THE NICE GUY WHO FINISHED LAST WITH ME

“I’m too nice.  I’m going to start being an asshole.”

“An asshole?”

“Yep.  Asshole.  I’ve been too nice to women in the past and I get treated like a punk so now I’m going to start being an asshole.  I know it’s not fair to make one woman pay for what another woman did but I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

A real conversation with a real man in 2016.

Dear Asshole in Transition,

My honest recommendation is that you just charge it to the game and get over it.  However, you seem bent on revenge and punishment.  Please know that your form of vengeance is ideally suited for and would probably make you feel better personally if visited upon the particular, specific, exact same woman who took you down through there.  Other than having lady-parts and knowing you, she and I have nothing in common.  In regards to the offer for me to take your bitter shit instead of her: Thanks but no thanks.

Signed,

Woman who has dealt with all the assholes she’s gonna deal with, but you can call me Drea.

One thing I’m learning is that bitterness over failed relationships is not the exclusive domain of women.  Men feel it too, which is comforting for me.  Not because I want men to hurt but because it helps to remind me that men also can acutely feel the pain of a failed relationship.  It has made me more sympathetic to the stronger vessel.  As a woman, I’m inclined to feel that men bounce back quickly from these things.  I’m wrong.  Men get just as invested and are just as pained when that investment doesn’t yield the desired return.

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Though it’s thrown around insultingly (mostly at us women), bitterness is not, on its own, a bad thing.  It’s part of the human condition.  Bitterness is disappointment’s “plus one” invitee to the pity party.  It’s unavoidable and, for me, understandable if one had high hopes and put forth a sincere effort.  However, bitterness left to germinate, grow and further seed is problematic.  It hinders growth, hampers the learning process and hides the real truth of what the experience is meant to teach us about ourselves.  This poor guy is understandably bitter: taken advantage of, cheated on, unappreciated, lied to, abandoned.  I get it because it has happened to me too.  The old folks say bought sense is the best sense and he and I have purchased some pricey sense.  I’m not certain though if becoming an Asshole in Transition is the best use of this sense.

Obama Speaks At Tribal Nations Conference

The truth of the matter is: when I was in his position in my own unhappy relationships, I knew shit wasn’t right.  I didn’t acknowledge it but I knew it.  From my own experiences, I know what he did: he continued to invest in the hope that his efforts would change her outlook on him and the relationship.  Instead of having the courage to leave, he tried harder at a situation that simply wasn’t for him in the hope that she would appreciate the effort not realizing that she did appreciate the effort, she just wasn’t going to reciprocate.  Bad people like good people.  We’re easier for them to use.  So I’m sure she appreciated his goodness and used it to her fullest advantage.  At the end, he was left disappointed and bitter, blaming her and the rest of womankind … but not himself.  Then he meets a woman who understands his need to be cautious but on top of caution, he is going to completely change who he is and be the terrible person that he feels the other woman deserved him to be except he’s not going to be terrible to her, but to a totally different, completely undeserving woman – me, except I have an opinion on that … No.

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I am at a place of my own where I have admitted the mistakes of my past and I take responsibility for them.  It has not been easy to admit to myself that I willingly and consciously and foolishly invested in the wrong people for the wrong reasons.  I’ve stood accused and now I stand forgiven.  I forgive myself and I love myself.  I am not going to subject myself to mistreating myself again.  My pricey sense is being put to good use.  Assholes in Transition are not welcome here.  Dude, stop with the bitterness.  You’re supposed to taste it and spit it out.  Forgive yourself for your past foolishness sir and allow yourself to love and be loved by a woman worthy of your goodness.  I’ll be hoping but not waiting.  Take care.

-Drea

©2017TheBossyDivaDreaAndreaNeeley

No rights claimed to photographic material contained herein. ALL RIGHTS CLAIMED TO WRITTEN MATERIAL/CONTENT.

 

 

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The Parent with a Personal Life

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“Mommy, do you like that guy?”

“What?”

“That guy.  Do you like him?”

I turned as we walked toward the door to see “that guy.”  He was the guy that I had just paid for our groceries.  He was tall and dark-skinned.  He was very handsome.  He greeted me with a friendly smile and a warm “how are yall doing today.”  My reply was equally warm and friendly as I presented our groceries to be tallied, paid and left the store.  My son saw the exchange differently.

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“No baby.  I don’t like him like that.  He was doing his job and I think he is actually a nice man, which is why he does it so well but I don’t like him like a boyfriend.  Is that what you meant?”

