facebook.  Yes!  So satisfying.  But that’s not enough to build a profession.  I need to be better.  Business-minded.  Using that darn degree I got 10 years ago, Business Management, to actually manage my writing.  What was the expensive degree for if not to make a dream of mind come to fruition?  I know, right.  So what do I do?  Right now, I write a blog about it and keep on moving.


Keep it moving! 🙂