For Colored Girls

"Ever since I realized it was something called a "Colored Girl" an evil woman, a bitch or a nag, I've been trying not to be that & leave bitterness in somebody else's cup..."

I was introduced to the script "For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf..." by Ntozake Shange my 11th grade year in High School. Sweet 16. I wasn't even a woman yet & I faced this material as the next main stage production at my school. I was cast as Lady in Orange, who "danced the BATA"! Yes...with a 16 year old innocence I tackled issues of rape, abortion, prostitution, and murder all of which I had never experienced before...gratefully. I played the role but had yet to experience what it meant to be colored and a woman trying to coincide in the world. After the production ended I stored the material in the back of my mind, added the play to my resume, and continued on dwelling in my 16 year old innocence.

Time passed and I quickly blossomed into a colored woman in the world. To make it sound nice for you politically correct, 21st century Black feminists I quickly blossomed into a "Black woman" in the world. College, relationships, racism, disappointments and more. My 16 year old innocence has metamorphosed into 27 year old resentment. The stories in For Colored Girls mean more to me today than they did 11 years ago or they will 11 years from now.

This is why I was so excited to see Tyler Perry's adaptation of the play brought to the big screen. Of course many in the Black artistic community doubted Tyler Perry's ability to achieve this goal. On opening night I was ready. I was out of town but I made it a point to make sure seeing the film was in my plans. I ended up at a theatre that many would deem "hood-rich". The smell of Vienna sausage and Similac perfumed the air. I headed to the last row, sat down, and immediately updated Twitter on my whereabouts. A security guard came flying out of nowhere and flashed his trusty flashlight on me and said, "No cellphones!" A little startled I chuckled to myself. I looked around at the audience and immediately thought about W.E.B DuBois's "double consciousness" theory and how Black folks have to always look at one's self through the eyes of others. Here we have a Black filmmaker, who has made a Black film, about Black women with an audience full of Black people. In that moment I felt liberated from the "double consciousness" theory. We now have the choice to watch stories about us told by us. We no longer have to go see Angelina Jolie as Cleopatra if we don't want to.

I watched the film with an open mind. Leaving all previous conversation I had with fellow artists behind. The cast was amazing but the script was weak. To take a choreopoem and try to make a screenplay that is appealing to your "type" of audience is a very difficult task. I respect the risk Mr. Perry took because not many have the confidence to take that risk. The elements of ensemble, of self discovery, and most importantly prose was lost. However, the stories of triumph in spite of trial remained the same.

I urge everyone who has not read Ntozake's original piece to read it and see a stage production of it. To the Black artistic community: I challenge you to take more risks. Its easy for us to criticize another artists work but do we have the confidence to take risks and produce work to get criticized? Or are we just sitting around criticizing moves we wish we made? Think about it...

....And this is For Colored Girls who are shaping their own rainbows circumferenced by a prayer that Kimberly Elise will get an Oscar nod.

Tackling the Issues Part IV: Sweetest Hangover...Love

Love. I really don't know where to begin on this subject. Naturally, as a woman I desire to be loved romantically. We all do whether you want to admit it or not.

I want it all: The marriage, the house, the car, and the kids.

Well, to be perfectly honest I really want to be married, living in a high end real estate brownstone/condo, in some big city, in a trendy little neighborhood, with a Yorkie named Cunty, a posh therapist, 5 kids (4 of which are BLAsian and the youngest one I adopted from South Africa). I want a housekeeper named Griselda and a gardener, her husband, Javier. I want to pump to work in my Louboutins (Gucci flats in my Louis bag) to my high profiled artsy job and live out my days loving and laughing with my family.


Don't laugh. You have to set your dreams high! :)


Nevertheless, we all desire to live out our lives with that one special person that completes our complicated lives. To those who have found this person I am so happy for you. But for those of us who are dating someone or are single we are going through the ups and downs on our journey to true love and I personally want to address these issues.


For about 8 months now I have been back and forth in what I would consider one of the most significant relationships I have ever been in. I am a private person so only a few friends and my brother know who I am dating. The most important aspect of this relationship for me is the self discovery. We all get head strong thinking we know exactly who we are, what we will tolerate, and how we want our relationships to operate. But the reality is when you add another person into the mix you are no longer thinking for you and what you want. You start thinking about what you both need in order to make the relationship work. For instance I was always the one who protested, "I will NEVER tolerate anyone who cheats on me! Uh Uh that's dead!" During the course of the relationship I faced the accusation of infidelity. Strangely enough the way I handled it was nothing like the way I proclaimed. Even though cheating was not proven, the accusation or suspicion can hurt just as bad as committing the act. In love comes toleration and strength that you don't really get to utilize as a single woman.


What bothers me most about love is its stability. People break up or get divorced everyday. Committing my time, energy, and heart to someone with the odds that it just may not work is frightening. I am not a person who accepts failure as an option and will fight hard to make things work. However, if its not meant to be your fight won't be enough to sustain it. I can't explain how much that really bothers me.


Solution:

I haven't really hashed the solution out. I can say that being in this relationship has brought me closer to the woman I am and has helped me conquer some of my fears. I am a better person than I was 8 months ago. I love my baby more and more everyday. Love heals. Things that frustrate me or hurt me fade away in love. Try not to worry if love will be here tomorrow and focus on the happiness it brings today. Trust in its power, accept its place in your life, and never forget to reciprocate it. It's undoubtedly "the sweetest hangover that I don't want to get over..."

Tackling The Issues Part III: Lil Girls, Lil Secrets, Lil Lies, Lil Lives

"I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys-R-Us kid, there's a million toys at Toys-R-Us that I can play with..."

I love that commercial.

Being a little girl, where the only worries you had were what outfit you were going to wear to school or whether or not to check the yes or no box on Brandon's letter asking you to be his girlfriend, had to be the easiest time in my life. I'm not necessarily saying I want to go back to the days of barrettes and plaid pleated skirts, but I do often reminisce on the easiness of it all. One common thing I remember from Elementary School to High School is that there was always a group of girls that would reap havoc in the school. They would make fun of you, talk behind your back, tell lies, and gossip yet smile in your face everyday.

Not much has changed since I have been out of school. These same girls have grown into lil girl women. They still operate the same, spreading lil girl gossip, telling lil girl lies, keeping lil girl secrets all behind your back. The difference from then and now is that they sit at your dinner table, call your phone, claim to be your friend yet slandering your name from the very same lips they kiss you on your cheek with.

These so-called "friends", family members, and co-workers sleigh me. I don't understand their methodology nor do I condone it. Quite frankly, the thought of them boils my blood. If you don't like me don't associate yourself with me. What's so hard about that concept? Interaction with these women spark all types of emotions within me but for the most part I shut down for fear of lashing out. It's nothing more devastating than being loyal to people who aren't loyal to you.

