The Truth


Listen! Turn off everything and just listen!  What do you hear?

My silence speaks so loud that it embarrasses me. I can’t control the sudden outburst of silence. I can’t stand the belligerent rampages that silence insist on putting on.

Listen! Turn on everything and just listen! What do you hear?

My loudness is so boring. It has no life. I hear nothing but joy and happiness. The settling of loudness that enters my ears is too low. Why is loud so low? I can’t hear! Turn it up, please!

Listen! Just sit where you are and listen. What just happened to you?

The reality of my imagination just settled. I feel like I can do more but I always choose less. My mind is screaming for me to be brave but my mouth won’t open up.

Listen! Survey your surroundings! What did you observe?My goals have been conversing with me as I continuously ignore them. I have been a terrible pursuer. I sit and stare at my goals daily, failing to reach them, not realizing because my mirror reflects differently.

Listen! Just listen! How do you listen? What are you listening to? When do you listen?

Silence sickens me because it’s so loud. I have no choice however but to listen.

via The Truth.



The Elderly Workout Chronicles

The world has come to an end as I type. I can not erase the sound or image of a 65-year-old man lifting weights out of my brain. My grandma’s boyfriend decided to bring his workout routine to the yard of our building. Unfortunately, I live on the first floor and I can hear everything. I woke up to the sound of Morgan Freeman moaning profane words. What in the fudge cake brownies? I thought I could hear them going at it. I didn’t know what to do. I had left my window open and thought that they decided to take a walk on the wild side or at least in the yard. Maybe they were exercising together. NO! My grandma has not worked out since she stopped never working out. I peeked out my window and there he was. An old black man with a Jerry curl. What in the good gone hell was happening? Did we step back into the 1980’s?  He was lifting two fifty pound dumb bells while listening to what sounded like opera music. Well, I would have been grunting and moaning too. Maybe he was trying to find his inner tenor, LOL. It has literally been an hour later and he refuses to stop exercising. These sounds will be the existence of my disturbance.If that is what geriatric sex sounds like then I never want to get old. PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!

via Funny.

The Truth


A combustion of thoughts cloud my head. A faded memory of what was once the most memorable night of my life. I close my eyes and it’s instantly a kaleidoscope of colors. My thoughts now become void. I only wanted validation from him. A vacuous feeling swarms around me and finally reaches it’s destination, my heart. My body was once full of fervor for him but had now become destitute. I needed that feeling again. The fullness of life within me. I needed the combustion of fireworks. So vulnerable yet complex. An incredulous wall protected his heart. I was once the code to his secured heart. A one way connection to his collection of his writings that are on display for the world to see. I follow them waiting to become part of the collection.  I want to regain that feeling any way that I can. I want his touch. One day I will capture his heart and reclaim what I lost. I will capture his heart and hold it hostage for my soul.


You know that weird feeling in the pit of your stomach? The feeling that you have when you’ve done something wrong! “Why is the sky moving so fast”, paranoia feeling. Well, do you know that feeling? Further details provided below.

One day, I’m sitting in the house binge watching all three season’s of United States of Tara and the next minute I’m crying because I just wanted an anchor. I just wanted someone to hold me down.

There he was, standing at my front door, waiting to taste the rum and coke on my tongue. He grabbed me swiftly and kissed me passionately, I saw dogs peddling on scooters and Ellen Degeneres in a real dress. It was something like I had never imagined. He held the smalls of my back and caressed my neck as if he was ready to say “I Do”. I kissed him back so good that I felt him stumble. Or maybe he just lost his balance!

Then I got that feeling. The “Why is the Sahara Dessert so lonely and dry” feeling. The “Why are there no purple cats in the world” feeling, It was a feeling of complete paranoia. It was as if my gut had just fallen out of my mind. I was head over heels.

