The window was open in the ballroom. Tickling the necks of onlookers, the breeze pushed her hair off her face.
As Prince Charming danced with his suitor, all of a sudden, the room stopped.
Unlocking the phony bond made between stranger’s hands, he let go of his suitor, and approaches his destiny.
“Dance with me,” he whispers in her ear.
They float. Snares and base drums were no match for the intensity their hearts. They dance.
“Kiss me?” he asked, “Midnight,” she replied.
When the song ended, he asked her name, “Cinderella,” she answered in a soft, yet matured, sound. “Cinderella, hunh? Sounds like we belong together.”
She giggled, and they talked for hours. Glancing down at her feet he saw clear slippers. Reminded of a story he heard his whole life, he asked, “Are you really thee Cinderella?”
Hope filled his eyes while he waited for her reply. “I…” she says, “Stop.” he interrupts her. He already knew, he had dreamed about this moment.
Running over to his father he expressed his joy. “Father, I know it is her, please tell me, am I right?”
“Yes.” answers the King, “But you have to make it through the end of the night.”
At the top of the steps entered another. Housing the grace of a horse past its prime, Prince Charming saw something different.
11:55. He wanted to get to know her. They talked.
11:56, 11:57, 11:58, 11:59.
Cinderella sat, looked on, still content. Another called her by her name, “Cinderella, kiss me.”
Midnight.
Hearing the loud interruption. The prince made haste to his feet. Dashing back to the place her left her, frantic, screaming for her. “Cinderella! Cinderella! I came back.”
Shocked, looking on in dismay, with another, Cinderella faded away.
Walking over to his son, the King asked, “How does it feel to know you had Cinderella, but could not wait until the end of the ball?”
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
I am...
Little girl is what they'll call you. But it is a woman who will respond.
Who gave a man a right to force a little girl to grow up? Remember, puberty won't let you keep believing in fairy tales, and once you realize that the boogie man is a man too, you're more afraid of the man than the boogie.
Sexual abuse involves two people whose lives will never be the same. The victim will always wonder what they did wrong. Was I too pretty? Did I smile too much? Should I have been like my sisters? He didn't do it to them.
What do you tell her, or him, to make them see past a momentary physical pain that torments, stalks and weighs on your heart, emotions and self-worth for what seems like forever.
You tell them to forgive.
What do you tell him, or her, who found themselves so weak, they they needed power of a child's body to validate their lack of self-worth. Searching for what they feel entitled to, they take control. In that ephemeral moment, they is no conscience, only desire followed by demise.
What do you tell him when he looks to another to find love and finds out that she felt the victimization of his lowest moment.
You tell him to forgive.
People who have forgiven themselves for their mistakes do not carry the burdens of what they've done. They are testaments that you can change your life.
You are not sexually abused, you were sexually abused. Then you were a victim today you are a victor.
And you are not a sexual abuser. That suggests that is all you are, and ever will be. Remind yourself of who you really are, outside of a moment when you were weak.
My attempt is not to take up for anyone who has sexually abused someone. I know that its pains are many. I am hoping that we will stop labeling people as they worst thing they have done
Who gave a man a right to force a little girl to grow up? Remember, puberty won't let you keep believing in fairy tales, and once you realize that the boogie man is a man too, you're more afraid of the man than the boogie.
Sexual abuse involves two people whose lives will never be the same. The victim will always wonder what they did wrong. Was I too pretty? Did I smile too much? Should I have been like my sisters? He didn't do it to them.
What do you tell her, or him, to make them see past a momentary physical pain that torments, stalks and weighs on your heart, emotions and self-worth for what seems like forever.
You tell them to forgive.
What do you tell him, or her, who found themselves so weak, they they needed power of a child's body to validate their lack of self-worth. Searching for what they feel entitled to, they take control. In that ephemeral moment, they is no conscience, only desire followed by demise.
What do you tell him when he looks to another to find love and finds out that she felt the victimization of his lowest moment.
You tell him to forgive.
People who have forgiven themselves for their mistakes do not carry the burdens of what they've done. They are testaments that you can change your life.
You are not sexually abused, you were sexually abused. Then you were a victim today you are a victor.
And you are not a sexual abuser. That suggests that is all you are, and ever will be. Remind yourself of who you really are, outside of a moment when you were weak.