Solution:

Lil girl women are everywhere. There's honestly nothing you can do about it. Be strong inspite of what they may say about you. They are merely focusing on you in order to camouflage their own flaws. Don't seek retaliation. Pray, write, cry and even vent to someone you know you can trust. Don't allow your spirit to be broken. If you observe the lil girl women carefully you will see that behind it all they are nothing without each other. They need one another to keep themselves afloat. Don't be afraid to stand alone. In the end you will be standing in your promise and they will still be lil girl women, telling lil girl lies, reaping lil girl havoc and living lil girl lives. They will have never been anywhere and never have done anything but be a lil girl.

Tackling the Issues Part II: "All My Church Babies Say Amen"

Ahhhh church. The metropolis of the sinning saint.

I grew up in a small church. My father was a Deacon and my mother was the Pastor's Secretary and Director of Youth Activities. Every Sunday my little brother and I would get up, put on our Sunday's best, get greased down, and head to Sunday School.

Being born into a church you are considered the "church baby". You even develop the "church baby" syndrome. Church members that love you will give you gifts, money, and a kid's favorite...CANDY. You might go over their houses and call them Aunt or Uncle. Your childish innocence can see no wrong in these people because they haven't done any harm to you. You love them with every fiber of your being and run full force with open arms to them when you see them on Sunday mornings. Since my church was small everyone knew my family and we knew theirs. My parents maintained a united front with keeping my brother and I children. They never spoke any ill will of any church member in front of us or stopped us from loving anyone we chose to love in the congregation.

Seasons change and the "church baby" becomes a woman. You start to see things a lot differently. The same Aunties and Uncles that you admired and loved so much as a child are different. They harbor a jealous spirit, gossip, and even manipulate. You see how they act in church meetings, choir rehearsals, or in mission based settings and are flabbergasted by their behavior. You begin to develop your own opinion of them and hurtfully determine that they aren't who they appeared to be.

This is where I find myself today. Since I grew up in church and spend most of my time there today, many people who are stationary in my life are people I grew up around in church. These same people have supported me financially and prayed for me when I went off to college and for that I am eternally grateful. Though many of you reading this may be opposed to organized religion or going to church in general I can assure you that belonging to a church can benefit and enrich your life and give you life long relationships. However, as a "church baby" who is now a woman I find myself constantly discovering the true colors of many of these adults I loved a child. This is painful. Many of these same people still view me as a "church baby", and you know "church babies" are seen and not heard. But the woman I am has become very outspoken and fearless when it comes to speaking out on things.

This is a moment in my life where I feel stifled. With adulthood comes responsibility and a natural progression into leadership. A "church baby" taking a leadership role isn't always received well especially in my church. You aren't taken seriously, you are placed under a microscope, spoon fed reminders of that which is ritual, and you aren't given a fair opportunity to express yourself freely. This makes me upset and suffocates my desire to actively participate in church activities. I am honestly now coming to church because of the pride that my mother has still having her children by her side. Though I am supporting her there isn't any personal gratification in it for me and that is a very satirical place to be in.

Solution:

My God mother often says to me: "Don't let anyone discourage you." Though I get tired of cliches being used as solutions she is absolutely right. I have to stop letting people have power over my outcome. Words and actions are painful but the positivity in the outcome soothes the pain. Fear not all my fellow "church babies" there is power in the outcome but you cant get to it without a struggle.

Tackling the Issues Part I

To My Beloved Readers:

My transition into adulthood has been smooth. I'm definitely still evolving because I am not where I want to be. Its very easy to fall into this trap where you become comfortable with your surroundings and stifle your own growth. After finishing grad school I moved back home with my mother. I finished graduate school in 2007 it is now 2010 and I am STILL home! Yes, go head and say it WTF! Lol. However, some would say I have been productive, I worked for President Obama, started my own Theatre Company, and even got a job working in the United States Senate. I haven't let my talents or gifts go to waist. I give them back by working with children at C.M.H and I choreograph dances for the youth and adult dancers at my church. I go to church more than the average human being, help where needed, and give back to my community.

I should feel a sense of fulfillment right? Proud of my accomplishments in such a short time right?

I actually feel stuck. Stifled. No room to grow or express myself without constant scrutiny about who I am or that my visions or goals are just too big. I've allowed the very best in me to hide behind what others want me to be. Even then in an effort to please others they still are not pleased.

So, right now in this moment I am going to take a step by step look at what is making me unhappy, what my role is in my unhappiness, and what I can do to fix my problems. Its time I start to focus on me and how I can get out of "Babylon" physically and mentally...Follow me as I tackle these issues as I know many of you are going through the same things.

Peace & Blessings,

Cyn

A Burning Cross: A message to Black Christians regarding Bishop Eddie Long

"If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land" -II Chronicles 7:14

I was debating whether or not I should write about my thoughts on the allegations brought against Bishop Eddie Long and the 25,000+ members of New Birth. The media is having a field day with testimonials from the accusers, photos from Bishop Long's phone, and criticism about Bishop Long's speech last Sunday. On social media websites like Twitter Bishop Long's name consistently appears in the list of top ten worldwide trending topics. At every church, restaurant, and backyard game of dominoes across the country you can bet Bishop Long is the topic of conversation, especially in the Black community.

Quite frankly, I am tired of it all.

This media massacre to me, resembles a Wednesday night Klu Klux Klan meeting in the back woods of Willacoochee, Georgia, 1960.

The men gather upset in a frenzy about neighborhood debutant Ellie Mae who was raped on Monday. Ellie Mae says she was raped by a Black man. She identifies this Black man as Jesse Young, an outspoken young man, father, husband, farmer and store owner. A Black man owning his own store and his own land in 1960 Willacoochee, Georgia? An abomination! No questions asked the men get dressed and hide behind their finest white bed sheets, hop on their horses and ride to Jesse's home. Inside, Jesse is having dinner with his wife and his two daughters. The men call for Jesse to come outside. Jesse looks out of his window, sees the men, and immediately tends to his family first. Jesse motions for his wife and children to hide in the pantry. The men begin to get irate because Jesse did not come outside when they called him. So they start setting up for their burning ritual. In the center of Jesse's front yard they plunge a wooden cross into the ground, and drenched it with gasoline. They called for Jesse one last time. Jesse did not move. They approached Jesse's home and poured gasoline all over it. Then they lit his home ablaze, walked back to the cross and set it afire. They laughed at their acts of terrorism, hopped on their horses, and rode off into the night. Jesse and his family manage to get out of their burning home and run a mile up the road to a neighbor's home. But at the center of it all the cross is left burning in the middle of the yard.