“Yes.”

His gaze dropped to the ground for a second as we walked to our car and my heart went out to my only child.  My son.  There was something there in his voice.  Concern.  I’m not certain what prompted the question, if it was the eye-contact or the smiling or the polite conversation or the attention “that guy” and I paid one another as we were speaking.  Something transpired for my son that prompted his question.

Single parent problems: Your kids don’t want you to date and fear the day that someone takes you away from them.  My son was born to a single mother.  I’ve never been married and in his lifetime, I have had only two relationships that I allowed him to witness.  I’m all he has and I’m all he knows.  I get it.  We put the groceries into the back of the car and got in.

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“You know, even if I liked that guy, he could never mean more to me than you do.”

“I know.”

“Ok.  Anyone I bring into my life, I’m also bringing into your life.  I want you to know that I understand that.”

“Ok.”

“You can talk to me about anyone, even if you think I love them because I will not love them more than I love you, ok?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Nothing and no one will ever make me stop loving you.  Anyone I love will also love you.  Otherwise, I can’t deal with them.  They don’t get just me, they get US which makes them the real winner!”

We laughed.  The subject moved to dinner and we made it home.

“That guy?”  He was adorable.  Tall, smooth dark skin, gorgeous white teeth.  Earrings, tattoos, and a very interesting hair cut rounded out an appealing look indeed.  My son is very observant.

I checked him out.  He was too young for us. #wink

 

©2016TheBossyDivaDreaAndreaNeeley
All rights reserved in any/all written materials along with any/all photographic/visual materials bearing my and my son’s likeness. No rights claimed to remaining photographic/visual materials included. Thanks. You rock for respecting.

Single Girl Shit

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Loud music – $5.00 admission

Good drinks – $9.00 peach vodka cranberry

Delicious bar food – $10.00 wing plate

Cute guys everywhere – Priceless Beyotch!

“Girl, we’re getting too old for this.  We should do something different…start going to jazz clubs or something.”

Me.

sideeye

Not wanting to overreact, I gave it a bit more thought annd…

bewitched-sideye

“See, you’re not single.  I’m single and jazz clubs ain’t single girl shit.”

When I think jazz club, two types of guests come to mind: Couples having a nice date night and Girls’ Night Out groups.  I’ve done jazz clubs in the past…with a boyfriend.  It was not the scene for a single woman to meet a single man.  Add to that the fact that I’m not overly fond of jazz and…I just had to tell my girl to turn up her libation and let’s hit the floor to shake our asses.

Umm shut up and throw that thang in a circle.  Please.

You don’t go fishing in a bathtub; sure they both have water but duh, no fish.  So yeah, a jazz club got drinks and music but from my experience, it ain’t exactly a mecca for single dudes.  And this isn’t about shitting on jazz clubs and spas and the like so, please don’t.  I like a soothing relaxing spa day like the next person.  I mean, what’s not to love about terry cloth and mimosas?  Jazz clubs, sips and strokes, spa days and other GNO venues are wonderful for relaxing and communing with women friends but let’s be honest, they are terrible places to meet single men.  I know, I know the outing shouldn’t have meeting someone as the end goal, the end goal should be to have a good time but are we really going to pretend that we don’t want to meet anyone?

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No, no we’re not.

We’re fine being single but that doesn’t mean we want to be single forever, right ladies?

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So let’s compromise married friends: I will go with you to safe, tame, quiet venues that will preserve the sanctity of your marriage by getting you out of the house and away from the fam while not tempting you to leave them mf’s for some sexy single guy.  We’re gonna paint, listen to soothing music and lay around with cucumbers on our eyes.  Fun times.  However, understand that I won’t be doing this with you every weekend because I’m a single woman and I like doing Single Girl Shit.  Now, put on something tight and low cut and let’s go, heffa!

Love, Drea

©2016TheBossyDivaDreaAndreaNeeley
No rights claimed to any pictures posted. I wrote all this shit tho so don’t.

 

FLY & FAITHFUL

“I bet men look at you like a piece of meat when you walk into the room” and he didn’t seem happy in his observation either.  His comment completely caught me off guard but it gave me something to think about and now I’m wondering:  Does our perception of a person’s attractiveness color our perception of their ability to be faithful?  Do we assume that because a person is attractive and may have many options in terms of dating that they aren’t really suitable dating material?  I think that’s what this guy’s perception of me was and honestly, I have done this as well to very attractive men that I’ve come across.

