What is life without frustration? Probably a peaceful, rose-tinted affair full of flowers and strawberry funnel cakes. But, do we learn? Do we appreciate certain aspects down the line? I’d love to be worry-free right now, rolling in the warmth of the Sun fully nude and having an afro full of Baby’s Breath flowers and Orchids. Let me roll to a continued loop of Minnie Riperton’s Les Fleurs. A problem-free, frustration-free life. Everyone’s in agreement, and everything’s a harmonious event.


My entire Christmas break has been a series of annoying events. I had plans, you know? Not cool plans involving having an actual life and going somewhere, but my own kind of plans involving blogging, writing, and studying for the Ikeda Wisdom Academy exam flawlessly. Just a flawless, Winter-themed effort with some joy for everyone. Whee! Something happened. I don’t know if I want to call it depression, laziness, or just being overwhelmed, but a majority of these plans just shifted. So, here it is weeks after Dec. 12th, and I only have a few things done. My plans are all together and aware, but they just aren’t happening. So, of course, seeing everyone else’s plans and happiness-es and…stuff is kinda raining on my crapfest parade.

I did, however, begin reading my crappy teen poems on my poetry channel on YouTube. My one subscriber has yet to comment on it. Just one. One person who, bless her heart, doesn’t think that being fat and Black has anything to do with race….but appreciated my poems about the fat woman experience in any case. I really don’t feel like arguing with people who don’t understand that fatness AND Blackness come with some pretty effed up things to deal with. At the moment, my frustrations are all about writing and other projects. I find myself stuck between caring and wanting to just give up and toss it all in the fire.

I won’t be long about tie tirades of stopping and starting projects. Or, about conversations with the frustrating rockhead I know as my father. A usually calm person who just sometimes gets on your nerves when he doesn’t listen. He sometimes misunderstands, and you find yourself wanting to bop him in the head, but you realize he’s keeping your freelancing butt afloat while you’re also in school. So, we won’t do that. We won’t push it while he’s pushing us. We keep praying and hoping for the inspiration to keep going and writing so we can fly, fly away. Into what, though? Adulthood?

More struggles.

All winnable, by the way. I have no doubt in my mind that I can overcome every single one. Just not when I want to. But it will happen. I just haven’t vented in so long about the things bothering me. Especially with my muse. She sorta led me to this place of re-starting a poetry project about a book for one of my exes. Which, mind you, is always shaky territory. Thinking about them, digging up long gone memories and thoughts, and then wondering how they’d think or feel about it. I mused about it on Twitter, and I guess the more I really thought about it, the less appealing of an idea it became, again.


Yes, again. The idea to write a poetry book about one of my exes started a year or two ago. I actually took a page from my black poetry book to come up with an intro, titles, and more. When THAT seemed like a shitty idea, I vowed never ever to write about him. I fought the idea every single time it came up. What would be the reason to write about him, ever? I blocked him on every email account I have, so I wouldn’t feel compelled to write to him or vice versa. (Yeah right, who’s thinking about me? lol.) I purposely forgot his number. The only things I remember about him–he once had a full head of curly hair. I think he cut it off into a shape or something. He’s fairly tall, and he makes these chicken pocket things that make you want to eat like 600 of them but you can only eat about 10 before you get spicy poops. He lives in Riverdale.

Boom. That’s it. Aside from fractured memories of the last couple times we talked, and the hard-wired remnants of our relationship…s…, there isn’t a lot to shake a stick at. So if it’s all dead and buried, why would I re-ignite whatever’s left?

Ay, there’s the rub.

My muse led me to THAT particular moment to bring in that Buddha wisdom. Believe me, I was pissed off. When I have an idea I feel is a strong one, I drop everything to get what I need to jot it down. Being led by the muse who has taken me down many roads and streets, only to leave me in the dark was a mess. It took 72 hours and some change to realize she was doing it for a reason. She was telling me something big.

Let me just lay it out.

I do think about my exes. Well, let me correct myself. I think about one ex in particular a lot. Believe me, it is a cringe-worthy affair of internal chastising and “what are ya thinking ’bout him for?!” kind of thing. I think about him and cringe when it becomes romanticized. I feel quite pathetic, because it’s been so long outside our initial relationship, the re-hashes, and the friendly talk. Why him? I look back at failed tumblr crushes and that other failed rehash with the other ex, and I see why. That, of course, makes me feel worse lol.

Still, I’ve worked with myself. It’s human to think of the people in my life whom I’ve felt like were there for significant parts. There’s a dark side to questions unanswered. However, I can admit to thinking of the good and bad times. They shaped me. They taught me some things. The challenge? Continuing to tread in this world to find something better, so the past will truly be the past.

I use the word “never”, often. “I won’t think of that person again”, and “I will never think about that guy again”. In some cases, it has been true. There are some people that “never” applies to, and I’ve stuck with it. There are certain “nevers”, however, that stick as well as a cheap gluestick. These are the cases of “never” that hit you out of nowhere, and you find yourself asking “why the hell is that coming up?” These are the cases of never that have been waiting underground to hit you at 3 in the morning.

Blah, blah. Never say never.

I’ve let thoughts frustrate me. People. Projects. Life.

It happens.

As long as you and I are alive, it will keep happening. How we act on it? That’s the key.

I will not say I will never write about any ex. I will only say this–I do not think I have a purpose anymore.



I need to be in bed, but my mind is always telling me to write stuff. The motivation just comes, and I don’t always pay attention to it. The wisdom and ability to understand situations continues to unfold thanks to my time with Nichiren Buddhism. This morning, I guess writing is on my mind, because the people in my life know that’s how I get my feelings out. However, they might be under the impression that some of these feelings are…concrete and permanent.

Most of the time, they’re usually just passing fancy, and mean just as much as I’ve presented. The timing, however can be bad. The interpretation with a hint of “my past” might make it worse. Not that it’s true, but maybe that’s why certain people backed away, cut off contact. Maybe they thought I wanted more based on…what…being human and remembering the best parts of relationships?

Would have been better to ask where I was coming from, but it happens. Means something, in the long run. As most writers will tell you, sometimes that text will get you in a world of trouble with someone. Maybe not today, maybe tomorrow. Someday, someone. The only thing is this–I have/had the common sense not to “go there” outside of my thoughts. What I can’t control is what kind of sense the other person has. Sometimes, things fall apart.

It’s unfortunate, but I’m not stressed about it. I think of things. I think of people a lot. As much as I’d like to forget the hurt and sorrow, there’s just some people that stick in my head and heart. Someday when there is someone new, I will make room for them, and past doors will be closed.

And now…bed.

(But seriously, anyone out there who’s googling me and trying to see what I’m saying about them–don’t get it twisted. I might think of you from time to time, but lesson’s learned. I’m def. not trying to get anything poppin with contacts, meetups, or sweet words.)


Maybe he will hold my hand.


We will walk there together.

Maybe I’ll be alone,

In the shack of my dreams.


Maybe the children will belong to him.

Maybe I’ll adopt a melting pot.

I know this–

My house will be dripping with crystals

And wind-chimes.


Maybe cats and dogs will trot about.

Maybe I’ll grow a garden too.

Far away from the city,

Her drama,

Her smog,

Her metro travel too.

I don’t know if he’ll be there.

Maybe he’ll visit.