Urban Diaries
A Collection of Short Stories & Poetry
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© 2010 by Sexcee Mynd Books
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No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form in any manner whatsoever without expressed written permission from the authors except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles written as reviews
This book was written as a literary work of fiction and the characters and stories were created in the authors’ imagination for entertainment purposes only. Any similarities in occurrence of events or between all persons, including famous persons living, deceased or fictional is purely coincidental.
To God, Be the glory…
…For our children
Elijahjuan & Kobe
And
Talayni & Kalli
May you all grow up to use your intelligence, talents, strong will, & determination to accomplish great feats of that which has been deemed impossible.
&
For anyone who has ever been made to feel weird, unwanted, and unloved, because you were “different.”
“So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”
John 8:7
Preface
Urban Diaries is a collection of short stories and poetry told with a universal message and an urban appeal. Each piece makes its own statement while testing the rules of society and our ability or inability to conform to those standards. All of the poems serve as a prelude, foreshadowing and/or an afterthought of the events that unfold in stories. They evoke the raw pain, heartache, insecurities, and other sentiments of the characters that may or may not be easily noticed or revealed.
Each of the short stories are extraordinarily thought provoking and challenging including colorful, unforgettable, and multi-faceted characters that we like to consider “Social Contradictions”. Even though they are all imaginary characters based off experiences of our own, people we know, family members, co-workers, and yes, fictional characters too, they’re all very relatable in the sense that their lives, their situations, and the events that occur are very REAL for a lot of people but are almost never brought up for discussion.
We ask that you allow yourself to drift off into a snippet of their world and their private lives, which is not at all what it seems to be on the surface. It is our hope that the vivid imagery and language will help you gain insight to what life is like outside of our everyday, rigid, comfort zone and social norms. Don’t be surprised if you find that in the midst of being happy, sad, angry, laughing, or even
crying you’ll want to shake your head “Aww Hell Naw!” in conflicting agreement or shaking your head “Yes” in utter disagreement. Wherever your psyche takes you, rest assured Urban Diaries will leave your mind racing and your emotions flustered, challenging your own pre-conceived notions about our cherished American lifestyle and the societal confines and restrictions that come along with them.
Finally, before you pass judgment,, THINK, and take the time to read between the lines. In fact, make sure that you read between the in betweens.
Enjoy!!
DIARY OF NOTED EVENTS
My Body, My Story
The Day I Buried A Stranger
Why Are You Mad?
Love Triangle
Face Value
Sisterhood
PSA: $3 Bills
A Text of Fate
Hiding Places
Uncle Sam
Dear Mr. President
Indentured
I Know Love
Transitions
Tired
Thank You Letter to My Baby Daddy
Don’t Be Jealous
The Train Ride
This Face
In My Skin
Gender Bender
The Taste of Racism
7 Days With Zhanae
Contradiction
Weekend Learning with Sistah
I Don’t Understand
SisterSpeak: A FaceBook Debate about The Slim Thug Article
The Story of My Life
Ghetto
8 Is Enough
Snapshots of My Neighborhood in Black & White
Scattered
My Name is Avery Bancroft
Daddy’s Girl
CHAPTER 1 – MY BODY, MY STORY
My Body, My Story
My body tells a story of a once broken soul,
Damaged and almost destroyed by things left untold.
Although you cannot see, my beautiful locks tell a story you won't condone, of an equally damaged man who used cruel words and violence to drive his point home.
See, he couldn't break my spirit, so he attacked my locks instead, simply because he couldn't compete with the genius inside my head.
My wide nose and full lips tell a story of once upon a time,
of a people who were so majestic, they built cities with only their minds.
The heaviness of my breasts tells a story like no other,
of child bearing, nurturing and the pains of becoming a mother.
From the tiger stripes on my hips & stomach to the almost invisible scar right below, my body tells a story that doesn't always show.
The illustrations on my body tell the story of a beautiful, black, sheep, who lives and thinks outside the box and has emotions that sometimes run too deep.
The piercings I've acquired are symbols and reminders of the pain, endured by a damaged, young, girl who almost went insane.
My big heart tells a story of giving but not always receiving,
Of a lonely child with a broken heart who spent her childhood grieving.
A mother who was never there, never a daddy's girl,
Most of my life spent hating myself and everything in the world.
The scars on my knees tell the story of a tomboy climbing trees, and fighting boys who called me ugly in hopes that they would see me.