Years ago, I knew a guy who said he didn’t want a girlfriend that was too sexy.  What’s bad about sexy?  Don’t laugh but he and I dated briefly because self-esteem is an elusive bitch that I didn’t grab onto until after that travesty.  Recently, I shied away from a man who was what I imagine what every man wants to be: tall, muscled, broad shouldered, square jawed and sexy. photo-5

And that’s a bad thing, why??  What does that say about my previous boyfriends?  I know, I know!  It’s crazy but I didn’t see his extreme attractiveness as necessarily a good thing.  In my mind, I could see women throwing themselves at him but why was that a problem?  Here is the painfully honest answer: Because some of those women would be more attractive than me.  The problem wasn’t his, it was mine and it’s called insecurity.  So what if a good looking woman hits on him?  Does that automatically mean that he will accept the offer?  So what, he is sexy and many other women might find him attractive; does that translate into him being incapable of loyalty and faithfulness??  I had to acknowledge that my insecurity was the actual issue and let go of my insecure ways.  Simply put, I checked myself. photo-1

Check yourself and grow up like I had to.  That sexy beast that can have almost anyone is interested in you!  There’s nothing to fear and there are good genes to be had if this thing goes in the right direction.  Don’t over-think the attractiveness issue.  This is a person just like you are a person.  You’re a hot piece of sass in your own right and you know how to be loyal so until they show you otherwise, trust that they can be loyal too.  To answer the comment in sentence one, paragraph one:  I have been looked at like that but I stay true to my commitments so it’s never a problem and never a threat to anything and anyone I value.  Fly and faithful is totally doable.

©2016TheBossyDivaDreaAndreaNeeley

A Sisterly Love Letter

Dear white women who date black men,

As a sister to the men you date, there are a few things you should know.

  1. You are not an expert on black people. I don’t care who you’re sleeping with, who you’re married to, who raised you or where, you don’t know the black experience.   You are NOT an expert.  Black people are so diverse and so intricate and the black experience so complex and storied that even we don’t know it all, thanks in no small part to the white people that have gone before us.  Sleeping with a black man, even loving a black man cannot give that to you as a white woman.  No shade, Truth.  Even if you’ve dated black men exclusively, you only know how those individual men work and any similarities between the men aren’t a nod to your expertise but is more about you and your particular type of black man.  Argue your expertise on black men if you must but under no circumstances will you ever be an expert on black women.
  1. Black women don’t need your advice on how to attract, love, and keep a black man. From our hair, to our dress, to our manner of speech, to our weight, you are chock full of advice that none of us are seeking.  Stop!  We have loved black men since Adam, hunnie.  We don’t resent you dating black men, we really don’t.  What’s resentful is you taking upon yourself the heavy mantle (sarcasm) of trying to help us improve ourselves with your assumption being that if we were somehow better then he wouldn’t have left.  That’s not how y’all ended up together.  Let me explain something to you.  If he likes you because you’re thin with straight hair then what distinguishes you from the next woman who is thin with straight hair?  See how he being with you has nothing to do with me?  Let’s hope he loves something unique about you as an individual that no other woman of any color possesses.  And by the way, I find your parti-streaked bobbed hair, artificially fat lips and padded ass a curious take on black womanhood so maybe you’re the one who needs the advice on how to make him happy.
  1. Your half black children aren’t black because black people want them; they are black because white people don’t. Your kids are cute but that’s kinda how kids roll.  Now be honest.  How many of your children’s black relatives have a problem with their whiteness?  Yeah, we’re cool like that.  Now be honest again.  How many of your children’s white relatives have a problem with their blackness.  Mmhmm…I knew that too.  The simple truth of the matter is your family has either struggled to accept them or doesn’t want them at all.  By and large, if it weren’t for black people, your kids wouldn’t have a people or an identity.  It takes a village and your babies aren’t as welcome in your village as they are in mine.  Bear that in mind the next time you look for a neighborhood to move them into.  The harsh reality of this life is that our babies, yours and mine are ALL niggers to those who hate people of color.
  1. Your guy or your series of guys chose you; all black men didn’t choose you. There is nothing for us to envy.  For the most part, we are no more envious of you than of any other woman who is dating a man.  You have dated a black man or even a series of black men but you have not dated every black man.
  1. Watch your mouth. Nigger, nigga, coon, and the like are unacceptable!  Why do I even have to tell you this in 2016?!  Ok, so maybe you’ve heard him and his talk like this but this is a line you shouldn’t want to cross.  Even if he suffers you to talk to him like that, understand that it does NOT carry over into polite society of which other black people are members.  If you have children with him, this is even more outrageous.  Why would you, with your black man loving self even want to speak that way of him or his people.  How is that love for him?

