Archive for the ‘Men’ Category

Are You A Groupie? By Angenita Williams



Are you a groupie?

Merriam-Webster says a groupie is a noun that means a fan of a music group who follows the group on concert tours.

Urban dictionary says a groupie is a young woman, often under age, who seeks to achieve status by having sex with rock musicians, roadies, security, and other band-related guys.

Does that describe anyone you know?

I heard the song Groupie Love by an indie artist Young Mac about a year ago. (Check the photo.) The more I listened to it, the more I really get it. Although the title would have you thinking otherwise, it’s obvious that the woman being described in the song is a hurting woman.

“I can tell it’s groupie love cause she aiming to get rich.”

Listening to the lyrics on the surface would have you think the narrator is talking about the typical groupie – backstage at all the shows. Heels on point. Body a ten. Making sure she gets chosen. But a deeper listening reveals that this “groupie” isn’t typical…she has the “aim” to get rich…but the “rich” isn’t the rich that one thinks of when they speak of rich.

In this aspect, rich means love. She wants to be rich…in love… jumping from body to body in search of this elusive love…the love that every girl dreams of. Yearns for. And when that love isn’t there, then substitutes are there to take the place…money…attention…sex. Selling herself short for the illusion of desire. She’s broken. And the narrator tells her, “I can feel your pressure.”

How much pressure are we under to find love? For us single ladies that are 35 and up, how much pressure do we bear when we wake up next to pillows every morning? When you just wanna hug and hear a deep masculine voice say it’s gonna be alright? I know…Momma never said there would be days like that….because Momma never let it show that there ARE days like that.

Navigating the world of relationships is real tricky. Mainly because everyone has baggage to unload, and everyone wants to remain selfish….when love has nothing to do with selfishness…it’s so selfless. You willingly give your all because love is about growing the other person, not what you can get out of them or from them. You have to make sure that person has your best interest at heart…But you can’t wait too late or you’ll end up broken and bitter.

Self-love is the key to deflating the pressures of being single. No one can love you if you don’t love you, and if you don’t love you, you can’t possibly love anyone else. So for the groupies in the world….take a pause…love you…Nothing will give you more satisfaction until you realize that love you seek is right there in you…

“Go ‘head and show that groupie love…go ‘head, you know that groupie love….”


Am I Not Good Enough? by Angenita Williams

*This is NOT a blog about being sad, or feeling unworthy. It IS a reflection.*

In the midst of my reading and studying, I usually play music or have the TV on for background noise. Sometimes, I have both. But yesterday, I decided to listen to the YouTube personality April Mason. She is an empowering woman with some really good points. I just wasn’t ready for what she had to say.

She had a letter from a young woman who explained that there was a guy she was “dating.” He was nice. He treated her well. He was fine. His sex was awesome. But he didn’t want to be in a relationship. Although he did all the things that couples do, he made it clear that a relationship was something he did not want. She was understandably confused. His actions did not match his words….definitely something I can relate to.

April went through all the usual relationship advice: why buy the cow when you get the milk for free; you allowed him to dictate the “relationship;” you must love yourself first…and so on and so forth. But then she said this:

“This may sound harsh, but you are not good enough.”

I stopped studying.

“You are good enough to hang out and go to the movies with. You are good enough to share meals with. You are good enough to have sex with. But you are not good enough to be his WOMAN. You are a placeholder for his permanent one.”

I sat up. Not good enough to be his woman?

I’ve often felt like I was never good enough. My self-esteem hasn’t been the highest. Although I was always told I was beautiful, I didn’t really believe it – I was fat. I didn’t have a nice shape and I was bigger than most guys – but I was still cute and my smile lit up a room.  I knew I was smart – my grades showed it. I was a little short on being street smart until I got to the streets and had to learn to navigate. I never quite learned how to navigate relationships with men though.

I was always good enough to converse with because I do have a nice conversation. I have a brain and I can go from goofy to intellect in a split second. I was nice to hang around because I carry an aura of comfort; of loving. I can cook a little bit, so of course I was good enough to make meals for a man. Of course I was always good enough to have sex with. I’m a nice looking, fluffy woman that’s well endowed. I take care of my kids. I’m smart. I’m funny. I’m loyal.

But I still wasn’t good enough.