We stopped! Well, I stopped before he went to far and like a gentleman, he stopped and escorted himself out. I closed my door behind him and stood in the middle of my kitchen floor wondering why were red spots floating through the air. This weird thing that had suddenly taken over me, that made me feel zombie like, or vampire in love was actually love. I had the best face sucking contest with this MAN and he made me fall in love with his kiss.

I was stuck! Stuck in the middle of my floor! Stuck in love!


Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!

Once in a while you come across great music. I am a music lover and I listen to just about everything. I came across Marsha Ambrosius’ album “Friends and Lovers” by searching for new music through google. I decided to give the album a listen and to my surprise, not really, the album turned out to be epic. If you are looking for sex, love, and passion in a bag then refer to this album here. Ladies, if you are a complete mess in your personal and sex life then this album is for you. Give it a listen and learn that you’re not the only fuck up. Marsha

A Ride To Hell

When I was thirteen, I lived with my oldest sister. I think I lived with her because my mom was on break. Her other five children were adults and able to take care of themselves so I think she just pawned me off on my big sister.

My sister was in the house and her new boyfriend, Daniel, was somewhere on a crack binge. Is it a coincidence that most of Marie’s boyfriends were on drugs? My niece and I were bored and Marie was unwilling to take us out on an adventure.

I asked my niece if she wanted to go bike riding. She had no choice as I forced her to say yes. My niece had just gotten a new bike and I didn’t. I felt left out a lot because Marie and her boyfriend always left me the fuck out. Why didn’t I get a new bike?

Instead of having my own bike, I was left with Daniel’s old bike. Daniel had a 1987 twenty speed that sat 6 foot high. I had to hop three times just to get my ass on the seat. I also had to be near a pole so that I could use it to hold me up until I was ready to take off. My niece, Marie Jr. and I had walked our bikes to the nearest pole. She was so sweet.

She waited for me as I climbed on top of that contraption. We rode around the block twice. I knew that I couldn’t stop because there were no brakes and it would have been a disastrous sight. I told my niece to just follow me.

We rode about three blocks down and onto the campus of a nearby high school. I wanted to do some BMX shit but couldn’t because I was riding a damn human being. We rode in circles until I spotted a ramp. I decided that I would man that big fucker and do a trick down the ramp.

I signaled for my Marie Jr. to follow me and she did. The ramp was not really a ramp. It was more so a dock that had a slight ramp going down into some sort of basement.

I decided that Marie Jr. and I would go down the ramp and stop before we hit the big garage like door. We stopped at the top of the ramp and asked each other if we were ready. I asked Marie Jr. if she was scared. I also told her that she didn’t have to do it if she didn’t want to. She looked at me like I was a pussy. What a coincidence. What happened next is about my vagina.

We got into racing positions and sped off as I screamed “Go”. Marie Jr. was ahead of me by an inch and I was livid about that. This nine year old was not about to beat me at my own game. I peddled as hard as I could and it was working in my favor. I was winning.

Marie came to a sudden screech as she clutched the brake handles on her bike. I screamed “OH SHIT” as I did the same but realized that Daniel’s contraption did not have brakes. I screamed for Marie Jr. to help me but there was nothing that she could do. I tried to stop the bike with my feet but was scared that they would fall off.

I saw my life flash before my eyes as I smashed into the door, while the bike flipped in the air, with my leg still attached in the wheel.

As I slammed into the door, I broke my vagina as it cracked against the metal pole, in between the handle bars and the seat. Alicia Keys once said that “This girl is on fire”! That applied to me heavily as I felt like I had the worst case of syphilis.

My vagina was burning like a wildfire in California. The sensation was spreading fast. My foot was stuck in between the spokes of the bicycle wheel and I couldn’t get it out.

I was crying like DMX when he was on the couple’s therapy show. It was sporadic and demented. Marie Jr. was scared because she thought my life was over. I reached for her as if she had on a black and yellow suit that read “Firefighter”. I needed someone to put out the fire that was burning my front and back yard.