My attempt is not to take up for anyone who has sexually abused someone. I know that its pains are many. I am hoping that we will stop labeling people as they worst thing they have done
Monday, February 14, 2011
Who's That Girl
As women we constantly live in awe of each other. We compliment each other’s hair, outfits and the mole that sits above that woman’s lip. While we live in awe, we simultaneously live in fear, afraid that one day the mole that God strategically placed just above the curve of her lip will cause for him to notice her and not me.
Older women build misconceptions against young women that their shapes seduce the men that remain. If he says to her, I love your ambition, she snaps, feeling at 22 she had ambitions and drive too. She only has fragments to carry on her sleeve because while he chases and swears he doesn’t like a woman who wears weave she sits stationery with her fro going unnoticed.
While young women strut the shape of youth devoid of the pounds and wrinkles that stress will leave they drag the scars and pigments changes of skin and slowed beats of hearts that disappointment leaves.
When he says to her, I think you are beautiful, she assumes it is because of thin waist perked up a chest and a round behind. Looking down at her gallon figure she wonders if she will ever have that feeling, if she never changes.
Feeling beautiful is a constant race to emulate an outfit, hairstyle and persona we saw on someone else. Young women constantly chase the feeling that a second glance by a man and envy from another woman leaves. Yet we live as if they day never comes when that beauty fades.
We search for love believing we have to please him so we can love us. But if we really loved ourselves it would broadcast the deeply encrypted message of inner beauty.
While I used to thrive off someone telling me they loved my smile, I have learned to dash to the mirror to embrace a light toned woman who stares deep into my eyes and in cadence with my needs says to me, you are beautiful.
Older women build misconceptions against young women that their shapes seduce the men that remain. If he says to her, I love your ambition, she snaps, feeling at 22 she had ambitions and drive too. She only has fragments to carry on her sleeve because while he chases and swears he doesn’t like a woman who wears weave she sits stationery with her fro going unnoticed.
While young women strut the shape of youth devoid of the pounds and wrinkles that stress will leave they drag the scars and pigments changes of skin and slowed beats of hearts that disappointment leaves.
When he says to her, I think you are beautiful, she assumes it is because of thin waist perked up a chest and a round behind. Looking down at her gallon figure she wonders if she will ever have that feeling, if she never changes.
Feeling beautiful is a constant race to emulate an outfit, hairstyle and persona we saw on someone else. Young women constantly chase the feeling that a second glance by a man and envy from another woman leaves. Yet we live as if they day never comes when that beauty fades.
We search for love believing we have to please him so we can love us. But if we really loved ourselves it would broadcast the deeply encrypted message of inner beauty.
While I used to thrive off someone telling me they loved my smile, I have learned to dash to the mirror to embrace a light toned woman who stares deep into my eyes and in cadence with my needs says to me, you are beautiful.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Can I add a large fry?
You started with a donut for breakfast and from there it was a binge of greasy and fatty foods that pleased your taste buds, and disappointed your shape.
Two years after college the thickness turns to fat. Filling out jeans with big bones was no longer an excuse, but you only harmed yourself.
When the doctor checked your blood sugar levels you got new family members, diabetes and it’s first cousin high blood pressure, it’s sister obesity which gives you bad knees, and summons you to the couch because only the fridge is worth walking to.
But you only harmed yourself, right? Wrong.
How are diseases introduced into families?
It only takes one to force every person in their lineage to utter, "Yes, high blood pressure and diabetes run in my family." They won't add that accolade to your contributions in the family's history, but everyone will thank you as they try to avoid the plus size section.
My grandmother is approaching 87 years, and she doesn't make green beans without ham hocks and fried is always the first option. We should stop using the excuse that our grandparents turned out fine, they didn't grow up eating Happy Meals.
Happy meals in the south were home cooked, not processed.
Don’t be the one to start the downward cycle of obesity related issues in your family. And if it’s already there, stop the cycle.
Save your family’s life. Eat better, exercise and live longer.
Two years after college the thickness turns to fat. Filling out jeans with big bones was no longer an excuse, but you only harmed yourself.
When the doctor checked your blood sugar levels you got new family members, diabetes and it’s first cousin high blood pressure, it’s sister obesity which gives you bad knees, and summons you to the couch because only the fridge is worth walking to.
But you only harmed yourself, right? Wrong.
How are diseases introduced into families?
It only takes one to force every person in their lineage to utter, "Yes, high blood pressure and diabetes run in my family." They won't add that accolade to your contributions in the family's history, but everyone will thank you as they try to avoid the plus size section.
My grandmother is approaching 87 years, and she doesn't make green beans without ham hocks and fried is always the first option. We should stop using the excuse that our grandparents turned out fine, they didn't grow up eating Happy Meals.