In this blog I really want to talk to my fellow Christians. Mainly those of us in the Black church. So often we get wrapped up in accusations and gossip that we forget about the people involved. Bishop Long is in many ways like Jesse Young. He is a mega-preacher with a mega-church. He's a businessman. No matter how many years have elapsed since 1960 and 2010, a Black man with that much power and that much money is a threat to white America, and Black America secretly harvests a jealous spirit. However, let me be clear, Bishop Long presents himself to the world as a man of God and in doing so he has a responsibility to uphold the principles of God's word. So if he did participate in the acts he's being accused of he should be punished by law and the rest will God set in order. But he hasn't been proven guilty. Period.

So are we honestly acting appropriately in the midst of the attack against Bishop Long?

As Christians we stand on the fact that God is the center of our lives, right?

If this is the case why are we leaving the cross there to burn?

Why are we so wrapped up in crucifying the Bishop and not praying for him?

Why are we letting the media and gossip dictate what we have been called to do?

The Bible gives us a clear and concise call of duty in II Chronicles: "If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land."

What disturbs me most is how many of us have turned our backs on Bishop Long and have not once sought God's face on his behalf, on his family's behalf, or on New Birth's behalf. You probably have barely prayed for the accusers because you are too busy saying "those boys look gay". The Catholic Church frequently faces these types of problems.We often hear of priests molesting boys. But you know what the difference is between us and them? They rally around their priests, pray for them, and proceed with counseling or whatever may be necessary. As a race we don't support one another as we should in the good or the bad.

Bishop Long is not God. We know who God is. That's who we should consult with during this time. Because if you haven't noticed this media massacre has begun to attack our churches, our Black men, the Black gay community, and the God we believe in. So while you're sitting around saying "girl I always knew Eddie Long was gay" or identifying with the brother who says, "this is the reason why I don't go to church" really think about if you are adding fuel or water to the fire.

I have had enough of the massacre with God at the center. It's time for the cross to stop burning! Get on your knees and pray!

Autumn & Harvest Moon

I know I know....It has been a minute since I have posted something. I have material to post I just let time and life's happenings prevent me from following through. I do apologize. I love writing and I can't allow myself to be a hindrance to myself. Get me? With that being said I am back! Welcoming the Fall season by riding in on the harvest moon...Enjoy!

Autumn & Harvest Moon

A time of meeting.

Harvest moon welcomes a new season.

Autumn.

No more unbearable heat.

No more exposed bodies simmering in the rays of the sun.

She is comforted as Autumn wraps her in her breeze.

Cool yet comfortable.

You see, Autumn is a woman of structure and discipline.

She spray-paints the city with foliage in transition.

Her color palette undefined but refined by the pigment of God's kisses.

Harvest Moon is strikingly gorgeous.

Her full celestial body gives birth to a new dawn.

Perfectly placed in the far angle of the sky.

Her presence is ecliptic.

People stare in awe as she passes by.

Together they bring forth a constellation of qualities with one objective only:

To give the metaphysical brilliance of the spirit of God comprehension.

Somewhere in Harlem.

A Smoke-filled night club.

Somewhere in Harlem. 1920's.

Summer.

The mecca gathering of high class Negros on a Saturday night.

Laughter and Bourbon scents fill the air.

The band is stroking every known emotion a girl can think of.

The piano keys tickle Marjorie right down her spine and lifts her up out of her seat.

She floats like a leaf lost in the Autumn breeze.

Swaying her hips from one end of the dance floor to the other.

She turns men away one by one as they creep up behind the thunderous rhythms in her thighs.

They lose control of their senses when they inhale the secret fragrance hidden behind the earlobe of her right ear.

She never tells anyone the name of the fragrance she wears.

"Awe, baby I had this flown over from Paris", she lies.

She was there for one reason and one reason only.

Duke.

All dressed up she took the A-Train to Harlem just so she could see him.

What she would give to have is fingers tickle her keys.

With all she had in her she yearned to scat notes with him that couldn't be composed.

Truth be told she had a thing for a Jazz man.

She spent nights blowing Charlie Parker's horn in the storage room at The Cotton Club.

The music just hypnotized her.

Caused her to lose her good Christian girl teachings she learned in Mississippi.

She left Mississippi, her childhood memories, her Me-Maw and Grandpa Joe and followed Jazz right on the back of Raymond Edwards pickup truck all the way to New York City.

She saunters over to the bar.

Her red, high waisted dress, showing just the right amount of her butter cream skin, tight in all the right places, and causes everyone to stare.

She came with a mission. To get Duke's attention.

She would lay in her bed at night and make love to Duke on vinyl.

Tonight she wanted him in the flesh.

"Scotch on the rocks, please."

She sips and waits.

Sips and waits.

Waits and sips.

She waits.

He never shows.

Somewhere in Harlem.

Duke never showed.

Mrs. Thursday :)

She's a crowd pleaser.


Everyone's favorite.


Or at least that's what she's convinced herself.


She's fancy.


Every week a new do.


With the added piece of blue, purple, or green track for "pop".





She prides herself in her shoe collection.


Can't afford Louboutins,


So she settles for Jessica Simpson's


And paints the soles red.





She's in love with the dude that gathers the carts at the grocery store.


He loves her too.

But he stutters,

Has no money,

And works at a grocery store.


Her image is too important to her to love the "grocery cart guy".


Where she's from and who she is embarrasses her.


She has a plan of escape.


She sleeps with city-wide officials.


She loves "politicking".


Throws back a shot of Tequila and drunkenly convinces herself he's going to leave his wife for her.


"Mrs. Mayor it does have a nice ring to it", she says repeatedly to herself in the mirror.


Thursday night is their night.

She accepts the Thursday night intimate invasions as a down payment on her future wedding ring.


But she constantly wonders why he never looks at her face.


See, Thursday nights are done from behind.


"I never want to make eye contact" he told her when they started.


Every Thursday at 11:30 pm he faithfully invades her space like Poland on Nazi Germany.


She is intrigued by his militarism.


He stands at attention and she salutes him in the nude.


Because secretly, she always wanted a reoccurring role on Army Wives.



When he's done he leaves an envelope on the pillow and says, "You done good, girlie. See you next Thursday."


No kiss goodbye.


No cuddling or how was your day?


She lays on her stomach and rests her chin on her hands.


She doesn't want to smudge her red lip on the white feather pillows.


She's grown to love the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.


She reaches over and grabs the envelope.


On it written in what she considers the manuscript of power is: "To: Mrs. Thursday :)"


She's been labeled Mrs. one-day-of-the-week.


She smiles. She loves her nickname.


Inside of the envelope is a note and two crisp $100 bills.


She excitedly hops up and grabs her purse.


