The Roads

My life on the road has never been any better. I guess growing up with so much negativity in my life I honestly thought I was going to end up going down a very dark road. I realized how wrong I was when I came to a fork in the road. It wasn’t a two-way road it was divided in different shapes aimagesnd sizes and colors. Let me tell you what I saw…

I saw a BLACK road. I was able to see far enough down the road even though it was dark. When I came to its entrance, it made me feel full of hatred. It welcomed me with open arms. I had learned hatred from a very young age. I experienced the hate from family because I was not their child. I felt hate when my father hit me because he as mad at his wife. I hated her, she destroyed my life. As I got older I hated people. They also hated me. I was rude and obnoxious. I hated everything, I hated everyone especially when they turned their back on me. I felt myself drifting further into the entrance. I still harbor so much hate but I have to wait.

Then there was the BLUE road. I really didn’t like the blue road. Even though it welcomed me with open arms. It made me want to cry and I didn’t want to cry. I cried when I was born. I cried when they yelled at me. I cried when they told me I was fat.I cried when my sister and grandma died. I cried when I was humiliated by my ex husband when he would cheat on me because I wasn’t good enough. I cried when my ex boyfriend beat me because I didn’t use drugs enough. I cried when my daughter had her baby because I thought she was going to die. I cried when I almost died. I have cried and cried and cried. I don’t want to cry no more.

Then I saw the GREEN road it also welcomed me with opened arms.  But I did not like what I saw. I wanted everything about it but I couldn’t have it. I wanted to be skinny but I couldn’t. I wanted to have money and it floated around me and others got rich and I didn’t. Everyone else got love and I didn’t. What was the point of going down this road if I couldn’t get what I wanted. The next one was no better…

The road was RED it was full of evil. It shook me to the core.  I saw blood in the entrance it went as far as I could see.  It made me feel like I was going crazy. Crazy. Things in the dark creeped up and around and made me feel like I was going to die. It haunted me in my sleep it as well as in the day. I even saw the dead. No really they were dead. I saw myself as I laid in a hospital bed. No this road I definitely did not want to go there. As I walked to the next road an arm came out and began to pull me inside. I wanted to scream but no scream came out. I closed my eyes and when I opened them…..

I saw the YELLOW road. No not the yellow brick road. It was yellow. It had chickens running around it clucking me to enter. I immediately got scared I knew I could walk in but I didn’t want to. Something held me back. Just like when my mom left and left us with my dad. Just like when I was approached and threatened to get my ass bet by two older girls. Just like when  I saw the fear in my daughters eyes, when we got hit by a car and she was eight months pregnant. Just like when I found out that she was pregnant. No this road made me feel like I wanted to pee, so I turned to the next road…….

A PINK road, there was a joyousness in this road. I was happy. Just like when I got my first kiss. When I heard the first cry of my daughter. When I heard the first cry of my son. When I heard the first cry of my granddaughter. A joy when I finally decided to leave the only place that I knew as home. The joy of just watching my grand-daughter play and laugh. The joy I feel when she calls me mum. So much joy definitely the way to go. But then I saw….

The WHITE the road was white. I’ll be damned it was white. Very peaceful. Spiritually you may say. How I felt after I gave birth. How I felt like I went and asked God to forgive me for everything bad I had done. God, yes I said God. I believe in a higher power and a pure higher power. I believe in him because without him that road would not be white it would be splattered with red…..

I decided to make up my mind. I closed my eyes and thought very hard. I had to make a good decision, this road, I was going to travel for the rest of my life. I had to think nice and hard because crying so much would depress me and hating so much would kill me. I couldn’t be smiling all the time either. Can you imagine? I would die looking like the joker. I couldn’t make up my mind so I thought I’m going to eenie miniee mynee mo this shit. What else could I do? I opened my eyes and the roads were gone. They were no longer in front of me,they were now in back of me. I had traveled the roads already. As I turned back around the roads had no color. I began to walk forward, I saw my steps left colored prints. Sometimes black, sometime blue, red, yellow, pink, and even purple. At times I saw no color. No Color at all.

