A LETTER TO MY WOMAN...

I open this letter in a generic format a letter to my woman, not in the sense that the message is generic or insincere. Only within the meaning that I address this to women in my life thus far and in my egotistical mind they are all interchangeable. 

True I have the good sense God blessed me with to know when one relationship ends, and a new one begins. They are all the same, yet all unique. I love you all, the first relationship I have ever had with a woman was between my God and my mother. Yes, you read correctly I did say My God. Don’t get it twisted or confused I am not writing this open letter from me to Women to debate religion or belief. In my understanding of faith, religion, and life all female beings on Earth give birth to life. The oldest bones found on Earth were that of a Black woman so in my understanding Woman is the closest thing to God. Well, that is my assessment. I go back and forwards within myself with this frame of thinking. I have digressed; my point is this God like my mother has been a teacher and protector. Coming from a single parent home it was me, my mom, and my sister. I understand things clearer now as an adult and parent that she did the best she could with what she had and her understanding as a young woman. I guess as I write this I question myself as to what is the core meaning behind me writing this?

I do not have a direct answer for that. I would say perhaps to get a better understanding of myself and how I view women in general or to say, thank you for being you. I have always been a bit of a loner all of my life. I’ve run with different folk’s at various time frames in my life but always felt a disconnect and during this discourse women have been a filler for this void. I have a deep admiration and respect for the opposite sex view on things. You are young and wild in an adult situation with the mental capacity of a hormonal teenager forced to deal with things that you should not have to deal with yet you persevere. You are a hustler and survivalist. You are a young college student striking out on her own strong spirited and opinionated, independent and naïve.

You are a housewife trapped in a losing relationship with a man that doesn’t see your value, yet you stay. Your tears are the catalyst for the words that I type from the heart. You are slick and scandalous a heart breaker and player out to get hers yet I love you. You are a fool dangerously in love with a Man-Child yet you love him regardless of his immature ways that he knows are reckless yet refuses to abandon such actions even at the risk of losing you. You are passive when need be and walk that delicate line between being the aggressor and being submissive a balancing act of lioness and sex kitten. You are a judge and law professor from the wrong side of the tracks. You are an alcoholic and sexual abuse survivor with a foul mouth and silver tongue yet I love you. You are a boss and lyricists cutthroat fashionista/diva and I love it.

More gangster than most men, you are Rah Digga, no your Angela Davis mixed with Beyonce or Marissa Alexander, who will stand her ground. Spirit of Karrine Steffans, I will not judge just love unconditional I will not take verbal shots direct or subliminal. You are Cleo, Stoney, T.T. and Frankie ready to set it off. I know you are there despite what the media will have us believe. That you are argumentive sack chasers, that live to slide down poles. Only show love for those that make it rain for 40 days and 40 nights like it’s something biblical I look in your eyes and feel your vibe like it’s something spiritual. You without me leaves an unbalance like it’s something chemical. I can’t front I sometimes confuse the emotional with the physical. I love our conversations talking on the phone until the sunrise. You are more than you realize you are special to me you are my sister and my auntie grandmother or the lady down the street or up the block around the way girl in your own world. Yeah, I know you got a man but you still mine is it a crime to praise you like Sade if we never speak again I’m going love you anyway.

Sincerely from me to you,

Antwan Floyd Sr. is the publisher and author of 10 titles to date and is a graphic designer. He currently resides in Indianapolis, IN where he is working on his next title. 

www.bleedingpenpublishing.com

https://twitter.com/AntwanFloyd https://www.facebook.com/daniellelovelacefanpage?ref=hl

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AN OPEN LETTER...

This Wednesday in The Lounge, my special guest, Minister Jami Greene, will open up a host of issues, including the painful topic, sexual abuse. 

As one of my most candid interviews thus far, I, too, wanted to be as forthcoming about my past struggles. And by the grace of God, He pulled me through those tumultuous times, knowing it had affected my relationships and my precious, self-esteem. 

In today's post, I'm opening up in a way that reveals my defining moment of control. I had to find my peace; otherwise, "they" would have continued to have my joy.

