Dear Black Women, Since I was born I have come to admire every aspect of you. Your hair, smile,...

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 21:33:55 -0500

Dear Black Women,

Since I was born I have come to admire every aspect of you. Your hair, smile, skin, body, mind, spirit, attitude, and soul have inspired me throughout my life. The very mystique of who you are fills my every thought. I have loved you deeply, Black Women, since the day we met. I love how you keep me on my toes, and you never give me an inch of room to fail. Or when it seems as if I have hit the lowest of lows you courageously bring me to a new, greater high. And there is nothing that hails in comparison to the love received from Black Women. But, it is with my deepest regret that I say we MUST part ways. Rather, I must bow out gracefully. For the better part of 15 years I have arduously tried to love you. I have tried to be the other half of a union that is threatened with extinction. I have taken your slaps, cheating, lying, jealousy, dejection, rejection, and ignorance long enough. I have stood by you in all your faults and indiscretions. I loved you when you didn’t love yourself. I Guided you through the pain of rape, abandonment, poverty, distrust, and insecurity in hopes of making a greater union between us. Yet, all I have gotten in return, Black Women, is a slap in the face. Do not let my words mislead. I hold no ill feelings toward you. In fact, it pains me to HAVE TO leave you. But, how many times can I believe that im “looking in the wrong place” or “finding all the bad ones”; is my life that coincidental? Regardless, I have chosen to move in a new direction. Black Women, I have dated you all. Educated, uneducated, tall, short, fat, skinny, good looking, not so good looking I have dated all aspects of you. And in that time I have risen empty handed. I understand, Black Women, that you may read this and say, “it doesn’t apply to me”, but what I say here to you today is a CONSENSUS amongst Black Men. A CONSENSUS. We are not all dating the wrong Black Women. The movement of Black Men to Non-Black Women is no fault of anyone but you. You have dropped the proverbial ball. You have allowed yourself to be outworked. You have failed in allowing me to love you. You project all of your bad choices in men and life issues on me when I have done nothing wrong. Black Women, you have allowed the work of one Man to change the way you treat ALL MEN. But, I AM NOT YOUR FATHER. Hear me when I say this again, I AM NOT YOUR FATHER. I did not abandon you and your mother. I did not leave you on the steps at school. I did not miss every single birthday. It was not me who flooded your heart with unfulfilled promises. No Black Women it was not me. I said Hello. I told you how beautiful you were. I tried ardently not to allow your insecurities to ruin what we had. It was not until I told you I LOVED YOU, that I realized the world is not enough. I knew I could not fill a whole that I did not dig. Let me say, this letter of LOVE comes to you Black Women without bitterness. I have no regrets of my time with you, and I will always remember every minute of it. Maybe one day things will change. Maybe one day I will come back to you. But today I must go. I know not where to start, but I fear what im looking for is no longer in you. You may hate me or disagree with me, but I urge you to self reflect. I urge you to ask ANY Black Man the truth. Black Women I will ALWAYS LOVE YOU

With Deep Sympathy

A Strong Black Man

closer to my dreams

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 21:11:54 -0500

Closer to my Dreams

no one tells you that fate’s domino effect can begin with one thought, one decision, or one dream. No one tells you that when you reach your fate there is no turning back. There is no undoing. That once you reach your fate it is in essence, sealed. There are no warning signs telling you to proceed with caution. There is no great angel that comes down and urges you to reconsider. All that exists is the ember Sparking that fire inside. Sparking that urge to do one thing.

Sometimes that one thing cures cancer, invents prosthetics, saves a child, or feeds a nation. Sometimes that one thing is amazing. But, sometimes it isn’t. And what then? what do you do when that ember is an ember of hate, violence, and cruelty? Does it not grow just the same. is its spark not lit just as fast and shine just as bright. Am i not suppose to answer its cry. It cries loudly for attention wanting and needing to be let out. The longer its cries go unanswered, the stronger it gets. The spark hates to be ignored. The longer you ignore it the more it scratches and claws at your skin. It slowly becomes the proverbial itch, until one day it becomes too much to bare. For me, that day is today.