 I wasn’t good enough for my father to love me enough to show me that I was indeed worthy to be treated like a human being.  I didn’t have a very high bar to compare any man to. Attention was enough I suppose. I wasn’t good enough for my ex to not marry a woman that I knew was all the way wrong for him, but yet he still came to me on plenty of nights until I stopped him. I wasn’t good enough for the guy who told me he wouldn’t hurt me, but he didn’t want a relationship…after sex. Or the one that said that no man would really want me because of my ready made family. Or the one who stopped talking to me when I took sex off the table. Or the one that sent unsolicited penis pics. Or the one who thought I would stay despite his abuse.  When I got married, I felt that finally I WAS good enough…I secured a lifelong bond with a man I was madly in love with…

But I wasn’t even good enough for my husband. No matter how loyal or loving or supportive I was, I just wasn’t good enough to keep him from the abandonment or the side chicks.

In the aftermath of all of this, I find that I am still just not good enough. I’m good enough to hang with or converse with, or even to sex…but I’m not good enough to be a man’s significant other. I’m not good enough to be the ONE.

My attributes are great. I am wonderfully flawed.  I’m beautiful. I’m sarcastic. Intelligent. I like sports. I cuss like a sailor. I am articulate. I can get moody. I can appear standoffish or disinterested.  I can discuss politics, Beyonce, Maya, and Bugs Bunny. I am lovingly loyal – I would say to a bit of a fault. I am a sweetheart when I want to be. I’m the perfect homegirl. I’m caring. I’m supportive – an awesome cheerleader. I adore my children and my grandchildren. I will go to war with the world over my children. I love my family. I work hard. I hustle harder. I strive to be the best I can be with all my flaws. 

This year marks my 40th year on this Earth. I look at the world through a lens of life experiences. I do have faith in God, something I can’t say I’ve always had. My confidence level as definitely increased by the multitudes. But, in the area of relationships and commitment, something always falls relatively short. And with all the #inboxfoolishness I get, with all the dates that are made but never completed, all the notions of just wanting sex from me and nothing more, I wonder…

Will I ever be good enough?

On Being Black in America by Angenita Williams

I know it’s been a minute…

These past few weeks have been torment for me.

I’ve sat quietly watching as news story after news story after blog after blog spills the details about another mistreatment of people of color.

I’ve been silent. Trying to figure out exactly what I want to say that hasn’t already been regurgitated through media.

And then the Charleston Nine happened. The actual thought of removing the Confederate flag happened. On my drive home, I figured out what I wanted to say – a checklist of sorts. I’m only going to list three, or this blog will be a hundred pages long.

  1. On Being a Black Woman

I am a Black Woman. That means that royalty flows through my veins. My foremothers were Queens. My foremothers were dignified women. I wear my crown straight. Slave blood runs through my veins as well as the strength of my ancestors. My shoulders sometimes struggle for carrying the world is heavy. My back is arched, my head is held high. Just like Maya said, “Phenomenal woman, that is me.” My piercing stares are full of determination and tenacity. My tresses are strong. I love me.

And it took me almost 40 years to do that.

With what society says I should look like. All my images of “real” beauty came in the form of Barbie. Brooke Shields. Susan Lucci. Farrah Fawcett. And when I got a little older, Claire Huxtable and Dianne Carroll. I was a victim of the paper bag. My blackness always questioned because my skin is a tad paler.

But I was still Black. I hated my kinky hair. I hated my name because it was so unique. It always seemed like if I was a white girl named Tina with long brown hair, and pale blue eyes, I would be so much happier. Why? Because Tina had things that looked like her. That resembled her. That were her…

And I was grown before I could truly love everything that being a Black woman is, does, and strives to do. Before I learned the true strength of where I come from – the fields of Mississippi, Tennessee, and Arkansas. Before I understood that my beauty comes from the strength I innately possess. Before I realized that beauty is truly beyond this skin I’m in.

  1. On Being a Mother of Black Children

I worry every time my children leave my sight. They are of strong mind and strong will. My son, a Black man. My daughter, a Black teen.

I am bombarded with images of unarmed children being gunned down because the officers don’t understand that they too are innocent. They have an innocence about them just like his kids do. But he is threatened by their melanin. By there sheer ability to have the nerve to WANT to do things outside the home. To DESIRE to be something other than…*insert typical Black stereotype*.

