Magnolias Pt. 1

I originally wrote this in 2009.

I believe that it's appropriate to post now because of something I saw posted about me on Twitter.

I am bitter, becoming more and more callous, more and more masculine, while attempting to hold to on to my femininity. I’ve have become sir instead of ma’am because I look like my daddy and don’t possess a feminine voice. Deep inside, I wish that I was beautiful, but being who I am, it’s not possible, and the fact that possess a deep voice and my daddy’s face doesn’t help much. I want to dress like a girl, but I can’t afford it. Hell, have you seen the price of jeans in Lane Bryant? And to listen to other females say, well can’t you shop somewhere else?

No, the clothes don’t fit. Would you rather my behind be out too?

Well you could at least stop buying boy clothes, that’s why they think you are a man.

Well, boy clothes are cheaper, and what do you want me to wear a muumuu? Really? fuel the fire?

And contrary to those who are thinking well maybe you should just push yourself away from the table, believe it or not I’ve starved myself, tried sports, and darn near killed myself with the every pill imaginable, even though evidence before you looks to the contrary.

Up until I was twenty, I prayed every night that I would fit in, that I wouldn’t be this big, praying that the Lord would hear my cries and take pity on me, because I didn’t know what else to do.
Walking around, praying that nobody noticed the moving house that was traveling around to the places that they were. Even though both prayers were impossible, I continued them.

Lord, please, if you love one ounce of me, please let me be able to walk past people without them staring or hearing them go 'Damn, what they hell has she been eating, other people?'
And Lord, please, I don’t know what else to do, can you please just take some of this off me?

When that didn’t work, I resorted to trying to drown myself, and when that didn’t work, the day before my college graduation at 22, I sat with my stepfather’s pistol and contemplated suicide, almost pulled the trigger, but because we lived in a hotel, the housekeeper saved my life, and to this day, she still doesn’t know it.

I figured death was a simple alternative to the obvious stares and whispers and gawking.

Hell my life was tough enough without people judging me every second of the day.

Now, today, see I fancy myself like a magnolia—the seed that produces the flower that blooms isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve ever saw, in fact, it’s quite hideous. But what comes out of it is pure and represents the beauty of God—even though the shell is that great, but still it grows into a beautiful flower even though what it comes from doesn’t look like much.

Naw, I am not over all my hang ups, but darnit, since I can’t change anything, I will have fun with it.

When people call me sir, I won’t correct them, instead, I’ll sashay away from them and let them form their own thoughts,

When people point and whisper, I will hold my head high, and hope that they can see me walking, instead of trying to hide.

Who was I kidding tiptoeing around areas and trying to hide like no one would notice me? And since I am hard to miss, I’ll go out of my way and make sure people notice me so that they can bask in my glow, or when I recognize them from previous gawking encounters, stare and them and help them to understand how uncomfortable they made me, and them maybe, we can stop the discrimination of people’s lives….hell do you think I jumped up and decided one day that I wanted to be as big as I am?

Magnolias, Pt. 2

Magnolias Part 2
For Tia, Jovon, Stephanie, Tomika, Jihan, and Shantal

We stood and watched, as our family’s hopes and dreams rested heavily on our shoulders,

We bared burdens so great that even we didn’t fathom the affect it would have on us

We had to go to college.

See for some of y’all, this isn’t anything great—it’s something you do after high school, no need to worry about your future, because somehow it’s going to all work out

While we struggled and worked two and three jobs just to feed ourselves, waking up early, going to sleep late at night—really no time to study, but somehow through the grace of God, making decent enough grades—not the grades we are capable of, but they ones that show that we are actually smarter than most, because we are making these grades off of pure talent, because like I said we don’t have time to study

We began to wonder why on earth did he choose us?

We watched and listened as rich kids complained about the quality of education that they were receiving or how their mom and dad didn’t get them the car they wanted

Meanwhile, me and my crew were struggling for gas, just so that we could make it to class—we couldn’t afford to live on campus, and couldn’t afford to life off campus, and homelessness wasn’t an option, so we moved into apartments we couldn’t afford, because we have to have a place to lay our heads right?

Some days we entered class so tired, we could barely hold our heads up, yet we managed to participate in lecture—even though our stomachs were growling from hunger.

Struggling for food was an understatement. For some of us, there were times that we couldn’t even afford a pack of Ramen noodles because that bill, that has to be paid, is due

For others of us, familial obligations often interfered with what we were trying to accomplish—for some family included the ones they’d birthed, for others it was the family they were born into

For the rest of us, some combination…funny, some of the same people who we thought we encouraging us, secretly hoped we’d fail, so when we called out for help, the ignored our call and left us hanging, only to find that they would soon need us more than we needed them

Our destinies were chosen for us—we had to be better than those who came before us, because future generations depended on us to break the curses that lied on each of our individual families, even though they’d fed us to the wolves with no tools, we had to come up with something, from nothing

Hope. One simple world that launched each of us into cataclysmic shock—reaching for what was just out of reach for the others that came before us

Reality. Hope leads to faith. But faith without works is dead, and we damn near killed ourselves for your and our dreams.

Questioning Destiny-Yet Again

How often do we stop and think about how a simple action can change our lives? I was reading a book, and it reminded me, once again, how something microscopic can result in a change so large that we can't discover it's origins.