We all have this enormous capacity to believe in things that provide us with even the smallest of comforts, but i assure you this story is not that at all. This is a story of reality. Where are my manners. my name is Damien Reese, and this is my start. I woke up this morning with a dream. A dream that has afflicted me for 4 years now. As the sunlight seeped through the seams of my curtained window i tried to recall the ins and outs of my dream. But they slowly faded. i laid there with a physical exhaustion described only as a con tired of the ruse. i sat up and took a deep breath of the stale air, and as i looked around my bedroom i found no signs of my affliction. My room looks typical of a boy now 16. books, magazines, TV, video games, computer, posters of half naked women representing not just masculinity but a false sense of normalcy. Everything was in its place. The only thing that seemed out of place was me. The sound of my alarm startled me and not for the reasons an alarm typically does, but because the sound of my alarm lets me know i have to get through another day.

i reached over to turn off my alarm clock, 630 it read. Right left right foot in. left right left foot in. there is no better way to start a day then a morning ritual. some call it OCD. i call it routine. I walked aimlessly around my room for a minute or two trying to figure out where to start my day. I think about my dream every moment of every day so moments of aloofness have become a commonality. I went to use the restroom and as i relieved myself my dream came to mind. I imagined my dream becoming a reality, feeling something like that relieving moment, but on a monumental level. I turned to wash my hands. left nob left hand left hand soap, scrub 1 one thousand 2 one thousand 3 one thousand rinse. I picked up my toothbrush and smeared a healthy portion of toothpaste on top and as i began to brush i caught the first glimpse of myself in the vanity.

I thought to myself. im normal right? Its normal right? My thoughts, my wants, my desires, my dreams. When i looked at myself i saw nothing wrong. i saw nothing short of normal. But, i have heard the whispers. My kind of people ,with the same affliction, we are not normal, we are not even weird. We are outcasts, but i don’t see it. i don’t feel it. i just feel normal. My sandy brown hair, light brown eyes, and medium build lead you to believe im handsome enough to be a bit of a ladies man but thats not really my thing. nearly done brushing i wondered if there was hope for me. none of this was my fault. You don’t get to choose your dreams and i don’t get to choose mine. I assure you if i did i would have chosen something less abominable.

i hurried to finish getting ready, if i wanted to catch a glimpse of my dream before i had school i needed to hurry. As i finished getting dressed i walked down the hallway passing my mothers room. She was still asleep. She slept most of the day, every day. After my dad disappeared she never was the same. I was 5 when he ran off with the younger prettier best friend of my mother. i haven’t seen or talked to him since. I overheard my mother say he moved to santa barbara, which is a long ways away from our small simple home here in Ukiah. to be honest if he walked past me on the street i probably wouldn’t recognize him, but even if i could i doubt i would say much.

After he left,My mother went into a deep depression. The kind of depression that takes away the soul of a person. She lost her job, we lost our house, and she lost her mind. She would have lost me if it weren’t for my grandmother. My grandmother took us in when i was 7, and i must say it actually helped my mom a little, but by 10 my grandmother had terminal cancer. Some say when she died what was left of my mother died with her. My grandmother left the house to us. my mother hasn’t done much but fill it endlessly with crap. She doesn’t have much family. a half sister who she rarely talks to from her dads side. other than that its just me. What a terrible burden for a kid.

I come home from school some days thinking what a relief it might be to come home and find my mother not breathing. I know to most its an unimaginable thought but the drunken pill popper i call a mother is all i have ever known. I don’t remember much of my mother before my father left her. My grandmother use to say she was the type of women that could light up a room with her smile. i wouldn’t know though. i have never seen her smile. Now that i think about it i have never heard her laugh.

I continued down the narrow hall through the living room and out the front door. The cold air hit me as if it hated my existence. A typical overcast morning in the fall. I found great delight in the absence of the sun. It was as if i was meant to walk in the dark, even during the day. i walked down the driveway only to see Mrs. pell and her 6 yr. old son Davis across the street. She has an older son, Casey, he’s 16. Casey goes to school with me and is a bit of a troublemaker. Just last week he got caught for truancy. People say he acts different, but i just think no one pays him enough attention. I met them with a wave and routine ‘good morning how are you’. As i waved goodbye and continued to walk down Woodrow st, the street i lived on, my dream appeared again. As i stared into the leaf barren trees through the darkness of the clouds i could see a hint of light, but my dreams overshadowed the beauty of the morning. so began the itch and the yearning to scratch it, but i couldn’t. it was just too close to home. My dreams always afflicted me every morning around this time like clockwork. I tried to avoid it, avoid the encounter, but it somehow always knew how to find me. My dream haunted me in that way, constantly hiding in the shadows. Maybe i was hiding in the shadow of my dreams. But today is different. today neither of us would hide anymore. Its so difficult to repress a behavior so serial, and i was no longer strong enough to do so. I made a left onto Cherry street. I took the same route to school everyday. Woodrow to cherry, cherry to Harper and half way down Harper is Harper High. i tried to hurry down cherry. If i hurried i might get to Harper before it was too late. Yet, something in me wanted to crawl to Harper. Every aspect of my being was conflicted, like the devil and angel of my conscience were fighting for dominance. As i heard sounds of sweet innocence i knew who had won the fight. Off in the distance i could see my dream in the flesh. So angelic and free it was. as i watched through the wet metal fence i couldn’t help but feel a rush of ecstasy flow through my body. How wonderful it seemed to be so carefree. Not a worry in the world. Fresh and radiant i stalked my dream with my eyes, from a safe distance sure not to be seen. My dreams innocence and beauty had no enemy, but i.