She pulls out another envelope which reads: "Wedding Fund"


She adds her newly earned Benjamin's to her stash.


She collapses back on the bed in sheer bliss.


She begins to read the note: "Happy 16th Birthday girlie, you done good. Love, The Mayor."


She kissed the note as if she were kissing him.


"One day" she says, "I'll be your Mrs. Everyday-a-week."

Summer's Prayer

Just past dusk, the summer heat bows down to say it's prayers to the most high.

Leaving bodies drenched in perspiration, with the stench of anxiety.

The sky turns purple haze. Relaxed. Still. With promise for better days.

Down the street is a clutter of enlivened teens who find comfort in summer's liberty. Unconfined. No responsibilities. Educational routine on intermission or so they think, because learning never ends.

They gather in the cadence of prose, cyphering around the metaphorical prism of Lil Wayne lyrics.

They become instant mathematicians as the dice hit the pavement and they divide their earnings at the next re-up.

They develop keen minds as unmarked vehicles survey the neighborhood. Decision makers: When to run or when to assume the position.

They face dilemma head on when the decision to run causes their friends to be cradled by their untimely expiration date.

Statistical overload.

The neighbors say, "he was too young to die"...he...Because the name his mother gave him can't be defined.

Please Summer while you say your prayers say a prayer for the teens down the street.

Lost in your liberty.

Pray for their safety.

So they can learn the lessons in the beauty of the seasons changing.

This Aint No...

Let me make this clear to you...





I HAVE OPTIONS.





This ain't no self-righteous, independent woman rant.





I'm not gonna be running around butt naked in the woods, burning my bra in a bonfire, and yelling "I AM WOMAN HERE ME ROAR!"





These are the facts. Hard evidence.





I HAVE OPTIONS.





CHOICES.





I was born into a family of deep thinkers.





My father, changed the lives of thousands of inner city youth in the Washington Metropolitan Area.





My mother a rhetorician at best. Humanitarian in the flesh.





Their microcosmic connection, intertwined with the genealogy of generations of men and women who thought deeply...





There I was created, meticulously designed by God.





I am blessed by default.





This ain't no feminists ideology.





I won't be rallying the troops on Capitol Hill, with t-shirts that read: "Pussies Unite", while lobbying congress to take abortion out of the Health care Bill.





This is truth. The honest to God truth.





I HAVE OPTIONS.





I HAVE CHOICES.





I CHOOSE to...





Love without expectation.





Make the most out of what I am given.





Give my last to those in need.





Entrap myself in education.





Fight for what I believe in.

Die for the love of the Arts.

Never be ashamed of who I am.





Keep my legs closed.





Keep my heart open.





See the world.





And most importantly put God first in all I do.





This ain't no motivational speech.





I'm not going to cry on Dr. Phil's couch while he tells me some philosophical BS about being in touch with my feelings.





I must choose wisely.





Because I HAVE A RESPONSIBILITY.





Look at me.





Walking around here with my head held high.





Standing on the backs of those who fought and lost their lives so that I might have a choice!


Jim Crowed to death.

KKK American terrorism at it's best!




How dare I not make the most of the opportunities so many died fighting for?





That is MY history. Sweet liberty.





This aint no revolutionary ideology.





I won't be Jesse Jackson crying on Election Day after jealously, publicly humiliating my "brother" on national television.





I HAVE OPTIONS





I HAVE CHOICES.





I HAVE A RESPONSIBILITY.





This is reality. My reality.





So please don't be confused.





There is nothing average about me.





Watch how you address me.





I am favored.





Fearfully yet wonderfully made.





I won't let any minor obstacles stop me.





My fears don't define me.





My tears won't break me.


My ancestors walk beside me.




My choices are the bridge towards fulfilling my promise.





Consider yourself blessed to know me.

Hot. New York City. 4th of July.

New York City.

4th of July weekend.

92 degrees.

HOT AS HELL.

You know how the city is. Over crowded, overly busy, overtly in hustle mode.

But being around the ones you love makes you feel like it's just you and your goons taking over the city.

Nobody else counts. Nobody else matters.

Except...

Her.

Red bone. Big Titties.

I wanted to put "Long hair, thick red bone..."

But she's not thick and she doesn't have long hair.

She's plain. Ordinary.

The other woman.

She made her presence known in New York City without even being there in the flesh.

For that I must give her a round of applause.

Though she's not physically baaaad she's one baaad B.

She popped her red bone, big titty...self...right up in our relationship.

Conveniently escorted by your chivalrous gestures.

And they say chivalry is dead....

We argue about her in Brooklyn.

In Queens.

In Manhattan.

On the HOT and crowded Q transferring at Atlantic Avenue.

4th of July weekend.

The time where kissing under fireworks declared our relationship's independence.

"My Country Tis of Thee..."

Better yet my country the land of the broken...

Broken homes and dreams.

Broken pockets and regime.

Don't forget the broken hearted.

Cuz it's HOT in New York City.

Unbearable heat.

So hot my sweat collides with my tears.

I don't know where my sweat begins and my tears end.

But I do know I loved you.

You wiped my eyes in Brooklyn Heights.

Told me I was the only one for you.

New York. The Empire State.

A city you love or hate.

Dreams live there.

Dreams die there.

One HOT weekend...

4th of July, 2010

The Doorway Between Freedom & Forever

Slowly I walked into Forever.

Manipulated into thinking that love had no secrets.

I am all packed and ready to go.

Standing in the doorway between Freedom and Forever.

I become weak and my legs won't move.

My back is turned away from Forever and I am facing Freedom.

Forever calls me saying, "Don't leave me...Baby, I need you."

I turn around.

My face wet with the anxiety of my tears.

Forever holds out his hand.

"You forgot something Baby..." he says.

In his hand lies my heart....

I get frantic.

.:I thought I packed her:.

"GIVE HER BACK!"..."PLEASE!"

.:She's all I have:.

.:She's all of me:.

Forever kisses her and holds her tight.

"Don't worry baby, I got her, I got you, I love you, I'm so sorry..."

My legs once stationery move towards Forever.

.:I love you:.

.:I can't leave:.

I turn to face the door to Freedom.

She beckons for me to come forth.

She whispers: "Life is sweeter on the other side...just let go."

.:She has a point:.

.:"I can do bad all by myself":.

I look at my Forever with my heart in his hands...

I look at Freedom with promise in her hands...

My legs begin to move.

I walk slowly towards....

Who is she?

Me & you.

Together.

Weekend Getaway.

Royal Treatment.

Bed & Breakfast.

Overlooking a lake.

God's majesty.

Surrounded us.

We talked.

Laughed.

Fell in love.

All over again.

She sent a text.

You replied.

