Poetry Reading

You stare at me out of the corner of your eye
Sitting in the smoke-filled, insense-burning, red wine lit room full of poets and soul-searchers
You think I don't notice you, but I do
I just don't care
To think that you can look at me with that dark, glassy gaze
part your eyebrows any old which way
and make statements with your mind that haven't even been said yet
you.must.be.trippin.
See, I don't fall for those slimey types
The type who pretend to be into what I'm into because it's another lonely Friday night
and Tyrone got a date and you don't.
Oh no. that ain't me.
I come in here for the atmosphere
the rings around saturn that silently swerve around my hips as I let these words release from my lips and let my exasperated mind finally tell it like it is
Where else can I get that?
And yes I may get jeered at for the color or lack thereof of my skin,
but they can never make snide remarks at the words I say or the sweat on my forehead as they pulsate from my mind, fighting valiantly to get out
Hey, I'm just tryin to give y'all somethin to listen to
And so the fact that you have the audacity to sit there,
sippin on a rail drink
eyeing me out of the corner of the room and corner of your eye
when the corner is anywhere but where I belong--
simply makes me laugh
Because a real man, see, my type of man?
Would be next in line behind me, ready to read his own,
ready to get his thoughts out to the world
ready to share his vision with the universe
while I sit in the corner and stare out the corner of my eye
at HIM.

Writing

Tonight I feel profoundly sad for some reason. I think about my kids and the life they have being shuffled between parents. I think about how much more I wish I would have done with my writing. I have been watching Black in America on CNN and the story of Tyler Perry. It's truly inspirational; about how he persisted with his writing and playwriting despite being shot down everywhere he went. I wish I would have had his persistence so many years ago. I feel almost too old to make something of my writing now. Maybe that's a ridiculous thought. One of my black/white contortions.

I miss my kids. The house is lonely when they are at their dad's. My only solace is that in a week we will be moved closer to him so that I can always be close to them and they don't have to spend as much time there. At least I hope not.

I am sad tonight. Lonely. I went to the myspace of an old flame and saw that he married the girl that he left me for. It hurt. I don't think I ever really had extreme feelings for him like that but the fact that I wasn't good enough-- that feeling of rejection-- is what really pains me.

I went through my sister's things last night and realize how much our lives are beginning to parallel and how scary and unhappy that is. That's not a good thing. I need to refocus my life on my success and what I really want and worry less about partying or finding a mate. Love will find me when Im' not looking, I'm sure. I hope.

In my psychology classes, I'm learning the value of journaling. I guess that's my hope with this blog. I am physically becoming what I want thanks to my weight loss surgery but mentally have a long way to go. I know that I can work through these issues with a lot of writing. Writing is like talking to a therapist without feedback. But no matter what, writing doesn't judge, give you a hard time, or gruff for what you do. It's an outlet, an art form, and I appreciate having it to express myself.