I don't love you....

Why is it that people find it nessary to state the obvious? I mean if you DID love me why would you want to be so hurtful towards me and tell me this? And even if you didn’t why would you state this to a person you openly know loves you…oohh Wait is it because I hurt you? Or is it because you have not filled your quota of people to hurt for the month? I mean why is it that WE have to just walk right up to one another and hurt each other? I mean I am the first to admit that I have a quick sharp tongue and it cuts deep, however when I am beyond pissed off it’s a good idea that you stop pushing me beyond that point. However if you don’t I will say some shit, it’s not even ALL that deep or even ALL the hurtful things that may cross my mind about someone but never the less they are some mean things. I am not good at holding my tongue, but I need to become better at holding back on my feelings, love an the things that I do for people. 

I give I give, I save, I save, because in all actuality when I can do something I think I should do something, because if it were ever me I would want someone to do something for me…but this theory has NEVER worked out for me in all the 37 years of my life the only things I have gotten in return are ” I DON’T LOVE YOU!” or better yet “FUCK YOU” yeah my ex holds the record for ungrateful bitch of all times! But where is the love? Really I mean where is the I LOVE MYSLEF so much that I truly love people who CARE ABOUT ME? Damn there was this once upon a time you “treat others the way you want to be treated” thingie that was usually a rule that your mommas taught you in like pre school or some shit…but now that shits out the window and has been replaced with the “fuck you” or ” I DON’T LOVE YOU” rule. I mean in dating and my more mature relationships there has always been this thing where it’s “yo we’re together so imma make sure you’re alright like I expect you to make sure I’m alright.” What ever happened to that shit? Now it’s like gimmie gimmie take take and oh yeah fuck you by the way ain’t no body tell you to do shit for me I’m grown.

Will I ever find someone that will look out the way I have always been willing to look out? Or will I just end up a bitter bitch talking shit about how I would never do shit for anyone again because my ex or the last so and so did this to me an I am so done being nice? I don’t wanna be done being nice! However it’s draining my soul that on this earth there are no more appreciative ass people out there, that they are no more broken battered but ducked taped and crazy glued together people who are like LOOK I been through Hell and back that was then but this is now and I appreciate a good person in my life!!!!!!!! What the fuck is this world coming to? I mean it’s assholes win or what? I don’t wanna be an asshole, yeah I may fuck up, fall into that realm from time to time but it’s always because I have been pushed there because I am sick of the way shit has been going for me. However maybe that is the time for me to leave…maybe when I am pushed outta character and into an eveil tongue or thought that is the time that I should really pull back, pack it up, roll my ass out! I don’t wanna hear shit like ” I don’t LOVE YOU!” HELL I have a momma and even a daddy that talk to me like I ain’t shit why the HELL do I need someone from outta no where to add to the list of my tormentors? Why do I deal with such suffering and pain from the hands of people who really don’t give a shit about me….that HATE ME ENOUGH TO SAY HURTFUL SHIT LIKE ” I DON’T LOVE YOU!” When am I ever going to find the love I deserve? When am I ever going to stop giving my all to people that HATE me so dearly? When am I ever going to be loved? When will I ever be able to sleep in peace knowing that my daughter and I aren’t some temporary pit stop for some abuser, or user to just roll on out on us? I am tired of tear soaked pillows…nights when I fall asleep actually believing I don’t deserve to be loved. 

Things you never asked...

...you never asked what I do. You never asked why I liked you.You never asked what was my hearts desire. You never asked what sets my minds thoughts on fire. You never asked about my past. You never asked when I was kissed last. You never asked about my life. You never asked how I handle strife. You never asked my favorite color. You never asked how my family treated one another. You never asked about the foods I enjoy. You never asked what it's like to be a girl boi. You never asked why I don't sleep at night. You never asked if I was alright. You never asked why I cry before I slumber. You never asked about the things that make me wonder. You never asked these things about me because you have no respect for the beauty you see!

While I was writing you a letter...

Large yellow legal pad, my favorite cheap pen with blue ink that just slides across the paper, see I wanted to talk to you but you didn't want to talk to me, so I decided to write you a letter. When I put the pen to the paper, I lost the words that I wanted to write, I mean should I write about how I miss my dying sister, or about the hard day I had that made me truly miss her, or maybe about how thinking of you made me smile outta no where. Should I write about how your chocolate skin makes me wanna lick on you to see if you taste as rich, sweet, or thick as my favorite chocolate treat? Or maybe should I write about my favorite color or all the things I've always wanted to tell ya, like how I grew up, or how I want to be a writer, or maybe how when you smile when we talk makes my heart skip a beat, or maybe the way it sounds when you say my name so sweat. Should I write about how I think of you at night, when I'm laying there on the edge of sleep, how it makes me smile an wanna rush the night just to awake and hear your voice again. Or maybe I should write about how your courage to step out on faith makes me wanna move mountains in my life. I scratch my head and think oh maybe I could write an tell you all about my comic books, or how I draw funny pictures with my own insight. Should I tell you that I am an ordained minister, or that I went to seminary school because I thought God didn't love me. Should I tell you my deepest fears, or the about the nights I've spent in tears. Maybe I should write about all the times you've made me weak in my knees or how the way you make the days fly pay with the slightest of ease!