Happy meals in the south were home cooked, not processed.
Don’t be the one to start the downward cycle of obesity related issues in your family. And if it’s already there, stop the cycle.
Save your family’s life. Eat better, exercise and live longer.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Dear Lady At the Movies
Dear Lady At the Movies,
It was tough to enjoy Little Fockers because of your disgust with fictional characters. I understand that in your mid-40's you may have experienced some things I never have, nor will. But your anger perpetuated further than that scene.
"Bitter Black woman" was traced around the half smile you tried to give as you walked away. "I only know my worth when a man tells it to me" was plastered and rooted in the blemishes on your skin like it was necessary, like it was lotion.
I wondered if you ever matched your current persona to your past hurts. I get it, he never called you back. You raised three children alone and they learned everything they know from you.
Your daughter only smiles after validation from young thugs with sagging pants. Her idea of romance is attention. She'd call a man her soul mate and when he wanted to leave, she'll chase him, trying to keep her soul.
And your sons, well, you raised them. So they treat women like you allowed men to treat you. Only touting their worth after physical match ups that left you satisfied. They introduce themselves as "Uncle." They'd know there is no need to stay because every time they come back, you let them back in.
And none of them would ever really enjoy a movie. Because your son's would never take a woman and if your daughter really wanted to, she'd go my herself.
With real love,
The girl who sat in front of you...
It was tough to enjoy Little Fockers because of your disgust with fictional characters. I understand that in your mid-40's you may have experienced some things I never have, nor will. But your anger perpetuated further than that scene.
"Bitter Black woman" was traced around the half smile you tried to give as you walked away. "I only know my worth when a man tells it to me" was plastered and rooted in the blemishes on your skin like it was necessary, like it was lotion.
I wondered if you ever matched your current persona to your past hurts. I get it, he never called you back. You raised three children alone and they learned everything they know from you.
Your daughter only smiles after validation from young thugs with sagging pants. Her idea of romance is attention. She'd call a man her soul mate and when he wanted to leave, she'll chase him, trying to keep her soul.
And your sons, well, you raised them. So they treat women like you allowed men to treat you. Only touting their worth after physical match ups that left you satisfied. They introduce themselves as "Uncle." They'd know there is no need to stay because every time they come back, you let them back in.
And none of them would ever really enjoy a movie. Because your son's would never take a woman and if your daughter really wanted to, she'd go my herself.
With real love,
The girl who sat in front of you...
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Small steps
I stared into the lifeless knobs on the cupboard in my Grandmother’s living room. I knew it was bigger, tougher and stronger than me. But I was young; I was 12, and it had been mocking me ever since I was eight years old. I was anticipating the day when everyone else would be gone and I would be able to climb atop the cupboard and retrieve my pride.
Years ago, as some type of punishment, I lost something. I never knew where it was and didn’t even understand I lost it. But one day I looked at the cupboard in an awkward stare off, that I was of course losing, and I noticed something of mine it had. I was too weak, frail and small to get what was rightfully mine off its weathered chestnut finishing plate on the top. So for years I walked past the cupboard pretending I didn’t see my stuff atop it’s head but always plotting on the day I’d get back what was mine.
Moving day came.
Everything was gone, moved out of the house, except for the cupboard and me. I could hear those knobs turning,its screech across the floor as its golden knobs scraped the hard wood floors I had just mopped. Without introduction, I let loose on the cupboard. “You took something of mine, and I want it back,” I said. Opening its top door, made of glass, I could see right through him. It gave an expression that I interpreted as a lure. “If you ever want it, you will have to take it back,” it personified.
I did.
I crushed it and regained my innocence.
Years ago, as some type of punishment, I lost something. I never knew where it was and didn’t even understand I lost it. But one day I looked at the cupboard in an awkward stare off, that I was of course losing, and I noticed something of mine it had. I was too weak, frail and small to get what was rightfully mine off its weathered chestnut finishing plate on the top. So for years I walked past the cupboard pretending I didn’t see my stuff atop it’s head but always plotting on the day I’d get back what was mine.
Moving day came.
Everything was gone, moved out of the house, except for the cupboard and me. I could hear those knobs turning,its screech across the floor as its golden knobs scraped the hard wood floors I had just mopped. Without introduction, I let loose on the cupboard. “You took something of mine, and I want it back,” I said. Opening its top door, made of glass, I could see right through him. It gave an expression that I interpreted as a lure. “If you ever want it, you will have to take it back,” it personified.