Just as i was sure to reach a climax i heard a voice, “Damien” it was Mrs. Pell. “You ok? do you need a ride to school?”

Worried that she had noticed my moment of guilty pleasure i quickly declined. as i watched her slowly drive away i struggled to gather myself. The interruption had shaken me. i wondered if she had noticed anything. i wondered if she had noticed as i stared while she dropped davis off at school. How embarrassed, how mortified, i would have been. What would have been my explanation? This was the first moment that i knew today was for sure the day. it was only 730 and i was already bolder than ever. I could feel the arrogance cooking inside of me. I was in more control than ever, and the power had me grinning with excitement. yes, today was the day Damien would come alive. The Damien no one knows. The Damien i have grown to love.

I continued to Harper and before i could prepare myself i was in a pool of adolescence. I hadn’t timed things greatly because there was still 15 minutes before school started. i liked to get to school right before the 8 o clock bell just to avoid moments like this. The kind of moment that shows you how irrelevant someone can be. The kind of moment where you’re surrounded by people, yet so alone. Here i was in a crowd of my peers, and not a single one could be called my friend. I bet if you took a poll of how many kids knew who Damien Reese was, you wouldn’t get a single response.

This wasn’t the first time i had made the mistake of being early. i often got distracted by my dream on the way to school and i would always lose track of time. Normally i would just go behind the bleachers and sit near the smokers until it was close to class time, but today was different. I walked with the rest of the herd as we filed into the schools hallways like mad cows. I walked amongst the popular, pretty, nerdy, and sporty before 8 o clock for the first time in my life. I finally walked among them. I didn’t feel out of place. It was as if, who i am, sets a balance to the world. You cant have police without crime. You cant have teachers without students. There cant be a them, without a me.

The bell finally rang and i hurried to homeroom. I mention homeroom because its the only class i remember. I was the only junior in Mr. Pells freshman homeroom. The counselor said it must have been an accident but no one ever bothered to change it. If you’re wondering, Mr. Pell is the husband of Mrs. Pell. Our town of Ukiah is small like that. Everything seems so close to home, and everything feels so safe. Safety can be such a comforting thing until you’re not safe anymore. Mr. Pell often started homeroom with a story about his family so, although i never spent much time with them, i felt like i knew them. after his story he would let most of the kids study or talk. I cant remember what the story was about but i remember he seemed hurt by whatever it was he was talking about; it was probably a story about Casey. It seemed like he hated Casey, but im sure the feeling was mutual.

Usually during homeroom Mr. Pell would come up to me and have one of those socially obligating conversations that happen when you’re neighbors with someone, but today he didn’t. He kind of sat at his desk and sulked. He looked so defeated. I felt compelled to go talk to him. Mainly because his current mood was distracting me from my dreams.

“Hey Mr. Pell” i said.

I wanted to ask him how he was doing but i kind of already knew. “Whats wrong with him?” he muttered. “whats wrong with who Mr. Pell?”

i kind of knew he was talking about Casey, but for some reason i remained ignorant.

His volume increased, “I’ve been a good dad, he’s had a fairly good life, what’s he so mad about?”

I had never seen Mr. Pell so distraught. He was a manly man, and never showed much emotion. I didn’t know what to say to him and i sat there quietly in the awkwardness of the situation. I think he felt the awkwardness too because he quickly instructed me to go and study. Mr. Pell didn’t say much after that. In fact, he didn’t say much at all.