My heart drops.

Silence.

We talked.

We laughed.

We kiss.

Created memories.

Kiss interuppted.

She sends a text.

You reply.

My heart drops.

Silence.

I know her.

I saw her.

I read her text.

She's been written about.

"Friend".

Supposedly.

She got her own plans.

Am I jealous?

Or is it intuition?

Can't hold my peace.

Baby, who is she?

My friend babe.

Nothing more.

Are you cheating?

No. Baby.

I love you.

Only you.

My heart drops.

Silence.

I saw her hug you.

I saw how she looked at you.

I saw...

I see.

You love me.

Only me...?

She sends a text.

Silence interrupted.

You...

You...

Reply.

My heart stopped.

Bliss. Father's Day.

bliss [blis]

-noun

1. supreme happiness; utter joy or contentment: wedded bliss.

2. Theology. the joy of heaven.

3. heaven; paradise: the road to eternal bliss.

4. Archaic. a cause of great joy or happiness.

Bliss: A place I yearn to dwell.

.:Does bliss really exist?:.

The human spirit and flesh are weak. We all are walking around seeking bliss in other humans. This way of life is extremely moronic but very real nonetheless. We build relationships hoping that bliss will manifest and engulf itself throughout our lives.

Being alone or lonely is not an option...

"I love you": Three words that can ultimately send you to a blissful stratosphere. You get this feeling of completion followed by a seemingly undying urge to give of yourself without ceasing. Your entire being is wrapped up in the essence of your lover. You trust them, surrender to them, and devote your life to them. As long as they tell you "I love you" that's enough...right?

"SWA Flight 2232 to Baltimore, BWI your flight is delayed. Your expected departure time is now 9:00 pm. We do apologize. Feel free to walk around but make sure you are back at the terminal by 8:30 pm. Relax ladies and gentleman this could be a long night."

Great. Just great. Its Father's Day, June 20, 2010. I am stuck in the airport freezing and trying to find the right words to express my frustration on my voyage to live my life in utter bliss. Happiness is a high priority for me because I have been so unhappy for so long. I'm holding on to things that I probably will never quite get over. To top it all off it's Father's Day and my Father is dead. I am walking around with an indescribable pain in my chest every single day.

I have never stopped leaning on Jesus for comfort and peace, but I will admit I've turned to friendships and my relationship to fill my void and they haven't. A few happy moments aren't substitutes for blissless nights.

What can be said? What can be done?

bliss: Theology only. a non tangible, segregated occurrence.

It happens for some. Just not me.

"What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly" Part III--The Bucket List

"What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly" Part III--The Bucket List.

This is it.

The day before my date of birth.

Before I transition into year 27 I want to set clear and concise goals for myself.

My personal "Bucket List (27)".

"A vision without a plan is an hallucination" and I don't want to ever walk around life without actively seeking out my vision. So my bucket list will be comprised of things I will complete before I am 28.


Here we go:

GRANT WRITING: I will focus more on finding funding for SoulFly Theatre Society in order to pursue projects that I have waiting on the back burner.

MOVE: I will move. Preferably to a different state. If not, I will move out on my own.

HEALTH: I will continue to make my health a priority. I will continue to exercise regularly and eat wisely. I don't want to be a size two but I do want to be physically fit in the size I am supposed to be.

THEATRE: I will act in or direct at least one play.

TRAVEL: I will travel to Italy or Egypt.

LOVE: I will kiss under fireworks and slow dance under the stars and/or in the rain with my love.

FAMILY: I will spend more time with my father's side of the family.

ADVENTURE: I will sky dive and explore living in "The Bush".

Good bye 26. Many would consider this the end of a great year of life. Many would say I'm getting old. I say: "What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly." It's not the end but merely the beginning. I have been running for years, now it's time for me to finally lift off the ground and FLY! I'm ready to conquer this small world so I can move on to the conquering the galaxy.

Pray for me.

"What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly" Part II--The Release

"What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly" Part II it is time to release and let go. The countdown has begun and I only have two days before my birthday. I don't want to enter into 27 carrying with me painful memories or harboring any ill will towards people or situations.

When you are walking around with a hard heart it can consume your being and you aren't fully able to surrender your heart to God. This post is therapeutic and personal for me...I have to let things go. I must let things go. I am throwing the anger, pain, and embarrassing moments out into the universe with the hopes she will send her positive energy, love, and comfort back to me...

Here we go:

• When I was little I came across a letter my grandmother wrote to my mother stating that she didn't want any fat grandchildren. From that day on I resented her. Never really wanted to build a relationship with her. Until this day I would rather stay at home if my Mom is visiting her. She is old now and time is of essence. I am letting go so that I can love her during the time we both have left on this earth.

• I sincerely have hate in my heart towards a man in my church. He has said some very disrespectful things about my parents. He once said to me: "that's why your father's dead". Many say hate is a strong word. When you actually feel it in your heart it feels like you are on fire. I have come to the conclusion that hate is the closest emotion to the devil. I don't ever want to have anything in common with the devil, so I am letting this go.

• I was angry at my father for dying. I felt like he gave up on himself and us. When the doctor's were telling him what they could do he refused to do what he was told. He even checked himself out of the hospital. How could he do that? Why wouldn't he fight for his children, who now have to spend the rest of their days father-less? I release this anger. I know he was tired and I know he is in a place where he can rest.

• I don't like how two of my aunts speak to my mother. It bothers my soul. Telling her to do this and pay that. How dare you speak to her like that? I also don't like how my aunt speaks to me. It causes me to be disrespectful and have an attitude in her presence. I say goodbye to being on defense mode with my family. I say goodbye to the feeling of not even wanting to claim them as my family.

• My first love...I think this man scared me for life. He was a pathological liar and caused me to have series trust issues. I let go of you and the damage you caused in my adolescent heart. I remove those walls I put up so people like you couldn't hurt me again. I open my heart again...

• My nay-sayers, haters, and fake friends...Just to appear strong many people say "feel free to hate on me." I can personally attest to situations I have been in where things said and done to me by this particular group of people has affected me mentally and emotionally. As a result I find myself wanting to avoid social situations for fear of humiliation. Confidence can be used as a facade to mask insecurity. I know I am not the only person with this issue, but I am releasing it. No more covering up and hiding. No more wanting revenge. No more allowing the real me to become muted.

There are some experiences that I just couldn't bring myself to type. I release you as well. You no longer have me bound.

I am almost ready to enter into year 27 with a clear head and a plan to attain the vision I have for my life...

Stay Tuned for Part III...

"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly." Part I--The Favor List

Today's post is part one of a three part epilogue entitled: "What a caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly (Quote by Richard Bach)."

