Accomplish

I'm inebriated and don't know what to write about. Someone reminded me that I did some pretty great things recently and I should reflect. Thank you, person ;) But, like I said, I'm inebriated and don't know how to humble brag or write coherently right now (sorry) so what I'm going to do is TRY ANYWAY because you have to try in life and I don't know what to write about. Did this paragraph make any sense?

Here are my recent accomplishments: 

1. I'm watching Hook, the movie, with my six year old son. We come up on the part where aged and forgetful Peter Pan gets some nice mouth to mouth action from three supes cute mermaids. My son says, "Ahhhh, mommy go back so I can see that part again!" I say, "hahahahahahahaha okay." I rewind and let the little perv watch again...THEN he says, "Excuse me mommy, I have to go to my room and do something private." I say, "Okay," and die internally. But I'm proud of myself because I was the one who taught him that certain things are to be done in private, in your room, by yourself. So, at least I'm raising a responsible horn ball (or maybe not a horn ball and this is all completely normal. I hear it's normal. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, TELL ME IT'S NORMAL). 

2. I had an incident with a certified fuckboy recently which is RARE for me. I usually date insanely nice men (That might show in my blogs. I'm usually the asshole. Le Sigh) and I truly have little to no experience with these douche bag, asshole, fuckboy, normal guys these days that all of my friends cry about. Usually, I can smell an asshole a mile away (wait, what?) and I avoid that mess wit' a quickness because ain't nobody named Marissa got time for punk ass dudes. Still inebriated. Sorry, mom. Okay, so. I come across one such jerkface and long story short, he does what assholes do. Tried to stink up my life. I could have/should have written something better than that last sentence. Anyway, y'all wanna know what I did!?! I dealt with the situation like an adult! I politely went off on his ass through Facebook Messenger and let him know I am not the one. I am not that girl. No sir, not today!  I may have written a mutha luvin poem about it. See number 3.

3. I wrote a poem about fuckboys (in a like cool, good, slam poetry, talented kind of way, nothing like what's happening currently in this blog). I wrote a poem, signed up for an open mic, and performed said poem. I accomplished my fear of spoken word, bore a part of my soul, didn't die, and the dopest poet I've ever met told ME I was dope af. Such good shit. And yes, fuckboy referenced in number 2 was in attendance of my dope af performance. *Hair mutha fuckin flip* Accomplished. 

4. I got my first writing job!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm officially a contributor for a fun website. I get to write about adorable animals and ya know what? The whole situation makes me smile. Getting paid for my writing feels way better than that old Master's Degree (no, seriously). 

5. I put out into the Universe that I NEEDED a vacation (I don't even believe in stuff like that but I don't know how else to word it currently. INEBRIATION!) and guess what? My cousin invited me onto a cruise!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I could afford it (crazy discount) and had the time to get away. So, I somehow used the law of something or another (shit I don't really believe in...or I think I can just describe it in a more concrete/scientific way rather than romanticize it) and attracted what I wanted from the Universe! I set sail on a cruise in four days! How ya like me now, fellas!?

That's it. Those are all of my accomplishments lately. That and my fro is on point. Okay no, that's just a straight up blessing not an accomplishment. Idk, I don't really believe in blessings either. Except my kids, awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

Okay, that's all. 

This N*gga

I am the mother of two black boys. I am the mother that watches the news and clutches her stomach and prays and prays and prays to a god she no longer believes in. I am the mother who tirelessly strides to love them, protect them and push them as I see my great grandmother's vision in their eyes. When it comes to my babies, there is so much I could say. But I'm sorry y'all...I just can't today.

There is a distraction. And I don't mean whatever bullshit internet fad that's displayed to distract us as a people. Oh no. It's me. I am distracted. I am distracted by this god damn beautiful nigga. This man has me so wide open, y'all, I might need someone to come up here and catch me if I fall.

I am the woman who sits at the spoken word and endures the misogynistic bullshit wrapped with a poetic bow, nicely packaged bullshit that grown women actually clap for. I could talk about the black men telling me I'm a slut or a queen with no in between. There's no right to be ordinary within the black sanctuary. Thank you black man for instructing me to stay in my lane and so thoroughly defining precisely what that lane is. Talking about the hos with the fake fat asses putting us in the very boxes you criticize us for not liberating ourselves from. Go ahead. Judge the fuck out of her while you fucked the shit out of her just the other night...and the night before. The crowd claps as I make that face and think, "Man, fuck this nigga".

I am the woman who doesn't use the N word. Whether it's an "er" or an "a" I'm just not down with that shit. Nigga, if you knew where that shit came from, which I'm sure you do, you would think twice before you decapitated that ER and replaced it with that A to make it suddenly okay.

So many topics to touch, burdens to lay down, gripes to go around but none of them come to mind because all I can think about, all I can spit about is this goddamn nigga.

He sees me.

He sees me beyond my hips and my thighs , beyond my full lips and pretty brown eyes.