Not too long ago, a Facebook friend posted a picture of the White Charleston Nine shooter next to the picture of the fourteen-year-old Black girl with a cop’s knee in her back. The caption compared the dignified way he was captured against the violent way a CHILD was thrown to the ground. A woman who was white said the picture was misleading and that the bikini clad young lady was being aggressive. A child who had no idea what was going on and begged for her mother versus a cold-blooded killer who was afforded a bulletproof vest and a sandwich.

I responded with – she is a CHILD.

The lady responded with a long response to which she ended with “I will teach my children to treat everyone well, and I hope they teach their kids the same.”

My long response ended with “be thankful you can teach your kids that. Be thankful that you don’t have to worry about your kids not coming home – not because they are bad kids, because they are not. It’s because they are Black.”

As a mother, this is heartbreaking. And the list just keeps growing. I pray my children’s names are never on that list. I pray my nephews and nieces will never make that list. I pray my brothers, uncles, cousins and friends never make that list.

  1. On Being Black, Woman, Near 40, and Single

It truly seems like the older I get, the worse dating gets. Seriously. One would think that with age comes maturity. This isn’t so in a lot of cases. And it’s frustrating. Maybe it’s because I expect so much. Like a job. And decent conversation. And thoughtfulness. And a date or two or three. In my teens and 20’s, I accepted pretty much whatever just to be recognized by a man. Just to have one in my presence. Just to have one be there…even if it was temporary. Just to feel “love.” And I got two kids to raise pretty much alone (my loves!), a broken marriage (not truly getting what marriage entails), a few broken hearts, an ocean of tears, fears of rejection and pain, a steel fortified fortress built around my heart, and a different view on love. Dating isn’t fun – it is a tiring assortment of role specifics and game playing. I am over playing the game. And many older men that approach me want to play it.

There are way more things to speak on – finances, education, awareness, growth. I’ll save that for another time…

I’m baaaaacccckkkk

Dear Janay by Angenita Williams

Dear Janay,

Hey Sis.

My spirit told me I had to reach out to you and to let you know that I understand what you are going through.

I know why you defend him. I know how it feels to be hurt by a man you love. And for all those on the outside, they have no idea what is real. This, what you have, is love, and until they understand that, they should leave you alone.

I get it.

But sis, what you don’t understand, is that this is not love. This is control.

I look at your beautiful face, and your eyes tell the story of how he breaks you down. He didn’t always strike you. He treated you like a queen. Got you what you need. There for you. Then one day, things changed. He hit you. He apologized, and went back to that good man. Then he hit you again. And the cycle continued.

I may be wrong. This could have been his first time. But the ease at which he hit you, with the strength he hit you with, and his callous reaction to it, shows me that he is no stranger to abusing you. He dragged you, even kicking you while you were out. He didn’t show that he cared…he showed annoyance. And you took the blame and apologized for your part – which was responding to a slap in the face.

Sis, love doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hit. It doesn’t toss you. It doesn’t belittle you. The Bible tells us that love is kind and patient. He clearly lost his patience, Love.

And I am only reaching out to you because I have been there. I was not only a witness to abuse, but I was a victim, and also a perpetrator. I thought I would get them before they got me. That didn’t work out so well either. I was told that no one would want me. If I didn’t fall in line, my dad would hate me. Weak men prayed on my weakness and lack of self love.

Sis, physical abuse is the escalation. The emotional and mental abuse starts first. I understand the cycle. So when you defend him, I get it. You have to. He is your man, and you ride for him as to be expected of any good wife. Ride or die.

But ask yourself…

Would he ride for you?

I’ll end this by saying, sis, love you first. Find you. Explore who and what you are. What is your purpose in life?

I pray that you find the happiness in life that everyone longs for. I pray your marriage lasts without further abuse. I pray that if the abuse continues, you find the strength to leave. I pray you become a survivor. I pray for your strength, life, and health.

Be strong. Hold your head. Know that some of us understand.



Transparent by Angenita Williams

stock-photo-clear-forest-in-glasses-on-the-background-of-blurred-forest-164665187I feel like I need to be extremely transparent right now….