My big feet remind me of my shoes in which no one else has ever walked, of a time when love and happiness were the only things I sought.
The woman you see before you was not always as strong and passionate as I, There was a time quite long ago when all I did was cry and hope to die.
I have learned invaluable lessons, most importantly to love myself first, and despite all of my pain, there is a reason God put me on this earth.
He gave me a voice and the tools to succeed and persevere,
No one can take away God's gifts so I have nothing else to fear.
God’s got my back so I have no reason to worry,
It is through His grace and love that I have been blessed with...
My body, my story...The End
CHAPTER 2 – THE DAY I BURIED A STRANGER
The Day I Buried a Stranger
Today I buried a stranger. How you can raise someone from birth, live in the same house with them for all of their life and half of yours, and still not know who they are. I do not know, I really don’t. My 16-year-old daughter Celeste died in a car accident last week. Until I identified the body of a young girl with a face and body identical to my daughter’s, with the exception of some boy’s name tattooed on her ass, I thought I knew my child. Aside from the tattoo, the coroner was nice enough to tell me that this girl who looks exactly like my daughter was 8 weeks pregnant. I don’t understand that either because my daughter was a virgin. I guess the joke’s on me because my daughter had also been getting a period for the last few months, or so I thought.
I’m not sure what hurts the most; losing my only child to some stupid drunk driver or realizing that the child I’ve bee
n raising for the past 16 years, the child that I worked my fingers to the bone trying to provide for, has been lying to me and going behind my back doing God knows what.
It’s funny the way things happened. I started going through and packing some of her things a few days ago trying to decide what to do with her stuff. Although the shock of what the coroner had told me had not worn off, I thought the worst part was over. I ended up getting more than I ever bargained for. I discovered all types of stuff that I never even thought to look for. I found a gun under her mattress, condoms and birth control pills in her drawers, drugs and alcohol in her closet, and a shoebox filled with almost $10,000 in cash. I tore her room up and braced myself for what I might find next.
My child was only 16 years old! What was she doing with all that crap? I could have easily gotten over a bag of weed, a pack of cigarettes or even a few condoms, but crack cocaine, guns, and money is a bit too much to swallow. I also discovered a diary with contents that would break any mother’s heart.
I felt like an intruder when I broke the flimsy lock but that feeling quickly diminished when I realized that the time for pretense had come and gone. It was too late for that. Reading my daughter’s innermost thoughts was way too overwhelming and disconcerting at best; I didn’t even get through the first half. And now I have to do in death what I couldn’t do in life, which is get to know my baby. It may seem like its too late but it’s never too late for a mother to get to know her child. It’s important that I know how this rift that I didn’t even know existed was ever created in the first place. I need to know why my child, who had the world at her fingertips felt desperate or unloved enough to get caught in this game of sex, drugs, and money.
Every night I prayed that my daughter didn’t get mixed up in the wrong crowd, but it seems that she was the wrong crowd. She never seemed troubled or in need of an intervention, or maybe I just didn’t know what to look for. As far as I knew, my daughter was a good kid. She never got in trouble in school and her grades have always been exceptional. Because she never gave me any problems, I never looked for any. She basically came and went as she pleased within reason. I thought that making sure she had everything she wanted and needed would keep things like this from happening. How could I have been so wrong? There were no warning signs to speak of, so how does this happen?
It’s difficult to stand here in my daughter’s room with all of her things knowing that she is never coming home. The only thing I can do is try to finish reading her diary in hopes of making some sense of all this mess. The passage I pick up from is dated about 5 months ago:
April 22, 2009
Dear Diary,
I woke up this morning to an empty house. AGAIN!! So what else is new? Why does my mom have to work so much? We never hang out. I get so lonely. It seems as if I leave an empty house and come home to an empty house. Mommy doesn’t even ask me where I’m going anymore.
It’s almost like I don’t exist. She doesn’t seem to care what I do as long as I don’t break curfew. Last week, I stayed out all night and she didn’t even notice. I thought my ass was grass for sure but I stayed out because the $500 I made slanging crack while posted up inside of the washhouse was well worth the trouble I thought I’d be in. My friends say I’m lucky that my moms don’t trip out on me, but I wish she would, at least sometimes. Then maybe I’d feel loved.
April 24, 2009
I hate life sometimes. I looked in the mirror this morning and realized for the millionth time that I’m ugly. My nose is too big for my face and my eyes are spaced too far apart. That’s why I like having sex for money. It makes me feel pretty that someone would actually pay to be with me. The only part I hate is when guys want weird stuff like anal sex or oral sex but hey, the money is good even though it’s not like I actually need it.