So, whether you're a woman or a man, and lived with any forms of abuse, I hope you take at least one thing from my open letter, and that forgiveness is a powerful thing because it's not for their benefit but for yours. 


Dear Sad and Unfortunate Ones,

After going through years of counseling and prayers, I've come to terms as to why every relationship I've been in went awry; or why I end up in inappropriate affairs, or why I accepted being the second option, the backup, and the two a.m. booty-call. Every relational decision I've made, every tear I've cried, every how-did-I-get-into-this-situation rant, every self-loathing, suicidal thought and guilt, all stems back to you—the cowardly attacker.

However, I won’t give you the satisfaction of placing all of my bad choices firmly on you because the key word in this sentence is CHOICE. The backbone I should’ve grown to end that madness was a part of me. The only thing I place squarely on you is most likely you've been abused yourself—either sexually, physically, or suffered some type of neglect—but it doesn't matter. 

"I've chosen the free will God gave me to use my gift as awareness for lost souls like you—and more importantly, I’m choosing not to be the victim or just surviving but to thrive. I’m holding the keys now and not you."

What you've endured on me, I didn't inflict on someone’s child—I didn't continue an ugly cycle of lifetime pain and mistrust. I'd chose to move on with my life the best way I knew how, despite carrying that shame and guilt. My personal hell was mine alone, but that was less I can say about you. Your choice was based on selfishness, and didn't give a flying fuck about the consequences.

But that wasn't what it was about, wasn't it? Rather, it was a few minutes of lust to sooth your pleasure. To make you feel superior next to my vulnerability. Just because you suffered abuse with the images of whomever had hurt you playing your head, you chose to inflict that same hurt on the defenseless. Releasing your anger and rage by fondling my sacred parts or elevating it by penetrating deep into my innocence--you flat out didn't care as long as you got it. Then after you reached your shameful point, you knew how much you've hurt me—the window to my soul was transparent. You went your way and I went mine, as if nothing had happened.

The salutation in this letter, however, is plural, and yet I’m treating this as one act because the guilt and shame I wore for years. At the tender age of eight I was confused with her inappropriate touch that left me wondering, this is wrong but why does it feel good? Then my confusion turned into fear two years later when he crushed any trust I had in men—and then that mistrust turned into self-hatred when I was sixteen…I became the train at a party.

"To make you feel superior next to my vulnerability. Just because you suffered abuse with the images of whomever had hurt you playing your head, you chose to inflict that same hurt on the defenseless."

So to you, Sad and Unfortunate people, please don’t take this open letter as pity. My words are my strength. Your few minutes of perversion only gave me temporary grief. I chose not to swim in your bullshit but gathered any strength I had to not let the past define me—or you define me. I chose to wake every morning and rejoice on the future; I chose writing as my therapy to blossom into something more; I’ve chosen happiness; I’ve chosen the free will God gave me to use my gift as awareness for lost souls like you—and more importantly, I’m choosing not to be the victim or just surviving but to thrive. I’m holding the keys now and not you.

Sad and Unfortunate one, this may come as a shock to you but I do forgive you. Though, I’m not doing this for your benefit but for mine. I have to free myself from your psychological bondage to love myself the way I should’ve done years ago. You, however, need to do the same to whoever hurt you. That person had planted your seed of a pedophiliac life. So I’ll ask you this, when will it ever stop? When will you fight those personal demons and stop the cycle? Although you cannot go back in time and return my innocence, you should rectify the wrongs by opening your eyes at you've created. At least facing them is a start and to understand what you've become.

As an author of Zion’s Road I do believe in second chances—everyone no matter how much they have screwed their lives or to others—they, too, deserves a chance to get their life right. So, I’m going to leave it up to you with your thoughts and the past. There’s nothing you can do to me. I’m too empowered to even worry about the yesterdays because your selfishness didn't break me; it only strengthened me.

You see, I’m still standing.

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C. Michelle Ramsey Ask 'Is The Grass Really Greener?'

