I never been one for, small talk.

For the most part, I speak to express my feelings.

[Something that took, recovery and years of therapy]

Why I think I listen, with a compassionate ear.

But what warrants a, turned up mouth or rolling eyes, when one speaks?

Some say they care.

It seems true.

Long enough to have their wants or needs, satisfied.

So, don’t ask me why, when I become silent.

Remember, I spoke.

You didn’t listen.







The Lonely Lesbie

I hoped I would miss you, less and less over time.

It’s been two years.

Two years since I’ve seen you or heard your voice.

I did all I could, to get you out of my system.

It worked, for a bit.

But then, I had a moment.

And I text you.

Desperate, for even one of your, one worded responses.

I think of the good.

The weekend get aways to “The Room”

The road trips.

To Virginia, Pennsylvania. Martha’s Vineyard.

And the, not so good.

Him. Us and him again.

Still, I love you, as much as I did, the first time I met you.

Because, Whatever we were,

You were always, straight with me.

I miss you, immensely.


Racism: African born, towards black Americans 

I hate to admit it, but I’m racist. Racist against those, who are racist against me.

Just now, another blatant act of slight, disrespect and non acknowledgement.

Tue, April 18th, 2017 1:40pm

Not ten minutes ago, I go into Giants

[It’s a challenge as it is, dealing with mental issues, anxiety,. Fighting the incredibly strong urge, to stay in and isolate. Then this]

I speak to the first person I encountered (My dad taught me this, it’s called manners) who was a black american male (autocorrect, I chose not, to cap that A!) and an employee. He doesn’t speak, he says “Hi baby, to a light skinned person, that was male, that was behind me. This is strange for a few reasons for me, 1. If he only likes and speaks to men. (2) I am often mistaken for male, so why didn’t he speak. And (3) Was he exercising, skin tone racism?

The 2nd person I speak to (another employee of the store) is a African male. He says nothing, crossed in front of me, to present this old white lady, a bouquet of flowers, then wishes her, a happy birthday.

Now, to other people seeing that, they saw “Aw, What a sweet thing, he’s a wonderful person, For doing that”.

But having been slighted [while dealing with my dad’s diagnosis] for the umph time, all I saw was someone that was lining his self up for a future reward.

And that speaking to me, wasn’t beneficial or necessary.

So, why bother?

I haven’t always felt this way.

As a child, I remember my dad having 2 friends, one named, Michael, the other James. I remember, them fondly. My dad liked them, so I liked them. They we’re both from Africa.

It’s them, I think of, everytime

I say, Hello, to the next person,

Who doesn’t look, exactly like me.