Marie Jr. threw her bike to the side as she ran over to try to release my foot from the hold of the wheel. It wasn’t working. My emotions were all over the place as I was enraged and hysterical at the same damn time. My man strength came out as I pulled the spokes apart and released my foot. I felt like it was broken, along with my Macy Gray.

The ground had a hold on me, as I could not move from it. I had an Amanda Bynes and Britney Spears moment as I attacked the bike with my imagination and with my words. “Stupid bitch, you broke my damn crotch. My fucking ankle is broken. Daniel stupid ass made me ride this big ass bike”, I screamed while snot was coming from my nose and who-ha.

Marie Jr. sat on the ground and rubbed my back. I felt sorry that she felt sorry for me. We had no cell phone because nine and thirteen year old kids didn’t need a damn cell phone. There was no payphone nearby and I thought about screaming for help. I felt like my uterus had taken its last breath. I could not feel a pulse down under.

Marie Jr. sat on the ground with me as I punched the pavement, almost breaking my brain. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.

I felt like I had just given birth to a baby giraffe. I didn’t have an animal epidural and there were no doctor’s nearby. I was losing my mind. Marie Jr. just continued to rub my back as I sat there in my own death, crying for my life back.

After thirty minutes of not being able to move, I sucked up the pain and stood to my feet. I should say my foot because I felt like a one-legged, no uterus, bi-polar white woman. I felt like Paul McCartney’s third wife. I was so pissed at that damn truck that I was riding. I wanted to leave it where it was but I wanted to show my sister the perpetrator who had attacked me. We walked home, with our bikes alongside us, glaring into the sun.

I limped and walked like an uncomfortable man was up my ass and in my J-Lo. Tears continued pouring down my face as I felt blood streaming down my leg. I looked down and saw my beat up vagina running in the opposite direction. I told Marie Jr. to just let it run because it would be better off without me. She had been severely beaten and I don’t blame her for running away.

Onlookers stared at me as I hopped down the street, cursing the man who made Cadillac bikes. I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even put it into words.

We made it back home and I kicked that big ass bike and left it on the sidewalk in front of the porch. My niece helped me upstairs after parking her bike in the gangway. It was extremely hard to walk up the stairs as my crotch felt like Donatella Versaci’s face, stiff .

My sister Marie was in the house stuffing her face as she was completing her homework. Marie Jr. called for her mom as she walked me into our room and helped me onto my bed. Marie came in and asked what happened. I didn’t want to re- live that horrendous moment so I asked Marie Jr. to inform her of my assault.

Marie laughed uncontrollably and I even think tears welded up in her eyes. She exited our room as she went to try and calm herself from the constant laughter. I was now more pissed off that she was laughing at my pain.

I began thinking about ways to seek revenge on Marie. I thought about manipulating her into riding that devil bike but I knew her big ass was not going to step foot near anything considered exercise. That pissed me off more.

I soon realized that it was too painful to think of ways to seek revenge and be angry at the same time. I had to lessen my pain and only choose one. I chose to be angry. My sister was of no help and I didn’t want Marie Jr. to have a nervous breakdown at an early age. I dismissed her from her Nurse duties and told her to let me be.

I thought about writing my Will because I just knew that my vagina would stop beating and I would die. I never wrote the Will because I had nothing to give just a lot to gain. I specifically wanted to gain the feeling in my peek-a-boo back.

I had no one to help me and I was dying. I decided to go to sleep and let the pain ware off. It took me five tries to go to sleep because I had to position myself in a way that was not effective to my lady part. I went to sleep for about five or six hours. I woke up in the middle of the night in more pain that I had starting out.

I called on Jesus because he was the only one who could help me. “Gracias Jesus Gracias Padre”, I prayed. I was in so much pain that I was speaking in tongue. I went back to sleep hoping to be in better shape the next day. I had to go through rehabilitation. I had to re-learn how to sit, pee, walk straight, do kegles, bounce and break my back, split and shower. It was a rough month of rehab but somehow I made it through. My road to recovery was not one that I wanted to remember.