Dear white women who date black men: Get over yourself and we will get along fine.  No one is begrudging you a happy relationship with any man no matter his color.  Love your man and I’ll love mine and we’ll let color be one of those incidental, uncontrollable factors that doesn’t control us.

Why Andrew

If there are no coincidences, and I believe there aren’t, then even the seemingly unnecessary things have a purpose.  Instead of seeking signs and symbols, I now look for purposes and lessons.  I ask questions of myself and of my God.  My latest question is Why Andrew?

Andrew is so completely wrong for me that it seems completely random and totally unnecessary to have met him at all.  Totally different lifestyles, totally different outlooks, totally different values, totally different ways of dating and the whole time I am wondering what is this?  Why Andrew?  Why Andrew when there is very little common ground and the only thing that’s mutual is our unwillingness to give the other what he/she needs for this situation to be successful?  Why Andrew when we have completely different goals and expectations for a personal relationship?  I was talking to a good friend when the answer fell into my spirit.

In my limited understanding, I previously expected God to powerfully interject in order to correct or lead me with a powerful voice that is big, booming and unmistakable.  Over the years though I’ve learned that many times he talks to me in a small, quiet, insistent voice.  It’s this voice that I’ve overlooked because of its smallness or outright dismissed as insignificant because what it is saying makes no rational sense to me at the moment.  I’ve learned through my many trials and my numerous errors though that I should listen to that voice more … like whenever I hear it.

There are times when we aren’t sure of the right course of action so we make a decision, dive in and hope for the best.  If it works out, it was right decision and if it doesn’t, well, it wasn’t but going in we didn’t know; we have to do it to know.  Then there are times when we know something is wrong or, since wrong is relative, that it’s not right for us.  It is here that I received the answer to Why Andrew.

I’ve met Andrews in the past.  That person who is completely wrong for me: few common interests, no common goals, totally divergent paths and you know what I did?  I ignored all that.  Ignored it and got involved when everything was saying DO NOT GET INVOLVED including that small, quiet, insistent voice that said simply ‘no’ when I pondered to myself and ‘look’ when a new insurmountable deal-breaking difference showed itself.  No, look, stop, don’t.  That little voice used Simple words that I ignored and dismissed.  Why?  Because I was bored or lonely or horny (we grown) or arrogant and foolishly hopeful that I could change our differences by changing the Andrew of the moment or worse still, changing Andrea.  The reason for my ignorance varied with the situation but the result remained the same, failure.

So as I end, I will offer the answer that was given to me to Why Andrew.  It was a test.  A test to see if I would keep the word I gave when I promised to listen to that small voice.  A test to see if I would keep the word I gave when I promised no more compromising on the deal-breakers.  A test to see if I would keep the word I gave when I promised no more single woman fear.  A test to see if the boundaries I’d set would hold against an actual request to relent.  It’s easy to have boundaries when there is no one there to test them and Andrew was a test.  A test to see if I would keep the word I gave when I promised no more wasting valuable time on people and situations I know aren’t right for me.  It’s one thing to do something not knowing it is wrong.  Andrew was a test.  Will I say yes to what I know is wrong just to entertain the needs of the moment?  That’s what was being tested.  Strength, resolve and discipline being tested with the result being a more secure, happier, wiser me.  I heard that voice and I heeded its simple instructions.  A+.  Flying colors.  It was only a test.

©2016TheBossyDivaDreaAndreaNeeley

A New Social Media Challenge

Social media LOVES challenges.  Between the Pretty Face Challenge, the Bible Verse Challenge, the Love Your Spouse Challenge, the Gratitude Challenge, The So Gone Challenge and various other tough challenges, we have stretched the bounds of our limits, tapped into deep reserves of determination and time after time, we have SUCCESSFULLY risen to these challenges.  It is in the spirit of digging deep and finding resolve we didn’t know we have that I invite you to the…

The Stay in Your Damn Lane Challenge

WE CAN DO THIS.  The Stay in Your Damn Lane Challenge is to inspire you to mind your own business, to live and let live and to not come for anyone who hasn’t sent for you.  What follows are examples of every day ways you can just stay (the fuck) in your damn lane.

Stay in Your Damn Lane at Work!  You have a co-worker who isn’t much of a talker.  You never hear about their family, their love life, their hobbies or their friends.  You ask about their weekend and they say simply: “It was good.”  They are nicely telling you to stay in your lane.  Your desk is your lane.  Your office is your lane.  If your co-worker only talks to you about work, guess what?  That’s all the hell they want to talk about so stay in your damn lane!