About a week, well maybe not even a week ago, I was on Facebook (of course) and a woman posted a status in Relationship Soup ( about where the notion of women “not needing a man” came from. Of course, I responded, and there was a really good and intense conversation about the subject. Men and women had a lot to say, and both had valid points. But, it was the originator’s comment that stuck out to me…

…I understand the joy, happiness, and peace that a man could bring to me…

I pondered that for quite a while, and it hit me…I have no clue what that feels like…I have no clue what that even looks like…and tears welled in my eyes…as if I have missed something altogether…or lost that opportunity to ever know what it feels like…and when the realization hit me…my spirit wanted to feel it…

From the start, I haven’t experienced those feelings from a man. Sure, there were some good times, fun times, love times…but overall joy? Overall happiness? Overall peace? No. And that is so sad to me…to not feel the security of a man, but his disconnect with me. Not to feel the happiness or joy of his presence, only heartache and disappointment. To know how I just wished he could get his shit together so that we could be happy…but never having it come…consistent worry about infidelity…never really knowing that I didn’t have to put up with it and not truly understanding the diamond I truly was…and how I did deserve so much better…

I wondered…was it me? Did I block it by focusing on the wrong thing, or was a hint of it even there? Was I so blinded by wanting love that I moved towards the fantasy of it and lived the nightmare from my own insecurities?

Just how deep does it go?

When I read that, and simmered on it, I decided…I want to know…I want to experience that…so I end this by saying…that all the years of me saying I don’t need a man are being thrown out the window…I realize I do need him…to show me the other side of joy, happiness…and most of all…the peace of what a companion could bring to me…I don’t have to go at life alone as I conditioned myself to believe…

But…he who findeth a wife findeth a good thing…so I’m not gonna search…I will let him find me…and in the meantime, I’ll continue to work on me, get me in order, reach higher, dream bigger, and complete my goals so I can be ready to receive everything he has to offer…

Dating Woes by Angenita Williams

…I saw…him

My heart turned cartwheels as my eyes ascended his six-five, stocky body. He turned his head just as my eyes reached his chocolate face. My gaze grabbed him.

He stood over me. The brown in his eye gave a twinkle, his teeth gave a glow. His scent captured my mind and made me a little woozy. This is…him.

He grabbed my hand and interlocked our fingers. He backed up, pulling me with him. When we got to his decided upon destination, his arms wrapped around my waist just above my ass. He pulled me close and stared upon my face.

My eyes spoke for me.

He leaned into my ear, “So what’s your name? Whatever it is, I know it’s only an extension of your beauty. I know who you…what you are. I may not know what the others call you, but I know exactly who you are to me,” his sultry voice stated. I smiled.

“It’s…Angel,” I said as I lost my way in his eyes.

“Sent to me….”

“…Yes. I was.”

…Or at least that’s how I pictured it…And trust me, that has yet to happen.

I’ve been dating for a few months. Ok, maybe a month and a half. I am totally confused by this mess. I’ve met some men online, and of the four I actually talked to, only one seems remotely interested, and respectful of my time. For example, I met a guy, nice, chocolate, and tall – just how I like them. We had coffee, I enjoyed it. He called the next day and stated he had nothing to do. I asked if it was his way of asking me out. He then says, “Well, let me make sure and I’ll call you back.” Two hours later, and just like I figured, he called to say something came up. But, he told me to call him back later that evening. This was on a Saturday. I texted him that Tuesday. No response. The way I see it, if you are not sure about your plans, don’t call to insinuate that you will make some with me.

That felt back burner to me…and if you are willing to back burner me, just where do you think you are gonna go? LOL. Maybe I made too much out of it, but I think that being a priority, or a hint of priority, should be out the gate. Am I wrong?

And then, the glorious penis shots. (YES, I’m so serious, ladies. LOL.) Why? Can someone please tell me, what about me says that I’m ready to jump in bed with anyone after one week, or after I say hello?  I shake my head and wonder has it really gotten to the point where women are that desperate for a man’s attention that she will take any piece she can have of him? How does that go for women like me who would like a gentleman who’s honest, caring, and trustworthy without sex? Or at least before sex. Dang.

Once again, I feel like this is too much to handle, so, it’s time to take down the profiles, and quit. Again. It’s just too much hassle, bull shit, and games that I have no time to play. 

I vented to a male friend of mine. Although slightly amused, he saw my frustration, and suggested I read Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man by Steve Harvey. He said, “We really are simple creatures. The book may give you insight. Try it.”

I guess.

Healing Hidden Insecurities by Angenita Williams-Childs

Image free courtesy of

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog about domestic violence. I took three couples and compared and contrasted their domestic violence issues and outcomes: Ike and Tina, Rihanna and Chris, and Evelyn and Chad. The couple I want to discuss is Evelyn and Chad: partially because of what I wrote before, and partially because I watched her on Iyanla: Fix My Life on OWN.

