Notebook Privacy

My notebooks are extremely private to me. I’m kinda looking at my blog as the same thing. I have a myspace blog where I post general poems or essays that I write, that really don’t have too much to do with me personally. They are all my “friends” and I don’t know how they would feel if they knew certain things about me. I know I shouldn’t care, but I do. I’m really enjoying this bloging thing. My daughter’s father is very popular on this site. He doesn’t know about my blog, and I hope he doesn’t find out. Because most of this stuff I put out here, he would flip if he read it. He’s an author himself, but I don’t know why he doesn’t understand that everything I write about especially in my poems aren’t all about me. I have a very creative mind, and he seems like he can be the only one good at writing. We have the rockiest relationship. It is very volatile, and I have been advised by my trusted therapist to stay away from him if possible. Bad things have happened between us. My notebooks have caused some conflict. He has a PhD and writes just like a physician, so when he jots down things I can’t read it because it looks like scribble scrabble. He feels the he can just pick up my personal notebooks and read them. He always seems to find something he doesn’t like. So don’t read em I say. I don’t go to his blog. He always writes about me. Not forwardly, but he’ll talk about what a women should do, or what women don’t do. A few times he has written specifically about me, and people who know us, know that it’s about me.(He sends out an email with a link to everyone he knows) So I don’t even read it, because I don’t want to get upset. I think it’s the right thing to do. He bitches about it, and I don’t care. I will write until I can no longer breathe air. Yet again the saga continues.

Mental instablility

I guess it runs in my family
….mental instability
Guess that gene got passed on to me
I pray that I’m not a carrier
So my kids will be free
Free of…mental instability
Because it’s hard
To be labeled as damaged goods
And have to take pills
Just to say in a stable mood
Bipolar has kicked my ass
Most of my life
And now it’s time to me to knock down
The stigmas of the mentally ill

My parents still don't know..

How would I begin?
Where would I start?
Maybe with my first hospitalization
Or trying to crash my car?
How I flip the script
And start throwing shit around
And how I’ve cut myself a couple of times
This shit is deep
And my secret I feel I should keep
Because I don’t think they need to know
That their daughter is mentally ill
Not right now at least

I already know how this will go
I’ll tell you what’s up
If you won’t try to alter my footsteps
Down the roads I choose to go
Because I don’t want to be treated different
Please treat me the same
It’s not your fault
And I’m not here to place blame
But I have Bipolar
Which causes me to change
From the daughter you gave birth to
Into someone my kids father named
Foia
Not a split personality
Just changing character traits
From high to low
All day every day
A rapid cycle
Is how my spirit is traveling
In times of extremely high stress
I’m a mess
Get all teary eyed
And bust out crying
When I never cry
Not even when it’s appropriate
When a certain “someone” presses my buttons
It’s over and done with
I don’t even think
I’ve picked up several dishes
And have broken them
The biggest thing right now
Is to show you how I’m okay
As long as I’m medicated
I actually feel better
When I don’t have to deal w/”her”

Last one of the night..I'm tired..No title

I want to be free
You away from me
Me, sipping a pina colada under a shade tree
Because you used to amaze me
Now it’s nothing nice
I hate to see you coming
If we could erase the past
Repair our broken glass
I would have never let you touch me
Or tap that ass
Would everything be okay
Forever in a day?

Beautiful girl...lol @ Sean Kingston.

I have to see if I’m able
To relay my story
No fiction, no fables
Just the plain truth
As it is..Laid out on the table
I don’t like it
But I’ve been told
That I'm somtimes unstable


I’m a beautiful girl
So I’ve been told
But that’s why it will never work
Because I’m suicidal, suicidal
Cuz I’m all screwed up
It started when I got my boobs and butt
Guys started paying way too much attention
Looking way too much
The girls I hung around didn’t like that
Because they didn’t have my luck
So they just ran their mouths
Talked shit and started stuff
Now I’m in a mental hospital
Commanding these voices to hush
They talked me into cutting my wrist
They said pills wouldn’t be enough
So I guess they win
Another beautiful girl washed down the drain
All because I lived
I’ll be suicidal again

No Title

AAAAHHHH!
I wish I could just scream
Rip my hair out
Overdose on codeine
Because I let a man bring me way down
Now I can’t stop the rain
And when I start to see the sun
He brings the clouds
Slowing
Breaking
Me
Down

8-9-07 The day after my bday...I had just gotten a new truck..what's up w/ this?

I balled up my dreams
And threw them away
I did exactly what I shouldn’t have done
I listened to what the haters say
I’m not a Christian or an atheist
Because I pray
And right now in my life
The sky is gray
I have my faith to hold onto
But is that enough to keep me going
Enough to help me through
While searching for the meaning of life
With out getting beaten up and bruised

If I go..I suppose is a good title for this??

