Urban Diaries
Page 8
With all due respect Sir, I know America was plagued with problems, issues, and bullshit when you got elected. I may not be able to watch CNN or Fox News every night, but I am smart enough to know that Bill Maher, who coincidentally is a whore loving atheist, is the only one on TV who has balls big enough to call this country out on its bullshit. He’s the only one not afraid to say that Democrats are pussies and Republicans are delusional TARDS; and rightfully so.
Well, Mr. President Sir, I have explained to you my gripe as I’m sure thousands of other citizens have done as well. The difference with me is that, I’m 100% sure that this letter will reach you and therefore, you cannot use the excuse you do not know from this point forward. Now that you know Sir, what are you going to do? You can actually use your power and authority to call on those who can make something happen to change the lives of homeless families living on the streets. So right. Or you can pretend that you never received this letter and ignore my request, just like the previous Administration and continue to RECEIVE my letters every week and do nothing. So much for CHANGE, huh? So fucking wrong.
Warmest regards,
Percy “Price” McDonald
Homeless Advocate
P.S. – I know you’re wondering how this letter from a homeless stranger made it all the way to your desk. Do you have any Stanford alumni on your staff? Let us just say a few somebodies owe old Price a favor or two.
So right, but so fucking wrong! : - /
CHAPTER 12 – INDENTURED SERVITUDE OR SOMETHING LIKE IT
“Indentured” Servitude
Or Something Like It
(An Allegory)
We are in a new millennium
In which slavery has supposedly been abolished.
A slave by any other name,
Is still just a slave.
In captivity;
Under the pretense of altruism
And mutual understanding.
Nothing is mutual about this relationship.
As one sided as a coin,
You enslave me with lies and dehumanization.
And a plethora of Christian values.
You’ve confiscated my shos and
Impregnated me with your bastard children.
Made into a prisoner of my own womb.
Self-esteem is but only a dream.
Aspirations of freedom,
Tempted to escape to Northern lands
Where slavery is just as prevalent.
Only I don’t know that.
They tell us that the grass is greener
On the other side,
Which come to find out, is only because
That side gets more water and exposure to the sun.
The greener side is allowed to breath and
Receives the daily nurturing that it deserves.
The greener side can blow in any direction
Without being mowed down or
Deprived of water.
It’s allowed to grow and flourish.
There are no boundaries set.
The grass can grow as tall as it wants to
And flow in the wind without expectations,
Explanations, or Apologies.
Unlike the grass, I am not allowed to grow wild
Or sow my own oats without reaping
An unfit punishment.
Forced to believe the unbelievable;
Accept the unacceptable;
Endure the unendurable; Love the
Unlovable; Desire the undesirable;
Respect the unrespectable;
Live the unlivable; Agree with
The unagreeable; Commend the uncommendable;
Redeem the unredeemable;
Forgive the unforgivable; Forget the unforgettable;
All for the sake of someone else’s prosperity.
CHAPTER 13 – I KNOW LOVE
I Know Love
When he uses his full, sexy, lips
To nibble on the tip of my earlobe
Causing me to giggle uncontrollably,
I know.
When he reaches out to put his strong hands
On my waist, using the tips of his fingers
To acknowledge his presence,
I know.
When his dark, silky, silhouette, erupts
Inside of my insatiable being,
Revolutionizing my thoughts all day long,
I know.
When he looks at me intriguingly and then
Smiles for no reason in particular,
Making me blush far beyond concealment,
I know.
C CHAPTER 14 –TRANSITIONS
Transitions
6/05/2009
In life, things are constantly changing. We as people are constantly changing too. I wonder if change is as hard for everyone else as it is for me. I’ve always been one to hold on to things a little too long and not get through a loss quite fast enough. My mother left me when I was 7. She just left and never came back. I don’t know where she went or if she is even alive. All I know is that I’m alone.
I lost my rock today. Actually, I didn’t lose it, my girlfriend Amber got rid of it. She thought that I was too attached to my rock. But it was my rock; literally and figuratively. I mean it really was just a rock but it was one of the only things that I could lean on when I needed to. It was no bigger than a marble, but it was all I had. See, when my mother left, she left me that rock. Because I had no one else, it was difficult for me to be separated from her, so when she would leave she would tell me to hold on to her rock until she came back; and I always did and she always came back for it; except for the last time. As a kid I lost many a toy in my day, but I never lost my mother’s rock because I felt that if I lost it then I would lose her and I couldn’t afford to do that.