My birthday is in three days. An ending of my 26th year of life. Its extremely hard for me to watch my 20's slipping by. I will be 27. WOOF!...

.:I long for my undergraduate days in Chicago. No care in the world. Free in the heartbeat of the Windy City:.

I have no regrets. I probably have done more in 27 years of living than many people will ever do. I am grateful. Immensely grateful. God's favor over my life is infectious.

So, today I am composing my first Favor List. The Favor List is a list of significant accomplishments I have made throughout my life. You have to acknowledge where you have been to get where you are going.

Here we go:

• High School graduate.


• Graduated with honors from Columbia College Chicago with a B.A.


• Graduated with honors from Syracuse University with a M.A.


• One of two to graduate first from my program at Syracuse University.


• Started my own Theatre Company, Soulfly Theatre Society.


• Directed a successful fundraising production of The Vagina Monologues.


• Pledged Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc.


• Worked for President Barack Obama when he was a Senator.


• Worked for Senator Roland W. Burris (the only Black Senator in the Senate).


• Traveled to South Africa.


• Traveled to Senegal.


• Traveled to The Gambia.


• Traveled to Paris, France.


• Traveled to London, England.


• Traveled to Iceland.


• Served homeless women for 2 years at Deborah's Place.


• Served inner city youth through Family Matters of Greater Washington's Camp Moss Hollow.


• Acted in several plays.


• Won several oratorical contests.


• Choreographer for Divine Order Adult Dance Ministry.

I've done a lot in such a short time. I love the woman I am and the woman I will become. Thank you God for these blessings. I love the Master for he has placed his hand over my life. My possibilities are endless. My faith will never die. Looking up with a prayerful heart and open arms for whatever is next...

Stay tuned for Part II...

Speak Life

There once was a little girl, around 4 years old. She was on her way to see her grandmother in Pittburgh, PA. While her mother drove, the little girl talked to her mother for four and half hours straight. No breaks. She never even went to sleep. All the way from Washington, DC to Pittsburgh, PA the little girl talked, and talked, and talked...

Speak Life.

I desire communication. Close talk.

I often fantasize about addressing a Joint Session of Congress, speaking with dignitaries on U.S. Foreign Policy, and having a scholarly debate with great minds like Henry Louis Gates over a cup of Starbucks Coffee and a Cohiba cigar.

All eyes and ears alert as I give a lecture at Harvard University on the impact Langston Hughes, James Baldwin, and Countee Cullen had on American Literature even though they were treated less than American.

I want to speak of African liberation to liberate the African-American.

I want to stand in front of the Sphinx, fall to my knees, shout to God in each Afroasiatic language: "Thank you God, I love you God, you are most Holy God, I praise your name God, you are majestic in all your infinite power!"

These are my thoughts, my dreams, my inner most desires. I bury them inside because that's where they remain protected.

My pen has become my voice.

She's the only one who listens. She's the only one who'll never pass judgment. She gives me security. You never have to see my face and I never have to face my fears...

What happened to that 4 year old girl on the way to see her grandmother in Pittsburgh? So open and free. Spoke her mind. Unrelenting. Spoke life into her dreams...what happened to...ME?

Look up...

I couldn't sleep last night. I tossed and turned. I got up and drank a cup of tea. I put my Ipod on repeat and tried to mellow myself out. Nothing seemed to help. I was restless, worried, hurt...I listened to my inner thoughts speak. Conversations of loneliness and giving up. Conversations of regret and depression. I found myself sitting straight up staring at the wall. I looked at the clock it read 5:00 am. I went over to the window. Looked up at the sky. It was turquoise. Turquoise. A blue-ish green masterpiece painted in the sky. Everything was silent. Nothing moved. No clouds. No birds.

That's God! He was waiting for me to talk to Him.

I was so caught up in trying to figure out the thoughts in my head and the heavy burden in my heart...I forgot to look up. I forgot to "look to the hills from whence cometh my help."

When you are lonely...look up

When you are sad...look up

When things aren't going as planned...look up

When you feel like you can't go on...look up

We get so caught up in our problems we forget to look up.

Never forget to look up and listen to God speak. He will stop everything and everyone to listen and speak to you. "While we are trying to figure it out God has already worked it out."

With an open heart just...look up.

The V-Card: A Requiem for Myself

I have been pretty quiet up until now about sex. I grew up in a household where it really wasn't discussed. I remember my first conversation with my mother about it. I was laying in the bed with her and she said "If you have sex you can get pregnant" and that was pretty much the extent of it.

Growing up I developed a phobia. I never wanted to talk about sex or even my period for that matter. I was ashamed and embarrassed that blood was coming out of me for no apparent reason. When I came on my period the first thing I said to my mother was "please don't tell my Dad or my brother." I thought they would make fun of me or perhaps even disown me. I had extreme thoughts. Now that I think about it I was a very worried and private child. I was teased (as most children are) but I think the teasing effected me deeply. I wasn't one of those children that could brush it off. I can also remember other things happening to me that to this day I keep private.

As I grew up I wasn't like my peers. I didn't feel confident about my body. I didn't pursue boys or relationships because of the fear of being pressured to have sex.

So today I'm 26 years old and I still hold my virginity, my v-card.

There it is out in the open. Before today I usually kept this information to myself. I would engage in sexual conversations with my peers pretending I knew what they were talking about just so I wouldn't be ridiculed. Quite frankly, I was ashamed. It's not popular to be a virgin in today's society. Especially when you enter into a relationship with a person whose entire basis for a successful relationship is sex.

For awhile now I have been committed to a person whom I genuinely thought I would be spending the rest of my life with. Conversations about sex would arise, many of which I definitely would initiate. I wanted to talk about it and assure my partner that I in fact wasn't an alien and did desire sex. I was just simply scared. I even knew in my heart that I would eventually lose my v-card to them.

One evening my partner expressed their feelings of not being appreciated for waiting for me to have sex. They said I never said "thank you for waiting". They went on to say I had no idea how it made them feel to not be having sex when they are used to having it whenever they want. The conversation climaxed with the following statement: "I could have dumped you and went and fucked another girl, but I didn't because I loved you."

That statement sent an unexplainable numbness through my body. I felt enraged, hurt, and disrespected. My response was, "Well, if you feel that way then you should go and do you."

After the conversation ended I sent a blanket text message to half my contacts in my phone. I didn't add opinion or feeling I just wanted their honest thoughts. It read: If your partner said to you "I could have dumped you and went and fucked another girl, but I didn't because I loved you." how would you feel? 20 out of 20 males and females all said that they would have felt disrespected or hurt. I even went back to my mothers bed and asked her...she said, "What you chose to do with your body is your choice because it's your body. If this person loved you they would have never said that. To be with a virgin is a gift. A woman no one has ever touched is a sacred rare gift and she deserves to be treated as such. God doesn't bless people with virgins everyday. Tell them to go on with those other girls because after they use you all up that's what they are going to do anyway. Then what are you left with? Nothing."