Now, my assumption of Evelyn was based on what I “heard” through those who watched VH-1’s Basketball Wives. Reality shows that depict grown women showing out and acting a fool are a turn off for me. Honestly, any reality show that does little to motivate someone to do what’s right in life is a big turn off – Jersey Shore, Love and Hip-Hop Atlanta, Mob Wives or Bad Girls Club.

Anyway, Evelyn was, in Iyanla’s terms, a “thug amongst women.” She cussed any and everybody out. She leapt across tables. Threw drinks in people’s faces, and was the explosive one. She challenged everyone with her sharp tongue. She was just an all around hot mess with a pretty face.

Seeing her interviews with Iyanla actually made me realize something about her, me, and a lot of other women: this is the product of the “Daddy Syndrome”…and like my business partner said, a product of unhealed wounds.

Now everything that happened on Basketball Wives makes complete sense. Hear me out…

As a product of the “Daddy Syndrome,” I saw a lot of myself in her. She was angry, hurt, alone, looking for love in all the wrong places, and worse, sought validation of her self-worth in the arms of a man. The sad part is that it didn’t matter to her what man it was. She allowed herself to be used, abused, and cheated on. She gave the green light, not thinking she is worth enough to command respect. So many women deal with this daily.

The feelings of nothing that permeate their souls, stain their faces with tears. Give way to insomnia, drugs, alcohol. Depression, self hate and loss of all being happy because she somehow feels abandoned. Like how can she love herself if the man who created her didn’t? Like how could she ever hope to have a man in her life, when the very first one she knew walked out on her?

Men really don’t know just how much their absence affects a young girl who wants her dad’s love and attention. All she wants him to do is love her, be there for her, make her feel special. And when he doesn’t, the empty promises made by those who see her weakness sound good, real good… so sweet and tender. That is, until he talks her panties off, and is finished with her…leaving a trail of heartache, heartbreak, and more damage to her self-worth.  I think more damage is done when dad is alive and right around the corner, or a phone call away, yet never does. There is an empty inside and the constant question of why…Why doesn’t he love me? Am I that bad? Did I do something to make him turn his back on me?

I saw it all over her. She had some deep rooted Daddy issues, but what makes it worse is that she was never taught to heal. She didn’t know how. She set herself up in the same situations with different bodies, and couldn’t see the road she traveled. She didn’t recognize the patterns. It all was familiar to her. And sadly, her blindness about herself made her react in ways that were unbecoming of a lady. The hard exterior was her shell of protection to let no one in. She was angry, and displaced.

I knew exactly what she felt. I, too, went that route. I was angry and sad. But I was able to start my healing through writing my portion of Revealing & Healing: 3 Women’s Stories of Survival. It’s funny because until I wrote out some of the most intimate details of my life, I didn’t realize how bad I truly was, how depressed I was, how unhappy I was. I thought I was confident, but I wasn’t. I too still had Daddy issues. I didn’t know how those issues affected me in my relationships until I wrote them out and saw the similarities of relationships gone wrong.

Now, I’m not all on her side, because I still believe that she is not telling the entire truth. I think some of her anger and attitude still got the best of her. I’m only saying that now, I understand. I get it. So Evelyn, time out for all that. It’s time to start healing. You’ve got to be real with who you really are. Once you do that, the process can begin. There are two great loves in this world; the love of God, and the love of self. I tend to think they go hand in hand.

Healing starts when the pain is its greatest. We cannot continue to carry the burdens of the past on our shoulders. Open wounds get infected. It’s time to clean them out and stitch them up.

Remembering 9/11 (10 Years Later)

How is it that some things seem like they happened just the other day and at the same time seem to have happened so long ago? That is how I see 9/11.

September 11, 2011 started out like most of my other days. I woke up to get my son off to school. My boyfriend (at the time) had just been laid off a few days prior and was figuring out his next professional move. I was working in the ADT billing call center in Norcross, Georgia. I had only been a resident of Atlanta for a year and a half, but my co-workers at the call center had become my second family.

Just like every day I clocked in at 8 am, sat in my cubicle and started making my daily outbound calls. The goal was to make a minimum of 90 calls. My team leader Reginald Bernard a New York native was a few cubicles over and received and email from one of his friends from home shortly after the plane hit the first twin tower. “Oh my God!” I heard him say. He stood up and made the announcement, “A plane just crashed into one of the twin towers.” The whole call center gasped. We all took a moment to look at his email, turn on the news, look online, and call loved ones that were in and around NY.” Everyone assumed that it was a tragic accident. We prayed for those that were on the plane and in the tower.