When I thought about all the things I should write you because you wouldn't give me a call, my phone rang and she, she was the one that was there for me so she heard it all!!! :-)

Am I Blue? By Alice Walker (part 1)

For about three years my companion and I rented a small house in the country that on the edge of a large meadow that appeared to from the end of our deck straight into the mountains. The mountains, however, were quite far away, and between us and them there was, in fact, a town. It was one of the many pleasant aspects of the house that you never really were aware of this.

It was a house of many windows, low, wide, nearly floor to ceiling in the living room, which faced the meadow, and it was from one of these that I first saw our closet neighbor, a large white horse, cropping grass, flipping its mane, and ambling about- not over the entire meadow, which stretched well out of sight of the house, but over the five or so fenced-in acres that were next to the twenty-odd that we had rented. I soon learned that the horse, whose name was Blue, belonged to a man who lived in another town, but was boarded by our neighbors next door. Occasionally, one of the children, usually a stocky teen-ager, but sometimes a much younger girl or boy, could be seen riding Blue. They would appear in the meadow, climb up on his back, ride furiously for ten or fifteen minutes. then get off, slap Blue on the flanks, and not be seen again for a month or more.

There were many apple tress in our yard, and one by the fence that Blue could almost reach. We were soon in the habit of feeding him apples, which he relished, especially because because by the middle of summer the meadow grasses - so green and succulent since January - had dried stalks half-heartedly. Sometimes he would stand very still just by the apple tree, and when one of us came out he would whinny, snort loudly, or stamp the ground. This meant, of course: I want an apple.

It was quite wonderful to pick a few apples, or collect those that has fallen to the ground overnight, and patiently hold them, one by one up to his large, toothy mouth. I remained as thrilled as a child by this flexible dark lips, huge, cubelike teeth that crunched the apples, core and all, with such finality, and his high, broad-breasted enormity; beside which, I felt small indeed. When I was a child, I used to ride horses, and was especially friendly with one named Nan until the day I was riding and my brother deliberately spooked her and I was thrown, head first, against the truck of a tree. When I came to, I was in bed and my mother was bending worriedly over me; we silently agreed that perhaps horseback riding was not the safest sport for me. Since then I have walked, and prefer walking to horse back riding - but I had forgotten the depth of feeling one could see in horses' eyes.

I was therefore unprepared for for the expression in Blue's. Blue was lonely. Blue was horribly lonely and bored. I was not shocked that this should be the case; five acres to tramp by yourself, endlessly, even in the most beautiful of meadows- and his was- cannot provide many interesting, events, and once the rainy season turned to dry that was about it. No, I was shocked that I had forgotten that human animals as an nonhuman animals can communicate quite well; if we are brought up around animals as children we take this for granted. By the time the time we are adults we no longer remember. However, the animals have not changed. They are in fact completed creations (st least the seem to be, so much more than we) who are not likely to change; it is their nature to express? And they do. And, generally speaking, the are ignored.

After giving Blue the apples, I would wander back to the house, aware that he was observing me. Were more apples not forthcoming then? Was that to be hi sole entertainment for the day? My partner's small son had decided he wanted to learn how to piece a quilt; we worked in silence on our respective squares as I thought. . .

Well, about slavery: about white children, who were raised by black people, who knew their first all-accepting love from a black women, and then, when they were twelve or so, were told they must "forget" the deep levels of communication between themselves and "mammy" that they knew. Later they would be able to relate quite calmly, "My old mammy way sole to another family." "My old mammy was ___________." Fill in the blank. Many more years later a white woman would say : "I can't understand these Negroes, these blacks. What do the want? They're so different from us."

And about the Indians, consider to be "like animals" by the "settlers" ( a very benign euphemism for what they actually were), who did not understand their descriptions as a compliment.

And about the thousands of American men who marry Japanese, Korean, Filipina, and other non-English-speaking women and of how happy they report they are, "blissfully," until their brides learn to speak English, at which point the marriages tend to fall apart, What then did the men see, when they looked into the eyes of the women they married, before they could speak English? Apparently only their own reflections.

I thought of society's impatience with the young. "Why are they playing music so loud?" Perhaps the children have listened to much of the music of oppressed people their parents dances to before they were born, with its passionate but soft cries for acceptance and love, and they have wondered why their parents failed to hear.

I do not know how long Blue had inhabited his five beautiful, boring acres before we moved into our house; a year after we had arrived- and had also traveled to other valleys, other cities- he was still there.