I went back to my seat and pulled out my notebook. I went to my first 4 classes that day, and it was only at lunch that i knew i couldn’t last the rest of the day. I needed to go home. The urge for action was beginning to be too much. i needed a release. I needed to remain in control. The only way you can be successful in achieving your dreams is to remain in control. I knew this was the day, but if it were to go smoothly i needed to have a clear mind. I raced down harper, and then turned onto cherry. I had never ran so fast. I would have ran faster but cherry st holds a special place in my heart. as i approached the now dry gate i began to slow. Chills ran up my spine as i quivered with excitement. How beautiful. How could God create both my dream and I? . I suddenly felt that ecstasy again that i had felt earlier in the morning. The feeling became unbearable. It created such a stiffness in my body that it was difficult to walk. I needed to get home. i left my dreams there, shining in the sunlight. i turned onto Woodrow and ran as fast as i could to my house. i dug my keys out of my back left pocket and opened the door. Swinging the large oak door open i dropped my backpack near the door and ran to my room. i entered my room flinging my jacket and sweater off locking the door to my room behind me. i loosened my jeans and sat in front of my computer. My heart began to race as i got closer and closer. the stiffness in my body became greater and greater. sweat from the run was dripping down my brow. as my computer came on i looked around to make sure no one was watching. Thats the thing about being afflicted with the thoughts i have. you wouldn’t want anybody to know you entertain them. No one understands the things that i hunger for. I opened the internet browser and clicked on the first website in my browser history. Though i had recently scratched the itch, a scratch a few times a week was no longer enough. i needed it everyday. the site uploaded and i immediately moved my hands. i slowly opened and closed my eyes so not to lose the images on the site, but also to create the mental image of my dreams. my breathing became heavy. my body became warmer and warmer. i could feel the pressure building inside of me. my breathing became faster and shorter as i got closer and closer. The pressure reached an unbelievable high, my breathing sounding more like hyperventilating. The heat, i could feel the warmth turning into heat, closer, closer, closer, “Ahhhh!”. My release. My breathing slowly returned to normal. i looked around trying to get my bearings. My body relaxed, and i knew i had appeased my urges, even if it was only for a short while. i sat in deep thought, normal for me after moments like this, but something was different. Usually, i have an inner disappointment. Usually, i hate myself for not being able to resist the urges, but today there was nothing. No feeling at all.

I sat motionless for a while wondering what else the day would bring. The whole day felt so epic i knew greatness laid ahead. I didnt know what was different about today, and to be quite honest i was very anxious. But it felt great. There was something about the freedom that comes with acceptance. What i had accepted im not sure, but it changed me. I gathered my clothes and got dressed, and decided to eat. I had worked up quite an appetite. I opened the door and there she was. My mother or at least what was left of her.

“Hey sweetheart” she said in her slurred drugged speech, “Could you get me a fresh bottle? Mommy needs to take her pills.”

By fresh bottle, she meant one of the large wine bottles in the basement. “just pour me a glass and bring it to my room. thanks honey.”

I hated when she called me honey, and for no particular reason. i just hated her. As i walked down the hall i realized she hadnt asked any of the usual questions a mother should ask, like why im home early, or how my day was. Not that i expected it, because truthfully it might frighten me if she did, but it might have changed things. I walked down to the basement towards the sink where she kept her box of wine bottles. The basement was particularly cluttered, used primarily for hiding things we wanted no memory of. i must have been walking too fast or not looking because i tripped over a box, spilling the contents.

“You didnt drop the bottle did you Damien?”

“NO mother.”

“Good, now hurry up please”

Yeah mother im ok, no i didnt— ahh forget it. picking up the box, the side read Dame’s things. My grandmother use to call me Dame. I dont remember putting a box down here. must have been my mother. I sat on the cold concrete and looked through the box. The first thing i picked up was a picture of me, my mother, and what i assume is my father. We looked so happy i thought. we looked normal. You would never guess that 16 years later the family in that picture would become less than a shell of its original self. I wondered if my life, my thoughts, and my dreams would have been different had we stayed that happy family. I can only wonder. The rest of the box seemed to be filled with a bunch of stuff from my childhood. Hair from my first haircut. My first baby shoes. Some baby clothes. This was the first time i had ever seen all that stuff. Where had it been, and why was it now in the basement of abandoned memories? My daydreaming continued for a while only to be broken by the seldomly heard police sirens passing by.

“Damien!”

COming mother.”

The only time she ever called my name was when she needed a fresh bottle. I tossed the box into a pile to the side, and grabbed a fresh bottle. i closed the door to the basement and brought the bottle into my mothers room. she laid awake, but in a daze. As soon as she spotted her fresh bottle she sat up with excitement.

