Truth Serum

The glossy version of the truth carries with it a sweet cocktail, a little refreshing anecdote, a sprig of mint, and a twist.  Sometimes fruity, sometimes tart, coolly carbonated and pleasant to sip.  Drink it in; it goes down smoothly.

However...

The dark thick grog, with pungent smell and uneven texture, which takes a rough-traveled journey down the throat of its recipient--the unaltered, unsweetened and bitter truth--the real raw deal, although hard to swallow--is better than the fruity twist of covert innuendo, subtle suggestion, and undercurrent agenda.

Give me the truth and nothing but the truth. Unfiltered, no ice, no lemon or fruit to chase the rich bile of truth, which burns going down, but cleanses the soul.

.

Give me that.

Straight, no chaser.
Brilliantly constructed, wholly offensive truth. 
Served raw. 
No salt, no pepper, no sugar.

Just...the truth.

Serve me the truth. 
raw, unpalatable

It may not taste good going down
But it will purge and disinfect, 
Making me better for having taken its dose.

Truth serum - no ice. 

I8.02.13

~The Dance

The 20th of never has arrived.

Here I sit in my fancy dress and dancing shoes.

No one asked me to the big soiree.

I guess they figured I already had a date??

Typical "Sixteen Candles" tragic, romantic plot.

Supposedly, the guy of my dreams is sitting somewhere with a suit and tie on, wishing he'd had the courage to ask me to the dance.

In true tragic useless romantic form, he's waiting for me, but hasn't the guts to let me know.

Maybe he'll find me, come out of his protective shell and invite me into his forever.

We deserve each other. We've both been all dressed up, nowhere to go, and waiting.

Sounds and Whispers

In a clear moment, when I have no idea what to say...

My heart expands with emotions untilled-
a frustrating, aching proposition
of moral tides
and faint whispers
of words unsaid and feelings not uttered
and of circumstance shattered,
of keen hopes battered.

 
 Languor and anger
and hatred and strife
to tell of a toll on stretched, unfettered life.

Why are you here?
I thought you had left,
literally taken a left
taken a break
and yet...
here you stayed.

Wide-eyed and wondering 
a heat-barren post
devoid of the hope
for which it stands
for you are, by far, no ordinary man.

Light and ritual
have teased our hopes, 
our declarations, once bold type-face,
now laden with heavy ropes.

Ransacked visions,
fragments of resolve
Deep crease of grimace
Smile lines dissolved...

These pieces of a dream--
this equation we wrote
symbolizes vague symbolism 
of things we reach to be.

A hidden approach, void of pain or vanity, 
the expectations we hold so true--
the escobars and minotaurs that lurk,
hidden from view.

Why should it matter, 
the whens and the whys?
Because a glimpse of redemption
could lighten these blood-black eyes.

A glimmer to force the courageous shoulder back to the grindstone again
Brief freedom from the litany 
A syncopated rhythm flashes across the window pane.

Gleefully smitten, and washed about
Handsome hands, gallant arms,
soft warm lips that speak no harm.

My sweet, safe dream
and the wings to bear it
The life I crave; the love to share it.

Time capsule unearthed
by wind and stealth
Inside of you, I find myself.

When the wind chimes meet 
their conquering breeze,
This bliss shall set your mind at ease.

That moment the chamber is gently unlocked,
Time will shudder
and stop the clock.

No time, no space or chronology,
no baited effort to make mockery of me.

No prism of light
to cast anger or blame
it is you; it is I; it is we again.

Let's capture this rapture in our souls-
they are the same.
Breathless and guilded, you reach for my frame.

Textured and glistened the stone casts our claim:
The mastered dominion of what is ours to maintain.
In Gestation-the sound has cleansed away his pain.

The #Real Deal

Guess what I just heard??

"There's all kind of good black men on BlackPeopleMeet.com." Really? Not so sure.

More often than not, people pretend to be something they're not on social networks. Sometimes it's not just that they stretch the truth to make their lives seem better than they actually are (even though that's a prevalent social network disease--Facebook Fakery, Twitter Tall-Tales, Instagram Impersonators).

Often, the face you see on the profile is #not even the person who owns the account. It's very easy for people to steal people's pictures/identity and pretend to be someone else via the Internet. Beware. The "Catfish" is real.

My Grandma Rose (R.I.P.) used to say to me, "There are some good men out there, but you got to see the person for who they are; you got to get to know they ways, Baby. Otherwise, you don't really know who you got." Wise lady.

There's something to be said for cultivating relationships the old fashioned way. A lot of the marriages who began from a simple "hello" in person are still thriving today.

Technology is great, but should never replace good ole' fashioned one-on-one, interpersonal interaction. Everything else, in my opinion is just a watered-down connection, and nowhere near as potent as the real thing.

So, to Match.com, Blackpeoplemeet.com, and yes even to you, ChristianMingle.com: I've seen the numerous commercials with all kinds of attractive people who supposedly met and built successful relationships through online dating sites. But, I'll pass. Thanks.

Talking in person: For when you want trout and not #catfish.

#CountTheCost
#YouCanNeverGoWrongWithTheReal