The Notkintook

Beware the day you go to sleep and the Notkintook awakens you. If you feel a tug on the sheets of your bed, clutch them tightly and play dead. Don dare to move to shiver or shake. Because the Notkintook will take you away. It crawls out from the shadows with a smile on his face. Because he know he is going to have lunch today.  Little Timmy did not believe, he laughed at his teacher when he misbehaved. She told him beware Timmy the Notkintook will want to play. At home he was rude loud and annoying. His momma also told him. Please Timmy behave. Because the Notkintook will want to play. Timmy laughed and laughed till he was blue. Not knowing that at night he would not know what to do.

As the color of the sky changed from blue to red to black. Timmy kicked the dog and bit the cat. He pulled his sisters hair and ran out of the bathroom bare. Timmy please behave because the Notkintook will want to play. Blah! said Timmy nothing scares me. I will punch him in the nose kick his ugly knees. As the evening wore on Timmy prepared for bed. Not knowing that in the morning he would be dead. Timmy its getting late. Turn off that phone, put that game away. Timmy didn’t listen he never did he just laughed at his mom until he fell asleep.

Three in the morning the moon cast its shadow as well as its light. Out came the Notkintook getting ready for his bite. He floated about silently as a ghost until he reached Timmy’s toes. He grinded his teeth sharpening for the night and he clawed the bed softly to fill Timmy with fright. Timmy opened his eyes wide awake for the screeches were scary and he thought to himself. What is that? Why am I scared? Then he remembered his teacher and his mother too. He wanted to cry, my what a fool. Stiff as a board he dare not move. He closed his eyes shut he dare not see. He knew were the Notkintook would be. And then he felt the tug. His sheets began to slowly slide down his chest…..down his waist…..down his thigh…down to his bare toes. Paralyzed by fright Timmy clenched his teeth tightened his eyes and then he felt it. It was on the bed. A wave of freezing cold air went through his body. and the bed sank slowly to the ground making a screeching sound.  Hot smelly air-filled his face and something slimy hit his cheek. Timmy couldn’t help it,  that was super gross,  he opened up one eye to see now Timmy is a ghost. So when you want to behave like a brat like you don’t even care.  Remember little Timmy and how he had to stare. So beware of the Notkintook and properly behave. Because he will come out and play.

ARE YOU A CONQUEROR?

Conqueror.

As I sit here listening to this song. I feel the strength, the adrenaline rush through me.

For I know that I am a conqueror.

I have not given up.

I got handed a bag of lemons and I was able to do the sweetest creation.

For I will never give up.

Throw me a stone try to destroy me but you will fail.

For I am a conqueror. I do not give up.

While I live, I will fight, until I die.

I will make my children conquerors as well.

For they have seen the pain and the struggle of our daily lives.

A CONQUERING QUEEN that will not bow her head down to no one.

Only to God, for he has made me a conqueror.

I did not acquire this strength on my own.

I know that I have shed tears but tears of war.

I have shed tears of fear.

But my face has remained the same.

Emotionless.

“life is like a merry go round.”

I truly agree.

“I RATHER STAND TALL THAN LIVE ON MY KNEES.”

And every time I have fallen on my face

I shake it off and get back up again.

I know that I will succeed.

I know that I will fight for what is right.

If you try to put your foot on my face,

careful because you could lose your balance and fall.

All because you are trying to bring me down.

But remember this you can try all you want,

But you will never succeed because…….

I’M A CONQUEROR!!

The lower ones 2

And I thought the Rescue Mission was bad. Welcome to Saint Vincent de Paul.

Welcome to Saint Vincent,

the community of the poor.

Where your room is full of bugs

and much much more.

The food is not so bad. It’s actually pretty decent.

But that is not the point I am trying to make.

the horrors of this place are just o so great.

For let me warn if you should enter here,

don’t expect for anyone to listen, my dear.

Because regardless of the bed bug bites, the fleas, and the mice.

You get accused of making it all that stuff up,

even when they are hanging by your eyes.

Ok well maybe thats way to much but the other two lines are true.

But beware of the tyranny of the people in charge,

The mother, the daughter, who really care less,

The mother has been here for sixteen years, a program manager

Her success is just to be admired.

