Empty

Perhaps the grandest rejection in life is rejection of self. But what about when you feel as though you must reject yourself in order to catch a passing glimpse of happiness in life? It's tough when you feel like being the serial monogamist is the worst curse that could have ever been bestowed. Because you remain shortchanged, you start to tell yourself that maybe it's a good idea to give freer of your body than your heart and fuck everything that moves. In that deal, at least your body will find some satisfaction. You try to put that playa cap on and tilt it to the side. But it just don't fit right. You slap your hand until it bleeds so that your finger doesn't itch for a wedding band that will probably never take its rightful place. You cry tears of sorrow for your empty womb and what could have possibly been. You try and congratulate yourself when you look around at your empty house filled with all of your most prized possessions. You try and say "This is all mine. All by myself" but your lips form "This is mine and I AM all by myself". You smile at everyone else's weddings and you try and pretend that all you will ever need is a warm, hard body next to you and money in the bank to make your life complete. You want to say you will find all of your joy in family and give to them like you never have before. You ignore the "You're next. When are you going to bring somebody home" script that flies out of everyone's mouth all the time. You pretend your weight gain has nothing to do with the fact that you eat when you're depressed and you never get your fill because all you hunger for is love. You pretend you aren't the one who needs to feel occasional hugs from your mother's arms and hear someone, even if it's a family member, tell you how beautiful you are instead of how fat for a change. You have to try and wear the robe of I-Don't-Care-What-Anybody-Thinks. But the truth is, that thing is old and it stinks. You turn on the tv and you see people in love, fulfilling their dreams with big smiles on their faces and you know with them is where you belong. But when you turn off the tv, you look around and all you are left with is your empty house, your empty ring finger, your empty bed, your empty potato chip bag, your empty pockets, your empty womb and your empty heart. Then you try to live this stranger's life you've been assigned as though you are okay with not having those happy things but that there is no circumstance in this stranger's life that doesn't tell you you won't have them all someday soon. You try to be hopeful and a ray of sunshine to all the other strangers around you. You try. But that never works.

~Justice

I Just Know

I'm sure you'll do it again. You'll draw me in with eyes that glow with promises and a voice that puts silk to shame. You'll gift wrap and give to me a touch with so much love in it that I will have no choice other than to take it for truth. That laugh of yours will give me comfort and paralyze me right where I stand. You may play with my hair, you know, swooping it back from my face in a way that you graze my cheek in the process and make me tingle all over. At some point, you'll whisper poetic words in my ear that persuade me to let you lay me down. Then you'll get straight to the point. You'll strip me and sex me blind, summoning words from my mouth that never graced the checkpoint of my brain. You'll run so deep you'll make me cry and induce hallucinations of us actually......being.......together. You'll let me sleep in your arms and rest your chin on my shoulder allowing me to listen to the rhythm of your breath. You'll trick me into thinking that our hearts are in tune. Then in the morning, you will leave me. I will remain a heaping mess of emotion waiting for you to come and grant me momentary certainty again.

~Justice

Let's Get This Understood

So, I was people-watching with a friend the other day and she said something that reminded me of something that is utterly irritating to me. Two men walked by- one dressed in a t-shirt and baggy jeans, tattooed from what looked like head to toe and talking on his phone about an "ungrateful bitch wit' the fine ass friend" and the other dressed in slacks, a tie and saying happy birthday to his grandmother. My friend (because we all have that one) motioned toward the first man and said "Girl, he look like he can handle BUSINESS!" So I, being the inquisitive chick I am, motioned toward the other guy and asked, "What about him?" Well, my girl had the ugliest frown on her face. She said "Him? He couldn't handle me." My girl went on to explain to me why a thug is so much better than what she calls a "super nerd". She says there is nothing like a man who won't be afraid to tell you "to calm the fuck down" sometimes and one "you can look at and tell he is the man in the bedroom".

This opened up the can of worms I like to call "The Battle of Hood Hung versus Professionally Packing". Because the conversation started out as one about genital endowment, I will tell you about this battle on that level first. Apparently, there are some ladies who don't know that there is a thrill in being a man who dresses nicely and carries himself respectfully. I'm not saying he needs to be metrosexual and have more skin care and hair products than I do. But well groomed is sexy. There is an immeasurable sexy about a man who comes home after a long day, loosens his tie and undoes those top few buttons on his dress shirt. And if suits aren't your thing Fellas, the untucked polo can be sexy too. The beautiful thing about this man is that he doesn't wear his libido on his sleeve but when he gets behind closed doors, he is willing to show you much more than he has ever tried to tell you. It is his mystery and what he leaves to the imagination that makes him irresistible.