The pain that I hide, the insecurities in my stride. No matter how much I suppress, to him I'm transparent and he offers me rest. 

He sees me and loves me and pushes me and catches me. 

He makes me forget about him and him and him and her because for me there is only him.

Forever there is only him. Him and I. 

The only problem with this nigga? I haven't met him yet. 

Getting To Know You... Ok, Me.

I was once told the secret to success is obsessive, relentless persistence. I struggle not to call bullshit.

As a teenager, my dream was to be an actor and I didn’t really see it as a dream, more like, what was going to happen. I rejected my parents’ foolish talk of backup plans because backup plans were for non-believers and at fifteen years old, trust me, I believed in myself. I had the typical insecurities about boys, my weight, my skin, blah, blah, blah but when it came to my future, when it came to acting, well there was no question. I’d be an actress, I’d win an Oscar, and then I’d win another. Believing in my dream was the easy part. What I failed to realize was the work it would take to get there.

My biggest distraction was sex, maybe not sex but, this longing to experience everything, especially love and intimacy. I was raised by two strict, Caribbean parents that kept me on the shortest leash possible so I put all of my energy into breaking free. The energy was misplaced to say the least. Instead of focusing on goals that would propel me forward, I looked for adventure that would let me escape, even if only for a moment.

So, I went out and I got me some! First kiss at fifteen, first real boyfriend at sixteen, virginity lost at sixteen and then boom, first baby born at seventeen. For most, the dreaming would stop there but luckily for me, my teenage delusion was strong. I thought, “A kid? That’s alright, now I’ll just have a sidekick to accompany me to the top!” (In all honesty, I was freaking the fuck out…I could write about one hundred posts about being sixteen and pregnant and they’d all be filled with pure horror… but I still knew I’d reach my goal, simply because I wanted to).

Life marched on. My relationship ended, another began and boy did I just KNOW that this one was it! My childlike sense of invincibility didn’t dissipate until I was well into adulthood. It wasn’t until my second baby came along at twenty-three that I knew my dream was dead. Of course I could still do everything necessary to become an actress but to me that meant being a bad mother, putting my needs before theirs and that wasn’t an option, not then, not now, not ever.

I experienced a deep depression after my second son was born. It wasn’t post-partum; it had nothing to do with having a baby (in fact my second child has always given me a sense of peace…another blog for another day) but soon after having him I realized that I put my greatest dream to rest in order to fight for this picture of a family that wasn’t going to happen. My relationship with his father crumbled in as much of a whirlwind as it was created and the one thing I had a passion for was no longer a viable life choice. Depression doesn’t begin to describe the darkness of that time. I was in my mid-twenties, two kids, on my own, at a daily funeral for any hope for the future.

I learned to stop dreaming. In fact, I avoided it. I didn’t set goals; hell, I didn’t even make to-do lists. The real, tangible option of failure was too overwhelming. I can’t fail if I don’t try. That was my mastered motto. I worked a day job, I focused on my kids and I cringed any time anyone asked me about a five-year plan. I’d protect my heart by never wanting anything again. As long as my kids were okay, screw any personal desires. That mess just got me in trouble anyway.

But.

That can only last for so long. I’m creative. I’m driven. I’m hard working. I knew as a teenager that I was meant to shine. At that age it was this naïve sense of invincibility, the feeling that life would happen the way I wanted it to just because I wanted it to and nothing bad would happen to me or get in my way because well, nothing ever had before.

The perfect recipe for failure: Naivety+Talent+Entitlement.

But the tables have turned.   Now I’m in a place where I’m not itching to shine but to share, share my stories, my experiences and oh hell, shine a little bit too, to be an unapologetic and fearless writer. Remember what it felt like to be fearless? God, I envy children. I’m terrified because this time I’m enlightened to the possibility of failure. Failure is likely. I know I have the work ethic and the resilience to make my dreams come true, but now I’m scared, scared that even if I do work my ass off the dream may still not come true. I hear the teachings that I can do anything, any fucking thing I put my mind to and my gut reaction is, “Yeah, maybe”. I doubt because I’ve lost a dream before, a dream that I loved more than anything in this world.

But the thing is…I didn’t put the work into that dream. I got distracted. Life kicking me in the ass? Ninety percent of those flesh wounds were self-inflicted. Maybe I can try again and do it differently this time. Maybe this time I can stay focused and make it happen.

So here I am, taking a leap of faith. I want to be a writer. I still want to act but I’ll wait for my babies to be full-grown before I pursue that again. They still come first. But in the meantime, I want to write and write and write. I wrote a novel that I love and am excited to put out into the world. I’m going to share some of it here along with my other writings. My stories are short and sweet and dirty and sometimes bizarre. I like them and hope you will too. I need to combine my teenage assuredness with my adult work ethic and make this happen. Do I believe that my dreams will come true if I’m obsessively, relentlessly persistent? Is that really the secret to success? I guess there’s only one way to find out.