If I go..
Meaning leave this Earth
Without burning my writing
Your ass will be hurting
All of my thoughts and aspirations
Displayed all in your face
Some fact
Some fiction
But you won’t be able to differentiate
You pushed me to this point
To where I believe I’m too weak
To continue struggling
I’m not going out on the streets
When you chose me
I was only 19
So I do believe you owe me…
Punitive damages
Because if you would have left me alone
I wouldn’t feel like a statue
Set in stone

a few lines here and there

I am anxious..
Yet excited
For what the future holds
I’m lost in translation
Caught in between the folds
It will be okay though
As long as I have you to hold
You are the only one
Who can get me
To where I’m trying to go

8-21-07 Yay I have a date 4 this one!

All these stairs
To all the way up there
I’m getting more and more out of breath
With each and every step
I need an inhaler
Because I’m breathing is getting heavier and heavier
Or maybe a break
Or a drink of water
Because frankly darling
I’m tired
Want to keep going
But my calf’s are hurting
My mind is wondering
And my eyes are burning
Because it’s not just raining
It’s storming
Pushing me to keep going
To get to the next day
To the next morning
So as I climb
I know I’ll get to the top
With all my aches
And a smile

Question?

Question: how come you have a trouble accepting “Christianity?”
Let me tell you before I start that I am not atheist
Number 1: I don’t see how the “truth” came to be..
How can two different testaments
Written hundreds of years apart
Telling me the only way to get to Heaven
Is to accept Jesus into my heart
Well what if that’s not right?
There are too many religions to choose from
How can I be expected to pick “Christianity” off the list
When a MAN wrote the bible
So how can his words be trusted?
Not even one “he”
It was many “persons”
So how can that be the truth for certain?
That’s why I question religion
How come I have to pick?
When “he” created all of us
There isn’t even a J in the Hebrew alphabet
So is Jesus his name or isn’t it?
Got me confused
But I’ve done my research
Question Authority
Is something that I have been taught
Just because a person has power
Doesn’t mean that they’re always right
Christianity was used to control slaves
By telling them about Jesus
So they would believe they are suppose to be enslaved
And wouldn’t try to kill the master
In a fit of rage

Fleeting anger at the male member (men may not want to read)

So you want some head
Don’t think you want me to
I may just bite down and chew
Leave big man all swollen and bruised
But that’s the price you pay
When you want to invade my mouth
Nasty!! Hurry up and get it out!

But if you cover it up
I may man up and suck
Pretends it’s a lollypop
And do my job
Until then
Close your eyes and pretend

I'm sorry...Tired of my kids father talking about it..I don't require him to return the favor..so I wrote this after an argument with him.

"It"

Can you count how many times?
“It’s” come up in my books
Go ahead count
Maybe even take a second look
Because it’s like Aids
It won’t go away
I run fast
But it still chases me
Forces me to make a decision
Red…EVERYWHERE
Because I did it with precision
No more looking back
Freedom
No more prison
So count
Because I’m obsessed
Put me away
I need rest
Maybe I’ll get better
And clean up all my mess
But until then “it” will be present
And I’ll try to run from it
But that’s as good as it gets


I never date anything..Bad habit..and also for my privacy..I'm guessing sometime in 2006 ish

So…I’m reading from my previous notebooks, journals, or rhythmic reflections I sometimes call them, and I noticed that I am pretty explicit. I don’t know if I am comfortable with putting some of my pieces out here. Even though I haven’t given my blog address to anyone I know. I still feel like I have to protect myself from being judged, I guess. Even though the face behind this blog is hidden, unless you caught the picture of me when I first signed up, which I know you didn’t. I will remain without a face, until I decided to take my mask off and show the face behind my words. So with that being said..on with the raunchy, gritty, foul mouthed uncouth shit.


****What's my favorite word..Bitch..Why you gotta say it like Short..Bitch..Can't hang w/ the big dawgs get off the court*** Too short

Kept Yo Cents

I don’t need to kneel on my knees to pray
Because my creator lives in me everyday
Why does my preacher have a flyy car
And my ish is wack
I’m on the bus going to see his ass
Kept Yo Cents
Now that ain’t right
The devil dressed in Armani suits
Getting what’s in the collection plate
The congregation’s dollars sure go a long way

Now how am I going to get to Heaven?
By paying for a blessing?
I’ll give my 10%, but lil buddy that’s it
He says “Gimme 50, 100, no a stack
“Jesus is happy when I’m paid like that”

Divorce..