I did.
I crushed it and regained my innocence.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Beautiful Girl
Sometimes I write poems. When you find your muse in life it makes writing much easier. So, here is something my muse inspired.
I told her she was beautiful
she believed me
hiked up her D's into doubles
added strut to her walk
made haste to the corner
She told me I was beautiful.
He asked her the price
she responded...
misery
strife
Sold her self cheap
Like buying Tiffany's from Tiffani with an "I"
Like buying the matrix from simply looking to the sky
See sometimes we buy things that are free
She thought buying stilettos meant buying confidence
She forgot I told her she was beautiful.
She will be beautiful
She strutted that sh**
don't let the money make you
not red bottoms but pink
because it is the foundation of her feet
Like Santa Claus is the color of believing,
sunsets are the color of deceiving.
So she kept strutting to a room
reached her yellow hand to the gold door knob
turned
no admittance
upset and blue
Let me in,remember I know you.
I gave you green
poured into your pocket's soul
Remember we sat by coral reefs
Fusioned furious imaginations of your long gone but not lost brother
We painted the town together
No, she replied
I left you,
lost you,
on purpose.
See you forgot what you looked like
Thought beauty was in your innocence
But it was only a part of the way that was paved by reconciling the past
Merging your dreams with your panics and screams
Saying you were beautiful was meant for your future not today
Come back when you're all grown up and beautiful
Like you were yesterday
I told her she was beautiful
she believed me
hiked up her D's into doubles
added strut to her walk
made haste to the corner
She told me I was beautiful.
He asked her the price
she responded...
misery
strife
Sold her self cheap
Like buying Tiffany's from Tiffani with an "I"
Like buying the matrix from simply looking to the sky
See sometimes we buy things that are free
She thought buying stilettos meant buying confidence
She forgot I told her she was beautiful.
She will be beautiful
She strutted that sh**
don't let the money make you
not red bottoms but pink
because it is the foundation of her feet
Like Santa Claus is the color of believing,
sunsets are the color of deceiving.
So she kept strutting to a room
reached her yellow hand to the gold door knob
turned
no admittance
upset and blue
Let me in,remember I know you.
I gave you green
poured into your pocket's soul
Remember we sat by coral reefs
Fusioned furious imaginations of your long gone but not lost brother
We painted the town together
No, she replied
I left you,
lost you,
on purpose.
See you forgot what you looked like
Thought beauty was in your innocence
But it was only a part of the way that was paved by reconciling the past
Merging your dreams with your panics and screams
Saying you were beautiful was meant for your future not today
Come back when you're all grown up and beautiful
Like you were yesterday
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
You always need a foundation...
As I walked on a tour of London, we traced the steps of early suffragist Emily Pankhurst. Many of the buildings in which she had lived, fought and used the resources to make gains for women, are gone.
They have been remodeled, torn down, burned down and abandoned. This really stuck out to me.
No matter how badly a building can be burned, remolded or have whatever happened to them they are still the places where change happened.
Those places where Emily and her sisters walked and worked can always be built upon but the progress the original structures made will always be there. While the Pankhurst sisters were creating change in their environment in that time nothing else could be built there until they left.
When you create change, it will forever be created.
It reminds me of the Civil Rights movement.
No matter how many houses and places where Dr. King lived are abandoned they will always be the place that facilitated change for him, and me.
Revolution starts in some place. That place could be in someone's basement, mind, a coffee shop; all that matters is that it started and they can never be taken away.
As we walked through South London I wondered if those individuals knew where they were, the heart of the Women's Movement.
Their steps were only taken there because of what someone else did.
I want to make memorable steps.
They have been remodeled, torn down, burned down and abandoned. This really stuck out to me.
No matter how badly a building can be burned, remolded or have whatever happened to them they are still the places where change happened.
Those places where Emily and her sisters walked and worked can always be built upon but the progress the original structures made will always be there. While the Pankhurst sisters were creating change in their environment in that time nothing else could be built there until they left.
When you create change, it will forever be created.
It reminds me of the Civil Rights movement.
No matter how many houses and places where Dr. King lived are abandoned they will always be the place that facilitated change for him, and me.
Revolution starts in some place. That place could be in someone's basement, mind, a coffee shop; all that matters is that it started and they can never be taken away.
As we walked through South London I wondered if those individuals knew where they were, the heart of the Women's Movement.
Their steps were only taken there because of what someone else did.
I want to make memorable steps.
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