*CONTEST IS CLOSED

 I have one word for this talented author: Genuine. Year ago I’d taken the liberty to meet this wonderful writer when she reviewed my novelette, Zion’s Road. Though it wasn't her kind words I received in her review I found her fascinating, but her innate spirit. So I’m pleased to introduce you to this week’s guest blogger – C. Michelle Ramsey, the author of the new book, Is The Grass Really Greener? Also, show some love by leaving a comment on this post. By doing so, you’ll be automatically qualified to win a free copy of this new release.

IS THE GRASS REALLY GREENER?

Five women, five lives, five secrets. Each woman is battling her own personal demons, and hiding a secret from her friends and family.

Each of them envies another's life, wishing her life was different, wishing she had what the other woman had. But what happens when what appears to be real, is all a façade?

Battling breast cancer, single parenthood, infidelity, the loss of a child, and managing the single life, can become overwhelming for these ladies.

Not satisfied with their lives, looking for something better, they contemplate alternative choices to improve their lives; crossing over to the other side of the fence is a very real possibility. We can't see beyond the choices we make, but we must be held accountable for them.

And after they have crossed the fence, they realize two things simultaneously. Yes, the grass was greener on the other side; and also their grass could have been just as green had they taken care of it. 

EXCERPT:

Courtney found herself nodding her head to the beat of the music, more than she was focused on her report. Anita Baker’s “I Apologize” was on the radio playing softly in the background on KSTORM. She had to get this report done for tomorrow morning’s budget meeting. Stretching back in her chair, she let out a long yawn and shook her head to shake the sleep off. It was 11:55 at night and she knew that she had to be up at four in the morning. But these numbers just weren’t shaking out right.

The right thing to do would be to put it away and go upstairs with Nate and go to bed. She found herself going to bed after her husband more and more these days. She used to be the one who was knocked out by eight or nine o’clock, but not anymore. Some nights she was still up until two or three in the morning, if she didn't have an early day at the office. Nate didn't question it, because he didn't want to be bothered with her anyway. She couldn't remember the last time they had sex. She stopped to ponder that thought, had it really been five months now? Damn, it had. Seems as if she was always attempting to get him in the mood, and the last time she had done that he had brushed her off and he didn't show even the slightest interest in her.

“Lonely hearts, find someone to love. Fellas, take care of your women; remember to love them long and strong, ‘cuz if you don’t, another brother will. And to all my lovely ladies, I’m wishing you a good night out there in the ATL; thanks for spending another night with me. And come back tomorrow for another night of love with Hypnotiq on the Storm.”

And with that he blew his traditional kiss and Pierce was off the radio for the night. As if this were some subliminal cue, Courtney closed her folder, switched off the radio on the bookshelf behind her, walked over to the doorway, switched off the light in her office, and walked upstairs to her bedroom. She was halfway up the steps when it hit her.

Damn, she thought to herself, I’ve been staying up half the night every night to hear the voice of a stranger. I’m falling for a man who I don’t even know. She started walking back down the steps to her office and flicked on the light and sat in her chair behind her desk.

Courtney furiously ran her hands through her hair shaking her head in disbelief. What the hell is this? I’m falling for a man I don’t know? He’s a kid from the old neighborhood that’s what it’s got to be. He brings back pleasant memories for me at this rough time in my life. Hell I had one cup of Joe with this man and ran into him at my art exhibit, and I sit up every night to hear his voice on the damn radio, how pathetic am I? He might have a girl, hell for all I know he might not be interested in women anyway, or black women, she shook her head laughing at that one. The way he came on to her that night she highly doubted it.  “This is crazy, it doesn’t even matter. I’m a married woman…not happily, but I’m married just the same and I love my husband with all my heart,” she said aloud, “I’m taking my butt to bed, I’m tired…that’s what it is,” and once again she repeated the steps she had just taken, not even three minutes earlier.

But this time when she got to the bedroom Nate wasn’t asleep. He was sitting in the bed staring at the TV. She could tell he wasn’t watching it. Courtney decided it would be best to not say anything, because she didn’t want to argue. All of their words turned into arguments these days and they couldn’t have decent communication. But it wasn’t to be.