Approximately 15 minutes later we witnessed another plane run into the second Twin Tower. This is a cruel prank I thought to myself. There’s absolutely no way that BOTH towers can be hit by planes right after another. Then our General Manager who was a Sergeant in the Military told us to temporarily shut down what we were doing for a quick emergency meeting. He didn’t know much, but we went to the break room to turn on the TV and witnessed the horror. Most of us just stood in shock and amazement, others cried, I remember Denise Williams crying and telling everyone, “If you ain’t right, you betta get right.” We couldn’t get through to a lot of people on the phones because the phones were jammed. I didn’t know of anyone in NY so I stopped trying. I figured my family in Indiana, we’re all safe and out of harms way, I’ll let the people who actually have emergencies use the air waves.

As soon as we were able to almost wrap our heads around what was going on we received the news of a third plane crashing in Pennsylvania; shortly after that into the Pentagon. Oh my God, we’re under attack! For the first time in my life I was scared that ANY THING could happen to any one anywhere in the United States. I felt like I was in a third world country, I felt like it was the ‘old days’ where you could see the war battle fields from your back yard. Then I was angry! How DARE they come over here and attack us with our own planes!!! We are Americans!!! (I wasn’t even sure of who, THEY were). When I looked up at the TV I could see people jumping out of windows of the Twin Towers. You could hear the ‘SPLATS’ on the ground. At first I didn’t get it, or maybe I just didn’t want to believe it, but it was exactly what it was. People were jumping to their deaths. Dear God help us! It was no longer about us being Americans, or innocent civilians. This was far more extreme than any movie scene. This was real life. A real life attack, real life people in despair, real life terrorist. They weren’t on TV any more; they were right in our back yards. The people in the towers got up that morning, dropped off their kids and went to work just like I did. The people on the plane were going on a trip of fun or business or whatever. The crew just like me and the people in the towers were just going to work. It just goes to prove anything can happen. It could’ve been me or one of my loved ones!

It was obvious that everyone was too shaken up to return to work. The General Manager shut down the office for the rest of the day and sent us all home. I picked up my son from school and stayed home with my boyfriend and son for the rest of the day. The news kept showing a face and name of Osama Bin Laden. I didn’t know who he was prior to that day, but I didn’t appreciate him attacking us like that. How do you harbor so much hate in your heart that you attack and kill innocent people?

I remember Mayor Rudolph Giuliani making a statement on the news that even though all of this, there hadn’t been any looting or riots. I was amazed and overjoyed. Why does it take a tragedy to bring unity?

There are moments in all of our lives that you will never forget. This is one those moments for all of us. For those who lost their lives, lost loved ones, survived, were injured, volunteered or was involved in any aspect my heart still goes out to you. New York, the victims of 9/11, you will NEVER be forgotten.

God Bless America.


I must say that I’m both excited and thankful to Lioness Vizions for even thinking of me to be a guest blogger.  I hope I am able to bring thought provoking stimulation, positive energy, and humor into your life.

I will talk about just about anything with anyone, as long as I’m knowledgeable about the subject, which means I will more than likely blog about anything as well.

I am such a multifaceted person, but then again we all are.  Our lives are moved by various means and modes of other energies called, human beings; and the one thing that helps us to connect with each of these energies?  Music.

Music transcends space, time, race, and generations.  It can put you in a romantic mood with your boo, instill empowerment, heal and uplift.  The easy sway of an 808 can move you to think, create and above all, inspire.  Do you remember your first love?  What song was playing when you were holding hands that night? How about that horrible breakup? I bet you can tell me what song got you through it.  In the past few years I have been able to get through many of troubled times thanks to prayer, meditation and music; but I have also tapped into a form of art that I never knew I had, or at least not very good at.  Poetry or as I affectionately call it, Spoken Word.

In late 2010 I poured my heart out on a piece of paper and eventually allowed it to drip down onto a floor of a booth during a session at a local recording studio where I’m sure a permanent stain remains.  Most people don’t believe this, but I’m a pretty shy person, so only a select few (literally only 4 people, 5 if you count the producer) has heard that particular piece.  Spoken word, much like music, allows one to express whatever is manifesting within the turmoils of the soul.  On many different occasions throughout my adult life, I have heard preachers, family, elders, books, talk show gurus such as Oprah and Dr. Phil stress how important it is that when a person shows their true selves, you should oblige what they are showing you.  With that said I would like to share a piece with you that has been burning its way out of my being for some time now…Believe!


