Warning

Only use those three words if you really mean it
I mean you’ve got to feel it beyond the depths of your soul
It must rock your spirit
You’ve got to have the kind of everlasting love
in your heart that’s unconditional—a constant
Be careful saying those words if you don’t really mean it
Don’t even let those eight letters trip off your lips
if it doesn’t fire within your belly—
make you want to cry sometimes
Yes, that’s how deep your love should be
It should make you want to get down on your knees
and start sobbing, begging, and pleading
for a loving heart to accept you forever
Be careful whom you tell
I love you

A Morning Writing Session

After a near orgasmic shower experience, I’m here in the living room on the sofa with this laptop in my lap, typing these words to you. That was a lengthy sentence. Sigh. Oh, I love taking showers, especially when I have a great shower gel. Sabon is my favorite. I have lemon basil and it smells divine. Bath and Body Works has gels that I favor too, but this post isn’t about shower gels. Maybe it is. Nope, it isn’t. I merely wish to share several thoughts. For weeks I’ve heard me saying, “You need to blog.” I couldn’t ignore that voice any longer. She was the loudest of multiples. One excuse for the avoidance of sharing my voice here on a regular basis, which is something I enjoy doing, is that I put it off for another interest. Recently, I discovered zentangle art and fell hard for it. I love it. Art has always been a part of my life. As a child I sat for hours watching my mother create art at her drafting table. At various stages of my life I’ve picked up a pencil to draw. I wish I had the paper books where I wrote stories and illustrated them because it was fun to do. And I guess I was a budding writer early on, free like all kids are to let the imagination run wild. I’m sure that I’ve told you I love to knit.

My colleague taught me how to knit shortly after the school year began and from that moment on I’ve been clacking away with needles. She’s helping me with a pattern for a sweater, which I hope to finish before school ends. I’m taking a knitting class to learn how to make a raglan sweater. I’m using a beautiful reddish-gold, hand dyed Peruvian wool yarn. I always look forward to this class. The instructor revealed an intricately designed sweater one of her students is knitting and the woman is blind. Humility surged through my body upon learning this about her. Seriously, if this woman can knit a sweater with four different colors without sight, there’s no reason I should ever complain in life. Period.

What else? I’m uncertain if I’ll have a teaching position next year. Yep. Smh. My fate depends on the student passing rate for the ECA. This marks my sixth year as an English teacher. It seems as if every other year in this teaching thing I’m jobless. I’ve enjoyed teaching writing to 10th graders. Many have said that they’ve learned how to write because of me and some have even called me their favorite teacher. Sweet. Maybe I’m not supposed to be an educator. I want to do what I love. I want to write for a living. A few years ago, I took a break from teaching to do just that. I was writing articles online for a content mill and I didn’t even know that it was something you should avoid if you want to earn your worth. I released my first book and I sent several poems to reputable publications to gain more exposure. My bank account dwindled, I had no health insurance, and fear punched me in the face so much that I got a job at Walmart and then searched for a teaching position for the upcoming school year.

Truth is I haven’t stayed true to my passion. There, I’ve said it. Admittedly, I didn’t want to say it or even write here because now I must own it. My second book is coming along, but I’ve had moments where I’ve felt stuck with the story. I feel this is happening because I’m closer to this story than anything else I’ve written in the past. It’s a fictionalized version of my life as a single mother. Sometimes while writing in character I experience sadness and pain as I revisit memories of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and struggle. The way I get unstuck is to write through it all. *sips water* I believe this is where I stop. I’m distracted by the birds chirping in trees outside my window, a lawnmower noise, and my stomach feels empty so I should probably eat. Be well.