Divorce….I believe that it can be wrong to get a divorce in certain situations, and right in others. It all just depends on the circumstances that led up to the couple feeling like divorce may be the right answer. I was recently talking to one of my friends who knew this couple who just finalized their divorce. She told me that the couple had been together for five years. Three of which they spent dating. They met when the guy's dad was dying of cancer. Of course when you are going through an ordeal such as losing a parent, you almost are a different person. He was laid back at that time, and so was she. That was one of the factors that made them feel compatible. Yet, compatibility was what tore their relationship apart. When the guy began to heal from the death of his father, he began to want to do things again. Hanging out with his buddies, going to baseball games, and bars began to be something he wanted to enjoy with his wife. When he would ask for her company she would simply not go or roll her eyes and tag along with her attitude just because he may have made a big deal out of her joining him. My friend and I are positive that there are many other factors that came into play that led to them getting a divorce. But the main reason was because they were at two different places in live at the wrong time.
Situations like that leave me with this question….What are good enough reasons for divorce? I think those of you who read this need to ponder this same question. Would you leave your spouse if they suddenly wanted to become a party animal and wanted you to join them? Would you leave your spouse if they gained tons of weight? Would you leave your spouse if they were diagnosed with a mental illness (ex: Depression, Schizophrenia, Bipolar?) Mental illness is manageable with the right tools, but what if it were something more serious like your spouse got into a car accident and became a quadriplegic and blind? Would you stay? If so would it be for the right reason. Or would it because you felt obligated?
To answer my own question…I believe marriage is sacred. When I do get married I want it to be forever. Until he picks out my casket, and until I lower him into the ground. Hypothetically, if I was married and my husband got into a car accident and was gravely disabled then I would be there right by his side helping him through it. Unless he treated me like shit, then I would push his ass over in a tub just like the wife in "Diary of a Mad Black Woman." If that husband and wife from paragraph one couldn't stay together just because they had timing differences, what will they be able to endure in their next relationships?

The Right Time to Tell..

******Relationships in the beginning stages are all about getting to know each other. There are some things that people are dying to reveal about themselves. Mostly the good things right? Things that people will be impressed with. But what is the appropriate time to tell someone that you may have a seizure disorder, HIV positive, or that you are Bipolar? These are typically hard for the diagnosed person to deal with, but become even more difficult when they inform the person they are want to start a relationship with. There is probably fear of rejection, fear of being looked at as damaged.And what if the person who has the illness tells you right off the bat when you first meet? Is that too much information too soon? If someone who you liked came to you with one of the illnesses listed above, how would you handle it? Would you stay? And when is the right time to tell your potential partner that you may be dealing with some things in your life that aren't easy?****

A thought..and I still think titles are lame

Who knows what the future holds?
Such a cliché
A very common sentence form
But you and I…up in the sky
You say I never tell the truth
And that my whole life is a lie
I’m finding myself
And who I’m suppose to be
You are trying to control things
I think you should let me be

As I am

For you…
To remember me by
When I am not here for you to see
Because I know one day
I’ll be gone
And my notebooks will be around
To define me
And exploit my thoughts
The real me
Although you, who are looking in
Will only see what you imagine
Because sometimes I am serious
I have thoughts that kill
Yet often enough
I make shit up
Just for the thrill..

A new beginning
Different stories
And alternate endings
The same soul leaving behind
Parts of its whole
To view me as I am
And in the future who I was
And presently who I am to be
I am still writing down
The stories of my life
The sunshine that is striking

Titles are lame..

You should never look under a rock
Cuz as a child I learned
That hidden underneath
Is usually something that squirms
And that’s exactly what you get
When you open my books and read my shit
A slug in the chest
And it ain’t no bug
My imagination is wild
Don’t have to constantly write about my life
Write about my bitch
Or her girlfriend and her bull shit
I don’t appreciate peepers
Keep your eyes where they belong
Because my writing is mine
And until I let you read it
It’s a SECRET…..
It’s a SECRET….

Here we go with titles. I hardly ever title my work..

I will write life…
Until my hand is no longer strong enough
To hold a pen
And in the end I’ll collect my thoughts
Set them on fire
And watch them burn
My life… up in flames
Erase my thoughts
Like they were never here
I know I will mourn
Collect the ashes
Put them away In a glass jar
Sealed tightly
From the bottom of my heart

First Thing Said..

I am here to get comfortable. I am here to make myself at home. Some Kind of Therapy is me stepping outside of my notebooks. I have been a writer since I was introduced to journaling as a child in elementary at the Montessori school I went to. I know for a fact in elementary and junior high our teachers read our journals. I can’t remember if they did in high school or not. Since then I’ve tried to keep my “babies” hidden. I’ve had a few peepers and they know who they are. I don’t appreciate it, but oh well sometimes when you look for things you don’t like what you find. Anyway, one of my favorite professors Dr. Byrd who is French, hilarious, and has great fashion sense always said don’t be upset if people call your babies ugly. It is their own opinion, and as long as you write your heart out, and love your babies, move on because the baby that they think is ugly doesn’t belong to them. So metaphorically speaking, hear I am like Michael Jackson, removing the blanket from my babies’ heads.