Now to dig deeper in this can of worms and really see the part of the argument that is not sexual in nature. To do this, we can just look at the interpretations of the words "hang/hung" and "packing/packed". When something is hung, it is suspended. It is fastened to some elevated point without support from below (Thanks, Webster's). I picture it, in all other ways besides the one that pertains to art, as being thrown on a hook and left there as drapery, if you will. There isn't meant to be any type of presentation, only a quick ooooooh and aaahhhhh and and then you're on your way. But when I think of packing, the first thing I think of is preparing to go somewhere. I think of placing things tightly together. And my friends at Webster's says it can also mean "to put in a protective container". I'm not sure what other women feel, but I would rather have a man who is preparing to go places, tight, together and can provide a protective container for me (if need be, of course) rather than one that has me suspended, fastened to some point of elevation with no support and is just some drapery any day. Then I, for one, find it pretty appealing not to have someone who will roll over and punch me in the eye as a way of letting me know he's still there.

I hear so many of my female friends complain saying they can't find a decent man. But the truth is, we are a part of the problem. I have said this both in a relationship and out. If we as women would only look for the right things in the opposite sex, we would be much better off. We spend all our time looking for the man who has all the money we will ever need (Get a damn job, Girl) rather that the one who will give us all the love we could ever need. We get impregnated by the ones we feel have the highest hood status rather than the ones who are interested in maintaining the highest status as a father and has less interest in being the neighborhood sperm bank. There is nothing wrong with being able to have an intelligent conversation with a man and for him to be able to memorize the term "401k" before the term "Inmate #4579079K". Just because he hasn't had to flex his muscle to the point of arrest doesn't mean he can't be your prize fighter when you need him to be. And just because he doesn't have all the money and all the answers right now doesn't mean tomorrow won't be his day of epiphany. Just because he would rather talk about sports or video games and every other word out of his mouth isn't a four-letter word and his pants don't hang to his knees doesn't mean he isn't your man. So I guess what I'm saying is Ladies, we need to stop being stupid and get our priorities together. A real man is a man who doesn't walk around all day just looking for ways to prove he's a real man. It comes naturally to him and he is comfortable being who he is. Tighten up, Girls. And Super Nerd, call me.

-JUSTICE

Moregasm

Baby, come inside.
Let that jacket hit the floor.
You won't need those lips for talking.
There's no need to say much more.
It's been a long day.
I can remedy that frown.
Let me kiss it away at the lips
Then start working my way down.
You want me to keep the heels on?
I'll do that with a smile.
Maybe I'll hit the pole
And entice you for awhile.
You say you like my hips?
Well, watch what they can do.
Keep watching. Be a good boy
And I'll let you hold them too.
It's one for me and none for you.
Yes, I'm keeping score.
I'm nibbling on your neck now
But I want to taste much more.
Drop your guard. Drop those pants
And follow me to the bed.
Lay down and let me make
Those eyes roll back in your head,
I can feel your body tremble
Each time I hit the peak.
I've got the pillows waiting.
I'm putting you to sleep.
We're rolling around. You're swimming.
Please take this life preserver.
Don't you even dream of stopping
'Cause I plan to go much further.
Feel my hips slip and roll.
Tell me what you like.
Whisper your wants in my ear
And Baby, I just might.
It's okay to say my name.
My goal is to make you scream.
This sweet little southern belle
Is so much more than what she seems.
I can feel you growing
Even while you're inside.
Everything is so right in there
And I'm glad to take this ride.
By that smile on your face,
I can tell you're having fun.
You've never sounded sexier
Than when you're whispering in tongues.
Shake, quake and tremble, Papa.
I can feel you about to explode.
Filled with steam and screams,
This room's on passion overload.
It's the calm after the storm.
A silent rain still pours.
You can have a moment to rest.
Before long, I'll be back for more.

Justice

Tucson Memorial: The Peaceful Rant

President Obama hit home tonight with the memorial speech he gave in Tucson. When he said to the American people that we cannot let the tragedy that happened there give us another reason to fight against each other (and I do paraphrase), I think he was speaking not just to that situation but to tragedies that occur in all walks of life. To that daughter at war with her mother, to those siblings who haven't spoken in years because of an argument they can't even remember and to that woman or man throwing verbal or mental daggers at the next one on the job because they were promoted a little faster, he was saying, "Learn from one another and let this incident be a chance to grow in love". Then at the moment where he said "Gabby opened her eyes for the first time," I teared up and all I could say was "Thank you, Jesus". The other point that tugged at my heart was when they showed the face of that nine-year-old girl who was killed in the process of trying to get to know more about the country many of us have been in for decades and show no love to (i.e. not coming together as a people and saying to hell with the stupidity of color lines and religious discrimination). We can say "God Bless America" all we want, but until we do right by what He has given us and start treating each other better, WE WILL NOT GROW.

Just as my title suggested, this is a rant. It is formless and random. Any of you who know me and read my stuff regularly know this is not me. But we are all entitled to some mental regurgitation every now and then. Consider this mine for today.

Justice