Her daughter working on the floor, on her phone,

talking to residents like they are nothing,

like they are lower than low.

But no one can say anything because of the fear of being kicked out.

Because she tells her mommy and guess what?

You are the one in the wrong.

But what can we, the poor do.

For they say they were once in our shoes.

Does that give them the right to treat us like poo.

Who to go to, what to do?

Who can I talk to when the system is against you?

The horror of Saint Vincent de Paul

Is not the place at all

It’s the people who run who treat you like shit.

And want you to say nothing

with your bugs your mice and your fleas.

TO BE A LOWER ONE

Thanks to my stay at the San Diego Rescue Mission I was inspired by this lovely piece.

You walk around barking orders at women from the moment you walk into the door.

You stand there pointing your finger over and over again.

Kids run around screaming their heads off.

Moms sit and stare, some on their phones, some puffing on their cigarettes.

Me, sitting waiting for the day just to be over.

Wondering how and what I was doing there.

What is wrong with me, how could I do this to my kids.

Resignated and defeated I make the one call that I have dreaded all my life.

To their father. The one who has never been there.

And to my surprise he laughs and tells them that he can not help.

We walk downstairs to the room of death.

A morgue for the dead now converted for the living and in despair.

It’s gloomy and loud. for the children have not settled.

Five minute showers that’s all that is allowed.

While she walks out and yells to the kids to keep it down.

A feeling of depression overwhelms me then I hear her speak.

The devil in disguise. Welferas. People of the system.

She is spitting out words that roll of her tounge about how we have to get out of the system.

She then tries to smooth out her prejudice by saying,

“I once was there.”

But I ask myself where?

I have worked almost all my life since I was fourteen.

Making 8, 9 dollars an hour can not pay for 1200 dollars of rent.

The face that she makes is of disgust.

Then she bows down her head and says “let’s pray.”

The lower ones.

We are underground and not allowed to speak to the ones that live above us.

The lower ones.

The ones without a roof above our heads.

The lower ones.

At 7 am is the dismissal so you can return at 5.

Carrying your belongings all day long.

The lower ones.

You cant brush your hair because 4 more women are in the only bathroom.

I am thankful. Do not get me wrong. There is a roof on my head and food on my plate.

But this feels like the system.

I feel like if I was being punished and doing time for being poor and broke.

My health seems to get worst.

Then the devil return with a grim in her face and looks at me and says,

“You don’t look disabled.”

Wow I shake my head. I did not know or was I aware that one had to look disabled to be disabled.

The lower one.

In a dungeon of grim and the sad.

Where the food looks like slops.

The hot dogs are green and recycled chicken is every 3 days.

The lower ones.

But I am thankful. I have a roof on my head and food on my plate.

I want to cry and scream I do not want to be a lower one.

I want to work and have my own roof and cook my own food.

But I can’t afford it. Our health seems to be deteriorating.

But you know what.

Come to think about it.

I am not ashamed to be a lower one.

I am just one of many that has been lowered due to all this political greed.

I am one of many that have tried and somehow missed that step to greatness.

I am a lower, a lower who will rise from that dungeon of sadness,

And I will live to see many brighter days.

So you call yourself my mother.

So call yourself my mother.

But you can not really be my mother.

Years passed without you.

Yet you expect for one to pounce at the sight of you.

Out of all things, i learned respect,

because you are my “mother”.

But are you my mother.

You walked away from my life, blaming others.

You blame me for being like my dad.

How was I suppose to be like you if you were not there.

Your drugs were more important than your kids.

But somehow you manage to help others.

I see my friends mothers,

they act different than you. 

They love their kids and boast about their kids;

and you;

you can’t wait to talk shit about your kids.

There is always something wrong with us,

we pay no mind to you.

But where were you when we needed you.

I tried, i honestly tried but I can not call you mother.

A person who talks shit about their grandkids but praise other kids

can not carry the title of a mother.

Than you cry because you feel alone,

I wonder why?

You talk about the hurt that is being done to you,

but yet you hurt the ones that you are suppose to love and love you.

Yeah keep calling yourself a mother.

If that is what is going to make you happy,

But get one thing straight you have never been my mother.