Roscoe Made Me Do It

Dated: 6/22/12


I have missed a couple of days of journaling. To recap, about two weeks ago, I went out with my friend Sabrina to a club called Roscoe’s. We went to see the queens from RuPaul’s Drag Race. It started off slow and then the fun began. By the time the Queens had started performing their show, I was on drink number four. I had bought a pitcher of liquor and that was mistake number one.

I had two cups of whatever that was and then I ran out of liquor. I was sharing my pitcher with two other people. I had noticed that I was out of alcohol and so did my newfound white dancing partners. “You’re so fucking cute”, one girl said. “Thanks”, I replied as I screamed back at her. She then proceeded to pour Jesus Juice into my cup. I was now in love. I gargled that down and then my new gay white boyfriend turned to me, looked in my cup and filled me up. I felt like a happy gay man. I was now in double love.

Partying with white people is the way I desire to live life. By the end of the night, I had managed to have a full lip-lock with one of the drag queens, became heavily intoxicated, lost a shoe after conversing with strangers and totally embarrassed my friend. That was great.

The next morning I woke up with a terrible hangover. I was an hour late for my online job. I woke up to threatening messages from my online boss: “ARE YOU THERE? ANSWER ME! SAY SOMETHING!”  I responded, apologized and she told me my new assignment via yahoo messenger.

I was supposed to withdraw the $2,760 that I had deposited into my account, from the check she sent me, and Western Union it to a “THOT” named Chiquita Riley. I washed m y ass but felt like shit while doing so. I went to the garage, grabbed a bike and hauled ass to the currency exchange. I did not notice until three blocks down that the bike was on flat. I felt like regurgitating, I was sweating like Lindsay Lohan taking a breathalyzer and I felt like dying.

I went to three different stores trying to use an ATM machine but the limit was $200 on them all. I rode to a Walgreens nearby, where there was a Chase Bank ATM, which was who I had banked with. I bought a bottle of water immediately. Two girls were at the ATM and I could barely stand and had no patience. I took my parked bike, left the store, walked across the street and then stopped. I lay the bike on the ground, then my bag and flopped on the grass. I had taken a nap in the park on the campus of Chicago State University. I was officially homeless.

I dozed in and out of consciousness to make sure I was not raped. Two guys walked by and they probably thought that I was a real bum. I looked to the sky and shook my head. Even the big man upstairs was laughing at me. After a few odd minutes later, more so like thirty, I got up and rode home. I put the bike back into the garage and with what little strength I had left, made it to the front porch. I felt vomit coming up. I gagged but nothing came up. I lay on the railings of the porch for some time and soon after mustered up enough energy to open the front door.

I closed the door and ran straight to the toilet. I raised the top and there were speckles of piss but I was willing to take that risk. There my face was, leaned over in a toilet bowl but once again nothing came up. I proceeded to go upstairs to my room, also known as hell, and flopped onto my bed. The central air worked everywhere in the house except for my room. Of course we lived in an all Black community!

My online boss was messaging me about the transaction and I was near death. “Fuck this shit”, I said out loud. I ignored my online boss for the remainder of the day. She then sent me more messages, which came to my phone, accusing me of running off with the company’s money. Before I went to sleep, I ate some crackers to try to settle my stomach. My Mom and then “Stepdad” have no knowledge of this because they were both at work.

I recovered the next day. My online boss was furious. I apologized for my behavior and she forgave me. I told her I was skeptical about the job because I had not spoken with anyone else from the company or had any tax papers from them. She manipulated me and said that everything would be fine.

Later in that day, I went to the bank to withdraw the money and was held up by the tellers. I soon found out that the check was fraudulent. I took my phone out and contacted my online boss, via Yahoo Messenger. I told her what had happened and she vanished like one of Drew Peterson’s wives.

I had to close my bank account and I felt shitty. Oh well, I had been scammed before when I saw my ex’s penis.

I really have to take initiative to ask questions. Otherwise, I might become a consistent dumbass of scam. 

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