Amber doesn’t understand and I guess I’m partially to blame because I never told her what that rock signified. It was none of her business. In hindsight, maybe if I had, I’d still have my rock. Even after mom left, I held on to that rock because I always felt that as long as I had it, there was a chance that she would come back for it and in essence come back for me. Now that I’ve lost it, I feel that my mom is forever lost to me. I’ve long ago stopped wondering what happened. I’ve since begun trying to figure out why. Why me? Why was I chosen to be left all alone in this world with nothing more than a rock? No mother, no father, no sisters, brothers or even cousins; just me and me alone. I don’t have any family or friends, and now I don’t have a girlfriend either. That bitch is threw. She was just something to do, a piece of ass, but what am I supposed to do about my rock?
6/12/2009
It’s been a week since I lost my rock and I still feel real raw inside. I kicked Amber’s ass to the curb and of course she cried and whined and when I didn’t respond to that, she got angry. I don’t care though because all I want right now is my rock. Bitch.
6/19/2009
I saw an old acquaintance today and he asked me if I still had my rock. I hadn’t seen John since I graduated from high school 10 years ago and he still remembered my rock. Up until the day that whore-bitch decided to get rid of it, I never went anywhere without my rock. I even slept with it during the times that I was really struggling with being lonely. I’ve had quite a few girlfriends over the years, but none of them was as important to me as my rock. None- of- them was as important to me as my rock. GOD! That’s pathetic.
I’ve never had a problem getting girls, just keeping them. They all wanted me to give up my rock and I just couldn’t. I’ve convinced myself numerous times to do just that only to go and retrieve it from wherever I had put it. One time I actually threw it in the dumpster but had to go back and fish it out when my anxiety got the better of me. Damn shame. My therapist said that my relationship with my rock was common among people who had experienced some type of emotional and traumatic loss. I think he said something about transitional objects helping us bridge the gap between our internal and external worlds; whatever that means. He advis
ed me to tell my girlfriends of my rock’s significance as a way of working through my issues. I never could though. As good as I am at writing down my innermost thoughts and ideas, I’ve always had a problem with verbally expressing the way that I feel.
6/26/2009
I’m still having a hard time letting go of my rock. It hurts so much. I feel like I’ve lost my mother all over again. Now she’ll never come back. I met a girl yesterday. Her name is Mekka and she is beautiful. She seems nice and all but I can’t get too close, even though I’m digging her dreadlocks and bohemian, kind of artsy, style. I don’t want her to know how screwed up I am because just like all the others, she won’t understand my pain. No one does.
7/02/2009
Today, I went out with Mekka for the 3rd time this week. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about her, something about her demeanor seems so welcoming, so easy and carefree. Surprisingly I found myself telling her about my mom. I even went on a limb and told her about my rock. She actually seemed to understand but only time will tell.
7/23/2009
It seems like ages since I’ve had time to sit down and write but really I haven’t needed to. Mekka is a good listener. She gave me a present today. Actually, she gave me two presents. The first present was an old poem that her grandmother had written called Transitions.
Seasons change, times change
Our hearts remain constant
Sometimes we go with the flow
But many times it’s hard to let go
Letting go is not giving up
Only adapting to God’s plan
If you’re afraid to clean your closet
Then start with your regrets
Let your sorrows go
Release your every fear
Change is a part of life
And God is always near
Some things are in our life forever
And some only for a season
But everything has a purpose
Everything happens for a reason.
It was such a beautiful gesture because that poem meant a lot to Mekka and she had been holding on to it since her grandmother passed away. It was her way of saying good-bye to Mekka. She gave it to me to help me get over my rock. I didn’t want to accept it but she insisted. She said it was time and that she had been holding on to it like I’d been holding on to my rock. She said her grandmother would have wanted it that way. The poem was meant to say goodbye but also to encourage Mekka that she could love and miss her grandmother and still let go.
The second surprise was Mekka’s virginity, which caught me off guard. I think that was the first time in my life I’ve made real love to a woman. I’m a little afraid but I’m also looking forward to what’s to come. Mekka is the sweetest, warmest, and most understanding woman I’ve ever met. She’s also strong and has a good head on her shoulders. Like me, she has experienced loss so she understands my pain and she lets me grieve in peace. She doesn’t make me feel bad or insecure about my issues. I actually broke down and cried and she held me until I was done. She’s a really good friend. She’s the first best friend I’ve ever had.
7/30/2009
I felt kinda bad about taking Mekka’s poem but she said it’s okay because she’s not losing it but sharing it. I wish I had something to give her. Maybe I should buy her a gift or something but what would I get a girl like her? She’s not into the things most of the women I’ve dated are into. She has her own style and I’m loving her natural look. The dreads, very little make up, the beautiful colors of those dresses that she wears, and her infectious laugh all seem to make her skin smile. She’s an artist and she actually paints and makes sculptures for a living. I never dated anyone who didn’t like Fendi or Coach, but then again, I’ve never dated anyone like Mekka.