Stay in Your Damn Lane at Church!  Satan loves church people and he always tempts us with the delights of someone else’s lane.  Don’t fall for it!  If you don’t like some shit that has absolutely NOTHING to do with you, pray about it if you must, but by all means, stay in your lane.  The Bible says enter ye at the straight gate … The Lord himself wants you in your lane!  OBEY DAMMIT!

Stay in Your Damn Lane at Home!  Even within the family there are lanes.  Here are the rules: If you married in, your lane is very small.  It’s a merge lane.  You were allowed in…grudgingly.  Keep your hands at 10 and 2, look straight ahead and stay the fuck in your lane.  Let your spouse handle his/her family himself.  Kids, don’t you leave your lane either. No is no, stop is stop and that mouth is a lane changer, close it.

Stay in Your Damn Lane on Social Media!  Lane breaches on social media are especially egregious.  Follow these simple rules:

  • If you think the post is about you, it probably is … or maybe it ISN’T, narcissistic bitch. Facebook has a billion users.  Get over yourself and don’t respond to shit that doesn’t have your name on it or at least a thinly veiled hashtag.  Get out your feelings and in your lane.  HOWEVER
  • AND for the badasses who are sending for people they barely know: It’s easy to be courageous when you’re bravely pounding your keyboard and mugging from your monitor.  Be careful who you send for.  When your fingers do the walking and your ass gets run over, you were out of your lane.  Gather up your deductible to fix your broke ass face.  Again, a BILLION users … someone is bound to be smarter than you.  Exercise extreme caution, your lane is clearly marked.
  • The inbox/DM is a lane … if you’re in mine, you’re out of yours.
  • Don’t like it?  Keep scrolling or if you MUST comment do so with the understanding that you’re out of your lane and that’s where shit happens.
  • One doesn’t have to ‘like’ everything you post to like you, support you or wish your ass well. Quit checking folks for not ‘liking’ and understand that they are likely busy minding shit in their lane.  They will shoot your needy ass a thumbs-up when they get time.  Stay in your lane and do your shit because YOU like it.

This is a real challenge but I believe in us.  On the highways, illegal lane changes will get you cited if you’re caught.  Being pulled over is embarrassing and, let’s face it, totally unnecessary if you were paying attention to your own situation.  The same is true on life’s pathways when you exit your lane without invitation or provocation.  To avoid the embarrassment of getting that ass stopped and cited, just STAY IN YOUR DAMN LANE.  Now, who is up for the challenge?

©2016TheBossyDivaDreaAndreaNeeley

Growing Pains

When I did my first The Bossy Diva vlog entry, that I was excited is an understatement.  I called that first official entry ‘Labor Pains’ and I had a maternal glow that fluoresced and beamed and brightened.  I was full of ideas, heavy with thoughts, great with hopes and I pushed.  My baby was born and our start was rough but I was proud.  I showed you and you were kind.  Thank you for that.  Something was missing though.  I couldn’t put my finger on what was lacking and it discouraged me.  I loved my baby but I couldn’t understand how to care for her properly in order to help her grow healthy and strong.  In worry and confusion, I eventually reclused with my baby but I kept feeding her which is to say I didn’t stop writing.  I would dress her but not take her anywhere and I stopped inviting visitors to my baby.  It wasn’t that I didn’t love her; I never stopped loving her, never.  I stopped behaving like a proud parent because I wasn’t sure if I was a good parent. I simply lacked confidence in my ability to properly parent and guide this baby.

Recently, there have been questions about my baby.  Not many but a few.  One, more accurately, was a pointed accusation of neglect.  From seemingly nowhere, I received a phone call and the caller’s hesitance to speak what was on her heart made me know her sincerity.  She told me a few things about myself and my dear baby.  One: that I am in hiding with my baby.  Two: that my baby isn’t self-made but God given and I have no right to hide her and no reason to doubt that she belongs to me and me alone.  Three: that I can have exactly what I want from myself and my baby if only I pick the baby up and believe in my ability to parent.  A painful and frightening truth delivered in a most loving fashion is what it amounted to and it was just what I needed.