I went back to my mother's bed. No judgement for the woman I am. Supportive of the woman I will become. I breathe through the tears because they don't define me. They are just reactionary thoughts of life's many lessons. I bow my head in humility to have one thing left in a world that takes everything away from you. I have one thing left that I can offer to God as praise for the favor he has had over my life thus far. I turn my back on self doubt. I am who I am because it's what I'm called to be. I'm no longer ashamed or embarrassed. I carry my V-card with me and when the day comes that I share it's mystery it will be magically surrounded and protected with an agape love.

Until then...

What will your legacy be?

"People were wrapped around the building, just to get a glimpse, to pay their respect to the "Godmother" of the Civil Rights Era Dr. Dorothy Irene Height."

Today, I listened to Past National Presidents of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. talk about Dr. Height at her Omega Omega Ceremony in Burr Gymnasium on Howard University's campus. They defined Dr. Height as the "quiet glue" that held Delta Sigma Theta, the YWCA, and National Council of Negro Women together. I looked around the gymnasium at the multitude of Black women, Delta women, all gathered together to honor the life of Dr. Height. This sight brought tears to my eyes.

As I reflected on Dr. Height's life and the changes she made throughout the world, I am left questioning my life and the legacy I will leave behind.

What am I doing with that hyphen between life and death to make a difference in this world? What legacy will you leave behind?

Our days on earth are numbered, and we tend to take our time fulfilling our purpose by foolishly assuming that tomorrow is promised. Tomorrow is not promised.

What will people say about you when you die?

She had an attitude, been with all the guys in the neighborhood, lied, stole, gossiped, selfish, drug addict, alcoholic, and didn't know who her children's father was. She had a PhD. in Haterology, couldn't keep a job, mean spirited, foul mouthed, and abrasive. Or are you so quiet and null in void in your life that people don't even know who you are? Are you just existing and not living?

We all have our strengths and our weaknesses. We all fall short and we all sin. But as imperfect as the human flesh may be we are all designed in God's image. Whether you choose to believe it or not man did not create man.

We each have a purpose. We each have a calling.

The time is now, as women, to live out our purpose.

We have to go back to school, take risks, PRAY, devote ourselves to community service, start our own businesses, dare to dream, and dare to speak out against injustice. We need to take positions of leadership in the courtroom, the boardroom, the pulpit, on Capitol Hill and most importantly in the classroom.

We need to stop passing judgement on the teenage girl who is pregnant or the woman addicted to heroin. We have to stop turning our noses up in self righteous proclivity against one another. Get rid of the fake, false fronting demeanor and open ourselves up to humility and public service. The power is in numbers. How dare we break our strength by tearing one another down?

How do you want to be remembered in death?

What do you want your legacy to be?

Is the life you're living now even worth the air you breathe?

To whom much is given, much is required. We have a purpose. We must fulfill it!

Thank you Dr. Dorothy Irene Height. Your living was not in vain. I will carry your legacy with me as I create my own.

Love vs. Saturdays

26.

Never been in a real relationship.

Virgin.

I accepted the fact that I might very well be spending the rest of my life with my mother and paying cash dollars for a couple of In Vitro Fertilization "Design-a-baby" sessions.

I had it all planned out. I was going to get rich, buy a big home in South Africa or on some island somewhere, move my mother in with me, spend my days raising my BLAsian (Black and Asian) "Design-a-Baby" kids (a boy and a girl), and write until my days on this planet came to an end. No husband. No companion (except for a Yorkie of course).

Then I fell in love with you. You have altered my plans. I am now opening up my already closed book of life and writing your name in ink. Not pencil.

That's right yall I got it bad.

I'm sick when I can't see you, lonely if I can't talk to you, and when I can't be around you...cardiac arrest.

And then there is Love vs. Saturday...

Saturdays are supposed to be the climax of the weekend. You wake up late and nurse Friday night's hangover. No work. Just relaxing and enjoying your freedom.

Not for me.

On Saturdays I have to put on all my armor and enter the battlefield, with you.

Round One: We argue.

Round Two: You break up with me.

Round Three: Bells ring. It's a knock out!

It never fails.

EVERY SATURDAY.

No hesitation.

No contemplation.

I get slapped with "I don't want to be with you anymore", followed with an uppercut from "You are just like all the other girls I have dated."

I really need to take a long look in the mirror. Although I seemingly preplanned my life very carefully. There are times when I snuck and whispered in God's ear: "God, if you have someone in mind for me...have your way." I secretly wanted love. I secretly prayed for love.

NOTE TO SELF: Be careful what you ask God for. He answers prayers. But are you sure that's what you want?

It is what I wanted...or at least I thought.

But I never wanted to get in the ring...Love vs. Saturdays.

I never wanted to wake up scared to see Saturdays.

I never wanted to cry on Saturdays.

I never wanted to feel low on Saturdays.

I never wanted to get knocked out on Saturdays.

I never wanted heartache because of Saturdays.

26.

At the peak of my life.

In love.

Scared of Saturdays.

Scared of love.

What's next?

A Dream Sequence

I woke up this morning out of breath.

I needed to write. To speak life into the thoughts in my head and heart.

For once I was allowing my dreams to push me through the day.

Not my love for you.

I have dreams. Visions. My plan to attain the desires of my heart: a blueprint in its final editing stages.

I wanna write.

Sing a lullaby with a pen.

End war by going on active duty with the rhetoric of resolution.

Mend a broken heart with the song in my prose.

It's who I am. It's who I'm destined to be.

I woke up this morning.

Couldn't breathe.

You left me.

I needed to write.

Couldn't find a pen.

I needed to write.

Couldn't find the joy within.

When did I let loving you dictate my dreams?

I woke up this morning.

Couldn't breathe.

Out of breath from chasing you and not my dreams.

Held your hand while you chased your dreams.

You woke up this morning

Told me you didn't love me.

Packed your dreams and mine in your suitcase.

And left.

I woke up this morning.

I started write.

Made love to my heart.

Liberated my stolen dreams.

Gave voice to the voice inside of me.

She breathes.

Jury Duty: A "Civic Responsibility"

For the last week I have been on Jury Duty in D.C. Superior Court. I don't no which one is worse having Jury Duty or the D.C. Superior Court building. Both very well might be equally tragic.