8/6/2009
I realize that I do have something to give her that’s better than any gift I could buy her. Me. I’ve never totally and completely given myself to a woman and maybe it’s time I did that. I think I unconsciously believed that any woman I became close to would leave me. That’s why I never really committed to any of them. That’s why I have a problem keeping them around. It’s definitely why Amber took my rock, because she knew that I would never commit to her, and so she figured she would hurt me like I hurt her.
Well, it’s time to grow up and love a woman the way she deserves to be loved. It’s time I opened up and made room for someone else by letting my mother go. It’s time! As a matter of fact, it’s been time.
8/13/2009
Life is good. I would never profess to being cured or anything like that but the past few weeks have been great. Mekka is a wonderful woman and I think I’m falling in love. I hope she feels the same way. For once, I need a good woman in my life. The best part is we talk openly a lot. She has admitted some of the same struggles as me so she can understand my pain but there is still something about her that I just can’t call. It’s like she has something else going on with her that she doesn’t want to admit to. Maybe I’m being paranoid because I’m too afraid to put my feelings out there. I haven’t really done that with any woman since my mother left. I don’t know. I do know that she knows my heart and just maybe we can help and heal each other. Just like with anything else, only time will tell.
8/20/2009
It’s been almost two whole months since Mekka and I started dating and I find myself thinking about my mother less and less and thinking of my future more and more. Mekka has made me realize that there is more to life than just my pain and sorrow and I am not the only one who is struggling with my existence.
I just love talking to her. She always keeps me on my toes with the things she says constantly challenging me. She’s this beautiful, artistic, intellect who cares more about things like Friedrich Nietzsche and existentialism as opposed to Keyshia Cole and today’s R & B music. Earlier today, we had a conversation and a debate about Mother Teresa’s quote, “If you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” I told her I didn’t think it’s true. She enthusiastically disagreed with me. After we went back and forth a few rounds, I told her that I didn’t think this was true because I loved my mother so much that I’m hurt by her abandonment and as a result, I can name countless number of women that I’ve hurt by not being able to love them. She ended the whole debate with simplicity when she said, “Well, if that’s true, how do you explain what you feel for me?”
Yeah, she got me. She got me open and I never really thought about it before but I would love to have kids someday and when I do I want to be a good dad; that’s why it’s important that I get my shit together. I want to be right, you know, emotionally stable for my children as well as my self.
I have to say that things have been going well on all fronts. For the first time since my mom left, I’m really starting to enjoy life. All I think about is Mekka and it feels like she really loves me. We do consider ourselves together now but we have mutually decided to take it slow and not place too many demands on each other, even though that’s not what I want at all. Out of respect for her wishes though, I agreed, but now I really feel like something is up with her. Just can’t pinpoint it.
8/27/2009
A strange thing happened today and it was quite unsettling. While I was out today at the grocery store, I saw a woman that looked just like my mother. I was so tempted to go up to her and throw my arms around her but I restrained myself. It was odd because she looked at me as if she recognized me then hurriedly turned away and walked off. I walked up and down the aisles trying to find her hoping to convince myself that it wasn’t her, but she seemed to have disappeared. I’m not sure if it was her or not but I’ve always had this feeling that she was out there somewhere and for a long time after she left I looked for her. I almost drove myself crazy hoping she’d come back. I was always peeking around corners or searching through crowded places in hopes of seeing that one unforgettable face. Hell, I still do that, just not as much as I used to.
9/3/2009
Last week’s encounter with that woman who looked like my mother has been on my mind lately. Part of me wants to pound the pavement looking for her but a larger part of me wants to simply let her go. It’s weird because now that I think about it, I’ve been dreaming about her a lot lately but the dreams aren’t really troubling. It’s almost as if I’m mentally purging myself of her and it doesn’t feel all that bad. It actually feels pretty good. I don’t wake up sad and angry anymore. I wake up refreshed and ready to take on the world.
9/10/2009
Two things happened today. The first thing that happened is that I found my rock or I should say it found me. I came home from work, it was sitting in front of my door with a small bow around it, and a note attached that simply said “I’m sorry”. I wasn’t as happy to see it as I thought I would be. I started to just throw it away but decided to keep it; not because I need it but as a memento of my mother and also a reminder of the progress I’ve made. I haven’t totally let my mother go and I probably never will but since meeting Mekka, day by day the pain hurts less and less. Instead of carrying it around with me, I’ll simply keep it in my drawer next to the poem that Mekka gave me.