It's one of the most humbling thoughts I've ever had...

Every time I think of destiny, I'm reminded of this image--Dropping a rock in a pond.

Destiny is of our own choosing. The complex thing is, for Christians, we have to live and recognize that even though we have destiny, God's will overrides our destiny.

Confused? How do you think I feel?

What if there is a question that goes unasked that could change the world?

What if there is an action that is not followed?

Am I a defeatist? I'm just examining my mind.

There are times when I am completely aware that my choice of action (there is no such thing as non action, because if you chose not to act, you are actively not acting) will affect the rest of my life, but what of those times that seem so minor to us?

That is all for now,

Peace and Blessings
Bumble

Old Poem

I wrote this for a class, Advanced poetry. I learned that I wasn't as talented as I thought I was, because it was extremely difficult for me to retain form. I suspect it's because I either am a rebel or I suck.

But here it is:

Arctic Queen

Cold as ice—frozen for eternity—caught in a land of despair,
I am lost in emotion, senseless, a deadened quaking occurs—
I’m shattered like glass. Weighted with jaded memories of you
bound to you — my soul tied to you by a rope of ceaseless love.

Where am I? How did I get here? How much time has passed?
Icicles hang where my heart used to be. It pumps ice fire.
Someone take a torch to my heart and sear it like steak.
Set a blaze inside my veins, pump, and clog my core. Make

Sure it’s hot enough to unthaw my heart— make my blood boil.
Troubles burden my mind—insanity arises like heat in July.
It triggers my body to quiver, vibrate, thunder, then explode—
black snowflakes swim in a blue current—my arteries die.

The next breath is ragged as a rusted piece of broken steel.
Severed from the world, eternally, with no ability to feel.

Excerpt From Controlling Destiny

I've just started writing this. I knew it was meant to be, because it came directly from my soul--and some boredom. Well anyway, here it is. Tell me what you think.

Her body was tone from the hell she put it through. She worked hard to fight the fat that once plagued her body. She had managed to lose 150 of the pounds that used to harass her body. It wasn’t enough. She fought daily to fight the remaining 50 she would have to lose. The doctors told her she should be 180 pounds to be healthy, but the last 50 were hell to melt off. She would give her right arm for some pistachio ice cream, but then she would feel guilty and add another hour to her already intense work out. Never again would she be known as a big girl. He loved that about you. She suppressed the thought by working hard. He nearly destroyed her; he took her heart, put it into a meat grinder, and laughed at the ground meat that once loved him faithfully. He destroyed the hopeless romantic, and left a cold, heartless witch. Twenty more minutes left. She punished her body for her thought of him.

After the workout, she grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and drank slow. After she finished, she headed toward the shower. Her body ached with satisfaction as she walked toward her room. She removed her workout clothes, folded them, and placed them in her dirty clothes bin. Her room was pristine; she kept it tidy, because it was one of the things she could control in her life. There wasn’t a spec of dust to be found anywhere, yet she new she would begin to clean the room again when she got out of the shower. She walked to her linen closet, removed a towel and two washcloths, a white one for her face and a brown one for her body. She walked over to the full-length mirror and inspected her body, as she always did right before the shower. She mentally picked the places that she needed to work on, as she made a list of exercises that she would need to focus on to make them better. She walked toward the shower; she turned on the hot water, full blast, and added a little cold water. As the steam rose, she felt relief. The shower was her space. It was one space where she and God could connect. The water seemingly melted her pains and troubles away as she talked with God. She lathered the soap and began to wash her body, and as the soap slithered off her body, the pains and troubles she felt in her body, mind, and soul washed off as the soap gathered around the drain.

Her body was completely at peace. She waited. She never left the shower until she had her talk with God. Hello daughter. Are you ready to face what you are running from? It was the beginning of every conversation she had with God. She knew she couldn’t make excuses, and what was the point of lying to the one who knew the count of every hair on your head? She knew she didn’t know herself that well. So she answered honestly. No. I don’t think I will ever be ready Lord. I keep telling myself that I am turning over to you, but I can’t let go. And I’m tired of lying to myself. I keep holding on, and I can’t figure out why. Lord, I don’t want to hurt anymore, but I don’t want to face the brunt of what I feel either. So I deny that I feel anything. And I attempt to self-control it by taking it out on my body. But I know that you already know that. I’m trying to control what I can’t control. I’m insane right? She sighed. Here in the shower, she could be weak. She could cry, she could scream, and she could be whatever she needed to be. She waited for her response. She continued to wash meticulously. She needed to make sure she got every spec of dirt to be found on her body. You know, it’s not that hard to turn it over to me. Why is it so hard for you to just let go and let me take care of it? She sighed again. How many times had she asked herself that same question? Furthermore, he already knew that, and he knew that she knew. And he knew the answer to the question that she didn’t. I wish I knew. I don’t know how to let go. She paused. She did a mental checklist—what parts hadn’t she washed well? She couldn’t recall. She began again. Daughter, you would do well to remember that you can only heal when you turn it over to me. After you finish washing, reread Proverbs 3:5-6. She sighed again. It wasn’t a disrespectful sigh, but a knowing sigh. Everyday for the past ten years, those scriptures had been the end of their conversation. She had memorized it. But apparently didn’t understand it.

Peace and Blessings,

Bumble