“Courtney, I want a divorce,” Nate said.

Thinking she must have lost her mind, or maybe forgot to clean the wax from her ears, she turned over in the bed to face him. “Huh?” she said, a little befuddled.

“I want a divorce,” he repeated in that same monotone he had just used.

“Why?” she asked with panic rising up in her throat.

“I don’t wanna be here anymore, I can’t do this,” he explained.

“Do what Nate?”

“Do us, this thing we call a marriage, this faking it we’re doing day by day, I can’t do it anymore,” he said with a little emotion coming into his voice.

“Look Nate, I know that you’re hurting, I’ve been hurting, too. And what’s hurting the most is that you’re shutting me out. You won’t even talk to me. I know you’re grieving baby, we’re both grieving, but you didn’t suffer this loss alone. I did, too and just like we lost him together we have to find a way to heal together, to go on with our future,” she pleaded.

“I don’t think you heard me. There’s no future for us,” Nate responded a little more passionately this time.

C. Michelle's Bio

An avid reader since her primary years, Michelle saw books as an escape mechanism. Excited by the worlds, and characters that could be created with a touch of the imagination, she began writing her own stories at the age of 12. The more enamored with storytelling she became, the more she wanted to create stories about the suffering, and hardships she saw others enduring, with one twist…her characters would rise above their adversities and limitations, but not always with traditional endings.

This busy wife, and mother of three, exchanged her Girl Scout Leader pins for her creative writing pen, as she began to focus on publishing her novels. In her spare time, when she isn’t writing, she enjoys reading mystery novels, watching NBA, remodeling their home with her husband, and spending time with him and their children. Having recently received her MBA in Human Resource Management, she says she cannot wait for the day when writing becomes her full-time career. “If I can show my readers they are not alone, in dealing with their challenges, and that they can rise above their limitations, I have achieved my goal,” Ramsey says.

Contact Info:

Website: www.cmichelleramsey.com

FB: Author C Michelle Ramsey

Twitter: @CMichelleRamsey

Blog: www.writingmydreams.com

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Beauty: From the Inside and Out

Our self worth—it’s that main ingredient that makes us strong and a better person. Without it, self-pity can tame our true selves. However there’s one question to ponder—why do we as humans allow our pain to define us?

The question looms in my debut novel (titled to be announced later) about my main character’s self-worth. She suffered many storms including years of domestic abuse—and when that chapter of her life had ended—she moved on but did the suffering as battered woman define her? The brutal beatings, the name calling, and the unwanted forced desire upon her spouse all left a burden in her heart for years. My character’s psyche—unknowingly—allowed one person’s act to define of who and what she was. And unfortunately, there are millions of women like her.

I won’t get into the details if my character’s strength has helped overcome her demons—you just have wait this summer until the release of my book. However, there are women you may know, or it could be you, or it could be me that has allowed our pain to define us.

Beauty is more than just wearing short dresses, Mac products, and Maybelline—beauty is an inner glow that shine of our confidence. It’s the ingredient that brews our self worth. We know we deserved to be loved and yet choose to stay in questionable relationships. Or become bitter from heartbreak because our pain is too great to love again.

Love is not supposed to hurt you, or strip you from your true self. Love is not meant to be used as a weapon for guilt and shame. Love shouldn't be used as rage, or inflate one’s person ego while leaving another in tears.

In essence, self worth doesn't discriminate. There are men that walk with prominent scars of abuse. Their invisible tears hide behind their pain, confusion, and guilt from their childhood, or suffered heartbreak from a woman’s bitterness all because she would rather hurt them before she’d get hurt. It’s a mere reciprocation of pain.

In a blog I wrote years ago about bitterness, anger, and pity—and how it would lead to heartache and pain. I've taken this quote from the text because it rings so true: We are KINGS and QUEENS of our destiny; the Authors of our own story, and the Painters of our canvasses. We can fight it, we can do it, and we can be it!

So, again, are you going to let your past define you, or learn from it to manifest it into the person you are meant to be?


Courtesy: Put A Wedge In It (Katrina Gurl, Inc). This blog is a must follow!

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