Believe ©2011

I unzipped my cool

Button down my feelings for you

Believed smiling eyes

Invested nostalgic vibes

I’m the blind spot you’ve chosen to never see

Unless appropriately on your own RSVP

I’m no longer on board; 100% absentee

So tired of feeling how I feel

On the real

So I’m throwing this in an envelope; melted seal

Comb through my hair as if never depicted

Fade you to black-life and you never existed

Gave them perpetual energy, keys and life manuals

Approval denied; detect the smoke of my residuals

I left in summer not planning to return

No testimony, no examination, court adjourn


I don’t believe his kisses; calculated spontaneity

There is no more congeniality,

Faced mine, watch your reality


It astounds that you no longer accept my call

Believing I’m not your type can be a certain downfall

I got you bastin’, roastin’ like 6 pound Butterball

What? I’m sorry…did I throw you a curveball?

Shoulda got with your heart, but your head is like a brick wall

Lookin for my energy got’chu searchin’ for a recall

Of how clearly opaque that I ain’t here for the long hall


If I remember right, I won’t be your Mrs.

I no longer – I no longer believe in his kisses

Absolutely unsure of what you’ve been missin’

He’ll ask, is this about me?

Accidentally on purpose

I don’t know maybe.

Music is the soundtrack to life


Family Lineage/Family Reunion

Like every year we claim that this year will be the best year and that great things will come. Little did my husband and I know that this year would indeed be like no other. His testimony and evolvement have been such a blessing to witness.

My husband has always longed to know who his father was, but it was always a ‘family secret’ and only a few people knew. Once he was grown and out of the house he started demanding answers. Finally his uncle who used to be in the service with his biological father told him all of the information he knew. He told him his fathers name and that his father was from a small town called Falmouth, Kentucky. This city is so small that it only has one street light. Only people from the surrounding area know about it. It’s the kind of town where everyone knows each other.

Well this year has been surreal to say the least. Not only has he been able to reconnect with his fathers’ side of the family. They have been loving, open and took us in from the moment they found out about us. He has five more siblings, and their chemistry is so strong you would think that they grew up together. In March he was able to meet four of his siblings. His oldest sister Opal passed two weeks after we met her. The impression that she left on us is unforgettable. The stories they tell of her match the Opal that we met and grew to love. A week after Opal passed his Aunt Christine passed suddenly. She was such a sweet spirit, musician and a community activist.

Last week they had their family reunion. We were blessed to meet even more family members. His father took us up to the graveyard and told us the history of all the family members that were buried there. The family history there dates back to former run away slaves! How amazing is that? To go 43 years of not knowing much about yourself, then a few months later receiving knowledge that dates back to slavery! He showed us the markers of family members that changed their name to not draw attention to the slave catchers, but their tombstone listed their actual name. He told stories of every single person that was laid to rest there. It was as if we actually knew them. Here we were in the middle of nowhere, in the hills of Kentucky, right next to a horse farm, former ‘Big Houses’, and slave quarters. Our cousin made a DVD slide show full of pictures of everyone in the family. My husband looks just like his grandfather that he never knew.

During our ride home we soaked it all in, and talked about everything that we learned. Even though my husband was raised in Miami, Florida, Falmouth, Kentucky is home. There’s no place like home. There’s nothing better than knowing where you came from. Thank you God for such an awesome blessing. To our new found family. We love you, and thank you for opening your hearts and homes to us!

There are too many family members to list all of them, but Dad, Mama V, Tony, Opal, Crystal, Darlene, Neal, Ashleigh, America, Zac, Christian, Cherah, LaTrisha, Alexyis, Ann, Shawna Jo, Jamie, Angela, Takyia, Uncle Spikey, Carol, JoAnna, James, Sandra, Khalilah, Terry Russell, Jackie, Fifi, Robbie, Robin, Sylvia, Christine, Larry, Gayle, Bo, Keemarion, Kegan, Mario, Nyrea, Kennidy, Darien, Devonte, Devon, Mya, Michael and Juanita. We love you from the bottom of our hearts! Opal and Christine, we know that you are looking down on us from heaven.

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