So call it a comeback because that’s exactly what it is.  I’m coming back with my baby.  A baby that I never stopped being proud of but that I am still not absolutely certain how to parent.  A baby that will grow as I grow and will change as I change.  A baby that will crawl, stand, fall, get up, toddle, fall a few more times and finally walk on its own.  A baby that I will spend the remainder of my life loving and nurturing as she grows and becomes what she was always meant to be.  We will call this Growing Pains as The Bossy Diva Comes Back.

©2016TheBossyDivaDrea

Ten Years Ago

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Ten Years Ago

Ten Years Ago I had a dream.  My dream involved building a career and starting a practice and writing a book and running more consistently.  My dream involved accepting my singleness and my childlessness and happily embracing both.  My dreams made me feel focused and in control, I had a plan and I was planning to stick to it.  Ten Years Ago, I hit the ground running chasing this dream.  At that time, Ten Years Ago, my dream didn’t include you.  Then came you Ten Years Ago and I don’t lie to you, my first thoughts went to my dreams and my fears over not realizing my dreams and my fears of what others would think of me.  Then came you Ten Years Ago and those I needed most left my side and those who replaced them at my side couldn’t walk the full measure of my journey with me.  Then came you Ten Years Ago and it was just you and me.

It is said that God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers and Ten Years Ago a battle ensued that I had not anticipated.  I went into that battle scared, a lone soldier on a strange and vast battlefield, wielding a sword that felt too heavy, fighting a fight that felt too fierce but shielding a life more precious than my own, so I fought.  So I fought!  More than a little scared, more than a little embarrassed, more than a little insecure, more than a little uncertain, more than a little hurt, more than a little angry, more than a little broken.  Ten Years Ago, You were the turning point in that battle.  At that turning point, Ten Years Ago, I became more than a little determined, more than a little defiant, more than a little daring, more than a little different, more than a little resolute.  You made me More than I had ever been in my life and for you my sweetheart, I fought like I’ve never fought before.  Flint-faced until my eyes meet yours, I fight like I never have before because Ten Years Ago.

Ten Years Ago, I brought you home to a home that wasn’t ours; I told you it wasn’t ours and guess what you did?  You smiled at me.  Ten Years Ago, I drove you around in an 11 year old car and guess what you did?  You cooed and played happily in the back seat.  You accepted me and my shortcomings and my faults and my disappointments and my failures and all the things that made me feel unworthy of you.  Ten Years Ago, a grown girl became a grown woman.  Ten Years Ago, not knowing if I could, I did.

Ten years later, because you pushed me, I push myself.  You inspire me in ways you won’t understand until you’re writing a tribute to a much beloved child.  Ten years later, I still dream dreams but not of myself and not for myself.  I dream of us.  Ten years later my dream is global, my contribution to the world is you and I hope to make the world worthy.  Ten years later, I worry more but I pray more.  Ten years later, I’m still scared but I don’t yield to fear.  Ten years later, when insecurity, uncertainty, hurt, anger and brokenness try to hold me, they cannot because you’ve grown me and I am too big to be bound.  Ten years later, the battlefield is still vast but I stand on it battle-scarred and beautiful with the glow of love illuminating me, my sword lifted with strength from your dependence on me and emboldened to attack the impossible by your trust in me.  Ten Years Ago an evolution began and daily I change and daily I grow and daily I love you more and more all because Ten Years Ago I became your mother.  For these Ten Years and for the decades to come, I thank you.  I love you son. Immeasurably.  Happy 10th Birthday.

QUILL SPILL: AN IMPASSIONED PLEA

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See it Live

The size of my thighs doesn’t mean I’m not wise.

Nor does it mean that I have to settle for you.

I’m desperate and I’m dumb?

I’ll hurry up and give you some?

No dear, that simply is not true.

I’m a woman like any other.

I need a man, not just a lover.

Court me and show me your respect.

My roundness shouldn’t dictate the effort that you make,

And the bare minimum is all you want to do.

Entertain me just at night,

And at my house, brotha, that’s not right.

Easy come, easy go. Is that really all I mean to you?

Civilization sprang from these hips!

Woman’s first words came from these lips

And YOU, God’s own humanity, was first beheld by these eyes.

I’m not just here for your pleasure, I’m a divine gift,

Baby, I’m your treasure.

So if you still cannot appreciate

My size, my length, my width, my weight,

My bounce, my jiggle, my shimmy, my shake,

My head, my heart, my full, my round…

If my smile, my beauty, the impression I make,

If I’m all give and you’re all take,

If my heart is but only for you to break…

Then

Feel what you will and move on past.

What you opt for will not last.

But I’ll be plain, so you will see

You will not make a fool of me.

aneeley©20081214