The Selection Process: I arrived, was given a juror number, and placed in a room they called the "juror's lounge". From this point on the number became my name, my identity. The "juror's lounge" was complete with about 60 metal chairs in rows throughout the entire room. There were television screens hanging from the ceiling. The walls were bare and there were no windows to provide any natural light. There was nothing lounge related about this room. No water or juice, nothing. Just 75-100 people crammed into this one room waiting to hear their assigned number called. I definitely felt a Trans-Atlantic slave trade moment coming on.

On the television screen appeared a welcome video. The video gave us instructions on the jury selection process and reminded us that our presence here today was in fact our "civic responsibility". The narrating voice on the video was a man, a D.C. native. How do you know he's from D.C. you might ask? Well, he replaced all of the "Th" sounds with "F", his voice was monotonous and dry, and I was waiting for him to yell out "Sursum Corda(s)" at any moment. All that was missing was the bounce beat in the background and Big G yelling out "Lynch M0b". These are all DC isms by the way folks. Go-Go+Neighborhood Reppin'+Distinct Colloquialisms=Washington, DC. They probably should have shown a "beat your feet" tutorial, it would have been way more interesting.

After hours of waiting, my number along with 50 other jurors numbers were called. We were all escorted to the courtroom. When we entered the courtroom we were given a questionnaire and a pencil. "Good Morning Ladies and Gentleman" the judge said. The replies were muddled with frustration. "Ladies and Gentleman", he said "We just signed Donovan McNabb, we are the greatest city in the world, and all of you are here today honoring your civic responsibility so let's try this again, GOOD MORNING LADIES AND GENTLEMAN." This time everyone replied a little more livelier with a few side conversations on their like or disdain for the Washington Redskins's signing of McNabb. Fourteen potential jurors sat in the juror box, while the rest of us sat in the seats in the audience section of the courtroom. Individually we were to approach the judge's bench with our answers to the questionnaire. The prosecution and defense attorneys along with the defendant would be present at the bench as we stated our answers. Out of the 40 of us present only 14 of us would be selected as jurors on this trial.

So that the conversations at the judge's bench aren't heard by everyone the judge puts on what is called "The Husher". "The Husher" is a sound of air that is controlled by the judge with a button behind his bench. I must admit "The Husher" fascinated me. You could hear the air but you couldn't feel it. I can't tell you how many times I just wanted to run up behind the judge's bench and press "The Husher" button.

After the long drawn out elimination process yours truly was selected as one of 14 jurors to listen this trial, take notes, and deliberate on the facts of this case and come to a unanimous verdict beyond a reasonable doubt.

The Trial: Criminal Case. United States vs. let's just call him Mr. Brown Eyes. There were three charges brought against Mr. Brown Eyes. Count I: Assault with intensive injury, Count II: Threat, Count III: Obstruction of Justice.

Here is the story:

Mr. Brown Eyes was having an affair with an Italian woman. The Italian woman is married with a child and lives in an apartment in close proximity to Mr. Brown Eyes. The neighbors of The Italian Woman, Mr. & Mrs. Alcoholic find out about the affair between Mr. Brown Eyes and The Italian Woman. One evening on the back stoop of the apartment building Mr. & Mrs. Alcoholic were drunk as skunks. Mrs. Alcoholic had fallen down in her drunken state and hurt herself. Hearing the commotion of Mr. & Mrs. Alcoholic, The Italian woman and her husband (let's call him Soft & Dry) came outside to see what was going on. The Italian woman saw Mrs. Alcoholic's state and suggested that Mr. Alcoholic call the ambulance immediately. Mr. Alcoholic in his drunken state was infuriated by this request and spit on The Italian woman. Mr. Alcoholic then told her husband, Soft & Dry, "your wife is a hoe and she's f-ing Mr. Brown Eyes". Soft & Dry did not react to the spitting or the accusation that his wife was having an affair. He just simply said "ssh everyone let's all just calm down". The Italian woman upset that she had just been spit on and outed to her husband about her affair decided to call Mr. Brown Eyes. She calls Mr. Brown Eyes and tells him that Mr. Alcoholic spit on her and told her husband about their affair. Enraged, Mr. Brown Eyes gets in his car, drives to their apartment, gets out of his car, walks up to Mr. Alcoholic and punches him in the face. Mr. Alcoholic falls to the ground and Mr. Brown Eyes stands over him and continues to punch him 2-3 more times. After he finishes he gets in his car and goes home. As a result of the punching Mr. Alcoholic had to have reconstructive surgery on his eye and pieces of fractured bone removed from his nostril.

The witnesses called by the prosecution were Soft & Dry, an ambulance EMT that had arrived to the scene prior to Mr. Brown Eye's arrival, the doctor who operated on Mr. Alcoholic, and the detective assigned to the case.

When Soft & Dry took the stand, he in his passive aggressive nature said he didn't see Mr. Brown Eyes punch Mr. Alcoholic, but did see him standing over Mr. Alcoholic while he was on the ground. Soft & Dry also said that after the events of that night occurred Mr. Brown Eyes called him and asked him to lie to the police about what he saw.

The ambulance EMT whom we will call Sinus Condition said she saw Mr. Brown Eyes, pull up, get out of his car, and yell, "M-f-er I told you to keep your mouth shut! I'm going to kill you!". Sinus Condition also testified that she saw Mr. Brown Eyes punch Mr. Alcoholic in his face.

The prosecution never called the complaining witness, Mr. Alcoholic.

The defense called only one witness, Mr. Brown Eyes. Mr. Brown Eyes admitted to being there for 5 minutes on the night of the crime. He says he didn't punch Mr. Alcoholic and never even came in close proximity to him. He was only there checking on his lover The Italian woman. He testified when he saw she was OK, he left.

After the closing arguments. The jury deliberated for almost 3 days. As I was discussing the case with my fellow jurors I began to question the validity in the American judicial system. We as Americans suffer from what is called the "God Complex". We feel that it is our responsibility to decide the fate of another person's life. Our "civic responsibility". We are not God. We did not give life, we should not tamper with another person's life, and we should not take any one's life away from them. I do believe if you commit a crime you should have to face the consequences however, I believe the verdict should be left solely up to the judge who has studied the law and fully understands it. Why is it that we are summoned to tear down civilians and not summoned to do community service projects to uplift civilians?

As I walked back out into the courtroom after days of deliberation. I looked at Mr. Brown Eyes. I looked out in the audience of the courtroom. There was an elderly woman watching and waiting. Was that his mother? His grandmother? As the foreman read the verdict Mr. Brown Eyes turned red, and his eyes were glazed over with tears full of fear and hurt. The woman in the audience wept and trembled.

At night all I hear is that woman's weeping. When I close my eyes all I see is Mr. Brown Eyes, whose eyes weren't so brown anymore.

And, this is my "civic responsibility"? Is this another burden added to my purse? What have I done?

Case Closed.