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.

Size 6 Please

I searched my pockets for the $55 dollars I knew was there. I broke out in a nervous sweat and gave a half smile to the cashier waiting for me to hand him the money for the biggest purchase of my 13 year old life, a pair of white K-Swiss.

This was a big deal. I was going to have a pair of name brand shoes and I was buying it with the extra money I earned from relinquishing my innocence to take care of my sister. Still searching, I had turned my pockets inside out. There was nothing there besides the residue of the tears that wouldn't flow from my eyes but seeped through my epidermis.

I was embarassed, confused, ashamed, and quite frankly, disppointed. How could I lose my $55. I purposely caught the bus to Northland instead of walking so I could keep a look at my monies folded into a symetrical bond. Lincoln held Hamilton as if they were brothers embracing after years separation.

Walking up to my yellow house I reached in my pocket again; the money was there all along. Somehow I just didn't feel it. Dashing back to Northland and with the change I was short I purchased my shoes and I rocked my size 6 K-Swiss.

In commeration of my first pair of shoes I taped $55 to a piece of paper. I kept the box, wrote precious memories on the outside, and I still have the box today. Inside that K-Swiss box are things I hope to never forget: an obituary from my brother's funeral, a copy of my orignal birth certificate, the first poem I wrote and a lot of other things that seem meaningless.

Last week I was cleaning my room and feeling the frustrations of not having the monies to apply for all the grad schools I so desperately needed to. I stumbled across my precious memories box. There, is an oddly folded piece of paper was $55, the exact amount of the application fee for Clark Atlanta University.

Sometimes your destiny starts to pave streets for you before you even learn to drive.

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...

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.

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