April 25, 2009
Today me and Kesha met these cute guys at the mall. We both tried ecstasy for the first time. It was okay but I like primos better.
April 26, 2009
I haven’t been to school in about a week, but my counselor Mr. Davis said that as long a I keep up my weekly “tutoring” sessions he’ll continue to “fix” my grades and my attendance. I actually like giving him blow jobs because he’s cute and he has a real big dick. It feels so good in my mouth and inside me. I would do it to him even if he wasn’t making sure my grades stayed tight. I told him I was pregnant and he freaked. He asked me how did I know it was his baby since I’ve practically fucked the whole student body. I lied and told him that he’s the only one I don’t make use a rubber. He wants me to have an abortion. He thinks I’m stupid. They all think I’m stupid. I know the game and maybe I will have an abortion. Then again, maybe I won’t.
At the moment, I have to stop reading because I am totally in awe. That bastard was at my daughter’s funeral leering at me and pretending like he was actually upset about my daughter’s death. I really don’t want to read anymore but I know I have to. I owe my baby that much. I wish she could have understood how much I loved her and that everything I did was for her. I didn’t think that my being away from home so much bothered her. I thought she understood why I spent so much time working and going to school. It’s not like she didn’t know that her daddy ain’t shit. That bastard was too chicken shit to even come to the funeral! He claimed he couldn’t take it and I wasn’t even surprised. He’s never been there for her and he couldn’t even see her out of this world. I realize that I’m getting away from what’s important so I reluctantly go back to reading my deceased daughter’s thoughts and feelings.
April 27, 2009
I want my daddy!!! Why doesn’t he love me? I hate him. At least my boyfriends love me.
April 28, 2009
I met this cute guy named Smith and he wants to hook up tonight but I already know how it’s gonna end. I thought guys liked girls that put out. I put out but then they don’t like me no more. Maybe I’m not doing it right. Guys are always telling me how cute I am but I have no idea what they are talking about. I’m starting to get sick and I’m starting to show and I still don’t know what I’m gonna do. Maybe, just maybe if I tell Mommy she’ll start to love me and understand that I need her. Kesha says I should have the baby but I’m not sure I want to. I’m scared and I want my Mommy but as usual, she’s not here.
May 01, 2009
I’m so high right now, I feel like I’m flying. I never want to stop feeling this way. I know I can’t have this baby now. I’ve been doing so many drugs lately, it’s not even funny. Mommy actually noticed when I came home high the other day. She was at home with the flu but it all worked out because she thought that my eyes were red and glossy because I was getting sick too. That was perfect. I was able to stay home the next day and it was a good thing because I was sick as a dog. This little bastard in my stomach is really giving me the blues these days. I can’t wait to have an abortion next week.
I skip ahead about a week or so because I’m hoping to get through this as soon as possible. These are things that I really don’t want to know but have to.
May 9, 2009
I had my abortion today. It was just in time too because people started to notice the weight gain; that is, everyone except the one person that should have noticed. I thought I’d feel something but I don’t. All I feel is alone.
At this point, I begin to cry because I never knew that my baby was in so much pain. It’s interesting how we can look at other people’s mess and speculate about what they should have or could have done but we can’t see the shit in our own backyard. I feel like such a failure as a parent right now because I’m a firm believer that parents should know their children.
When the Columbine incident happened, I was one of the main people shouting about how parents should know what’s going on in their own homes. I feel like a fraud. Not only that but I let my daughter down in the worse way and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself. Celeste was my baby, I loved her with all my heart and soul, and she died never knowing how much
I cared. Although I don’t want to finish reading, that in itself is enough to make me continue and somehow by sheer will and determination, I get through it. The last page is dated the day she died and it’s more heart wrenching than any of the other passages I’ve read thus far:
September 15, 2009
I wish I was dead but I don’t want to break my mother’s heart. That’s the only thing that keeps me alive. I hope that one day, my mother will realize and understand just how much I need her. I love my mother so much. I just wish for once she would notice me. I can’t even remember the last time she told me she loved me. I wonder if she would miss me if I was dead. It would serve her right if something bad happened to me. I bet then she’d wish she had treated me better. But she’s gonna have to notice me soon because I just found out I’m pregnant again and I’ll die before I kill my baby!!
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