An open letter to the Programmer...

Let me go.

All I want is to be left alone. Your memory has been haunting my subconscious lately, and it's getting a bit frightening. I want to forget you. Forget what it was we had. Forget Saturday mornings fragrant of pancakes after I've slept off your special attention the night before.

I want you gone.

There was a time when I did want you. There was a time where I wanted any type of interaction with you. Maybe I'm just getting over the shock. Maybe I'm reliving that horrible day you couldn't face me. It has been a year, now. When I offered up my friendship, which is one of my highest commodities, you threw it back to me. I don't hate you. In fact, I love you still.

I just want you gone.

I needed you. When others failed me, you didn't want to know. When reality danced in front of my very eyes, I needed comfort. You said I needed to believe in myself. I needed to believe in you. You never understood that. You wanted a soldier. A cold body with a warm center for your manipulation. I didn't know how to be that for you. I needed strength in you. You couldn't give me that. Instead, you wanted to be my drill sargeant. The one to tell me to man up.

I need you gone.

Why is it that, when the lights are off, and the world is silent, the one dream you want to push away keeps invading your repose? I see your face when I close my eyes. I hear your voice in my head, telling me cheap jokes, and laughing at my braggadocia. I feel the roughness of your lips in winter, mixing with my Urban Decay lip gloss, making us sticky but happy. I want your vibe near me while I lay alone, smoothing my heart. Instead, I get a case of aggravated slumber.

Now, I just need you gone...

I have loved you since our first IM. You reached out to me, and I heard you call. I answered with honesty and loyalty. Even when love's wound was still fresh and stinging from the Singer, we became the best of friends. Nothing could come between us. We were almost siblings, until we were left alone in the dark, with Prince crooning Adore. All I needed you to do was love me. That wasn't the difficult part. Was it?

Good morning, Heartache...

In every encounter, no matter how nice it is, I compare them to you. Intelligence, wit, charm, and manners are all compared to you. What kind of hold did you have on me? What was it about you that made me absolutely adore you the past four years? Why does it feel like it will never go away? Why do I continue to read our letters, laugh at all the old jokes, and sing the old songs? I still love you. I'm admitting it and there's nothing I can do about it, but admit it. I've tried to make sense of it. I've tried occupying my time with sub-par contestants with failure. I've tried to hate you, block you, and forget you. It's obvious.


I can't.



I just need/want you gone...

Cape Fear...

I started this dialogue with the virtual world, in hopes that I would find what I was looking for in myself. I did. Actually, I found what I don't want. Looking for a significant other has been an undertaking, to say the least. So many entities and personalities have crossed my path; and shown me things I could've only revealed here. I've noticed the male species I've had the displeasure to consort with have had issues I never knew existed. Finding this information out, I've found what I really need in my significant other. I'll list my concerns here:

I got 99 sneakers, but a heel ain't one...

The man I choose to share my life with, has to accept my choices as a woman. I choose to wear sneakers as fashion footwear a great percentage of the time. You, no matter how smooth/loving/demanding/convincing you may think yourself, cannot change this. I do, however, get dressed when there is a need. I'm a geekgirl. Live with it.

My religion is my everyday life. Because you have Jesus in your life, does not mean that I need him in mine. Don't get me wrong, I am a spiritual woman. As I've stated before, I don't need to go into a building, pay a cover charge, be visually molested and lied to, by a con-man on a pulpit. I do not feel this way about all religions, but, I do feel strongly about my spiritual conscience. I feel as a human being, there is more than one way to get to the mountaintop. I don't feel I need to wear heels to get there. You cannot change this. Your way is NOT my way. Accept, adapt, or move on.

Because you have a strong cause, it is not my cause. You may be attracted to my words, phrases and sharp quips, but I am not moved because you are. If I say no, then I mean it. I cannot be swayed/cajoled/convinced to move any other direction than what I've set out for myself.

Do not, I repeat, do not think beautiful words will change my frame of mind. Beautiful words used to gain your point of view only pisses me off even more. Especially when you think paraphrasing the art of making love is going to moisten the in between regions of my thighs. Think again, son.

Once you've made me journey to the dark side of my soul, you are thus turned out/turned away/turned loose, never to be trusted again.

Know this.

Diva's got a man...

I want to look in his eyes and know there is a revolution in his soul. I want to hear his voice, and be moved by it's quiet and uncompromising timbre. I want to melt under his cool hand, but rejoice in the artistry of his character. He has to be confident, not arrogant. He has to be loving, not greedy. He has to be erotic, not repulsive. He has to be compassionate, not self-serving. When I say no, he'll be aroused by the fact that I do have a mind, heart, and soul; and I have an opinion. Several of them. He'll know when he looks at me, he has a teammate/lover/fighter in his midst. When he thinks of me, he'll know I'm just a breath away, because my thoughts are with him. When he looks at me, I'll hear children's laughter, and ocean waves crashing, alerting me to the innocence and reality of his being tangible. I want him to walk, talk and breathe love, but I also want him rational, cerebral and surreal. All of this, and he'll still know how to make spaghetti from scratch, whip my ass in Tekken, and talk big shit while he's holding me close.

Yeah, that *braggadocio gets me everytime.

He's there, somewhere.

This time, I'm going to let him find me.


I await you, solemn one...

*braggadocio - A swaggering, cocky manner in a masculine sense.

I got what you really want...

Kissing has been on my mind lately. I've been wanting to kiss someone. Not just any kiss, though. One of those kisses that left your brain oozing out of your left ear. Kisses which start endless make-out sessions before sex ever became a part of your existence. You know, the tender groping we all identify as being passionate. Which brings me to my next entry...

In my post-teen years...

I had a boy. He was a sweet encounter. He had innocence that I so innocently snatched away from him. The Freshman was a sweet boy. He was also a reckless driver with the Little Red Corvette I trusted him with. I can remember the day I kissed him. It was a crisp November Sunday. I spent the weekend with my, then, best friend. I used her house as the front spot for all of my encounters. I never wanted the guys I met to know I lived in the projects, right up the hill. No matter how educated, well-versed or cute you are, if a man finds out you live in the projects, you're automatically stereotyped as some chick that sucks dick in an elevator for Now & Later money.

I walked down the block, and he was playing football in the street with some of his friends. I was always attracted to the dudes that never got attention. Because, I knew, if I showered them attention they never received, they would damn near kiss the very ground I walked on.

Again, soul destructive bullshit I've thrusted upon myself for the last 10-15 years.

After the street ball game was over, we talked and laughed until dusk. He was amazed at how I was so attentive to him. But, then, I was surprised at how I was attracted to his inner glow. I mean, if people had gotten the chance to know him, instead of looking at him on the outside, they would have known he was the coolest person in the world to know. Well, minutes turned to hours, and hours into more hours. Before I knew it, I ended up inside his porch with the lights out, kissing him until I couldn't breathe. I mean, we kissed each other so hard, and so long, that our lips were vibrating when we were done. I can remember us being pressed on the wall so wildly, we were ringing the upstairs apartment doorbell. I can remember just loving his aura, his scent, his whole being.


We were simply adorable...

It was really great.

I dedicate this whole entry to The Freshman. Thank you for making me feel beautiful, intelligent and outrageously sexy. You were a bright spot in my life, for sure. My heart will always have your name etched on the right ventricle. Thank you for allowing me to make your prom night the best night you'll ever remember. Thank you for your laughter and your passion. Grown men in my relationships haven't been able to do what you've done in one month.

Love for always and forever...


Your Senior Cheerleader...