“Pour me a glass would you please honey?” she always had a way of getting under my skin.

“Mother, where’d that box come from?” she took the half filled glass of wine in one gulp and signaled for more.

“What box Damien?” she said as i filled her glass to the brim.

“The box in the basement. It says Dames things.” I nearly shook her pill induced high with the question. she paused for a moment almost gathering herself on what to do next.

“Did you get out of school early today?”

“Yes. Mother the box?”

“What about it dear?” her aloofness bothered me, and it bothered me because i couldnt tell if it was drug influenced or her trying to evade the question.

“Mom the box with my baby stuff, why is it in the basement?” she looked up at me with a sense of disappointment that said more to me than she could ever express. It was like she knew i was different. its like she was forgetting about me, and letting her memory of me go. I wanted to get mad but how could i blame her. i knew i was no longer the kid in the picture.

“Listen Damien Mommy is going to sleep. close the door behind you and dont turn the games too loud, ok?”

“Yes Mother.”

I started to head back to my room. I totally had lost my appetite. i was startled by the doorbell. Im not a person easy to startle but you must understand our doorbell rang maybe once a year,and it was usually someone with the wrong address. I opened the door to find Mrs. Pell. She stood there with eyes red, face flush, and seemingly in complete desperation. She had to be if she was knocking at our door.

“Damien thank God you’re here.” she said with great relief.

“whats wrong Mrs. Pell?”

“Its David” that was Mr. Pell’s first name, “He’s been shot.”

in shock i replied, “Shot? Who? What happened?”

“The police said Casey shot him, i need to get to the hospital, please, please, can you watch Davis.”

“Davis?” My heart began to pound, but in a good way. Davis peered around from behind Mrs. Pell. He looked at me with his big beautiful innocence.

“Please Damien i dont want him to be around all of this and my family wont be here for hours. Please Damien i trust you.” For a brief moment i wanted to smile, but i held it back. not that she would have noticed in the moment, but i needed to stay in control.

“Of course Mrs. Pell, i would be glad to.”

She thanked me 3 or 4 more times as she quickly made her way back to her car. I ushered 6 year old Davis into the house. He was a thin kid even for 6 years old. He had dirty blonde hair, and blue eyes that got brighter the longer you stared at them. Step by step i led him back to my room. Step by step my heartbeat got louder and louder. it beat so strong i could feel the vibration in my throat. we entered my room and i locked the door behind me. Davis sat down on the foot of my bed clutching his favorite action figure for protection. I tried to sit but the stiffness in my body had returned.

I stood in front of Davis a little confused on where to begin, on where to start. We were familiar with each other, but not by much. Mostly he watched the typical morning conversation between neighbors that his mother and I often had.

“So Davis, where do you go to school?”

In a voice so angelic he replied, “You knowwww, i see you everyday Mr. Damien”

I tried to hold back the excitement, but i couldnt. he had noticed me.

i replied, “You do? well i dont remember. where do you go?”

“Cherry Elemetary!” He laughed.

All the days, thoughts, and dreams were finally over. The facade. The ruse. No more. I finally get the chance to be me, to be who the world doesnt want me to be,but needs me for the balance. Today i would finally become Damien.

“Do you like superheros Davis?

Yea? well i have some super hero underwear on would you like to see them?”

“Ok Mr. Damien” i pulled down my pants and i could tell the stiffness puzzled Davis.

As he laughed, “Ewww whats that Mr. Damien?”

“You wana play a game Davis? it will be fun i promise.”

“Ok Mr. Damien.”

“Well first you have to get in your undies like me ok?”

As Davis took off his pants i began to feel that euphoria again. I began to rub his arms to ease his curiosity, I must make him comfortable i thought. I tried to maintain control, but the moment began to be too much. Before i knew it i was deep inside the innocence. Tears covered my left hand as i softly muffled his pain. My right hand held down the same hand of Davis’s that once clutched the action figure for protection. In that moment everything made sense. Damien Reese was finally alive. My fate wasnt sealed, it was just the beginning.

My Gift To U

"How can you hate me and you don’t know me or anything about me?"

"You’re never too old to have dreams"

Dear Black Women, Since I was born I have come to admire every aspect of you. Your hair, smile,...

"Times of adversity don’t build character… they reveal it."

ONE OF THE BEST SONGS EVER

closer to my dreams

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