Maybe twenty years ago,  his swag,  his baggy clothes,  du-rag, rough talk,  nothing to offer but dick would have intrigued me.. would have excited me… would have made me think I was lucky to run up on this man. ..Shit, 20 years ago, I would have been up for the fight. .up for the challenge of making him over to what I needed and wanted. .up for the disappointment I knew would soon follow and up for the walking away,  only to find the next one,  doing the same,  being the same and looking the same. .. But this ain’t then,  this is now and I’m tired..
Tired of the same bullshit. .. tired of the lies,  the half truths,  the hidden agendas,  the promises without follow thru and the sex…. I’m actually tired of sex… tired of the meaningless,  no emotion,  going thru the motions,  wondering how did I get here, when will he appear, not getting off, sex…
Today,  I’m ending my relationship with casual sex . I’m putting that muthafukka on notice. I’m letting her know,  I’m over it. Pass it and clearly through with it. . I’m focused.  Focused on him… focused on my future…..
Well, I got derailed a bit.. This guy was talking some off the wall stuff that I had to try… he said he wanted me to make him my slave. .. Whaaa…. lemme try that!! Turns out, I’m not built for the dominatrix lifestyle and sticking my finger in a man’s ass while calling him a bitch doesn’t do it for me; so, Im back to square one – saying no to casual sex…

Daydreaming… (Naughty thoughts)

Laying on my back, panting… Staring at him with incredulous eyes…. How can he make me do the things I do? My body betrays me every time..
My phone rang three hours ago… When I answered, a deep baritone voice says, on my way… I get ready…. I light candles from my front door to my bedroom….. I grab a bowl of strawberries and the whipped cream.. I place them on the o
night stand next to the four vanilla scented candles…. lights off, air conditioning blowing on high. He will not sweat out my perm this time… yeah, right! This man is a beast and I love it.. In the shower, I start daydreaming about our last session… He came over, ate my pussy for over an hour.. Slowly torturing me… Bringing me close to orgasm and then changing the pace..ugh! Driving me crazy… He would nibble on my lips.. Suck on my clit, stick his tongue in my pussy.. then his fingers over and over..fast, slow… hard… deep… rubbing my G-spot until my bed sheets were soaked… Then he stuck his beautiful thick dick inside me… Very, very slowly…. He pushes it in so deep, I gasped….. I came so many times, I’m not even sure he came once.. Before I know it, my finger is in me… I deem is his finger on and out, in and out.. oooo…. oooh…. My eyes fly open and I remember he’s on his way.. Shit! I’m about to start my own session without him… I rinse off quickly.. Step out the shower dripping wet – in more places than one – and apply shea butter and baby oil gel all over me… Pat myself dry…. Throw on a barely there, barely covering anything robe and wait for my date with destiny….



Hey you…

Sorry to be a drag but my minds on you, wondering about you.. if you’re too good to true… The word you speak sound like music to me, almost melodic in pitch and sing-songy in tone..almost perfect to heart and mind..
Hey you..Sorry to drag this out but I feel different with you.. Too high, too far gone with you.. I didn’t want this to happen..not yet… I wanted to move at a steady pace..but I feel it spiraling outta control.. my heart is racing to you, toward you at an uncontrollable rate…trying to slow it down, need to slow it down and my mind isn’t helping..Showing me images of what could be, what I would like to be…what I dreamed it to be…. hate this feeling….of being 15 again and not knowing the outcome….for the good or for the end… Not knowing the facts, the answers or the desired destination… of love or naught…. of hate or trust…. of you..of me…of we…. fuck it, of us…….


An Us Thang

Sitting here thinking about you…
about the time I spend with you..
about the possibilities with you..
About loving you
About the times when I don’t see you
Or when I’m not with you
Or when I’m not WITH you
Or when I can’t see you
But I yearn to be with you
Beside you
Close to you
Around you
Feeling the vibe of you
You know,
I get jealous of the people around you because they get to see you, talk with you, laugh with you, feel the vibe from you..
I kinda wish we were past this stage and we were more…
More like a couple
More on solid ground
A solid foundation
Moving swiftly toward
A more solid foundation
Moving toward
A deeper connection
Moving toward
More than physical
More like mental
Moving toward
A oneness
An openness
A completeness
An us in this
Can you dig it?


The Journey

If I was writing this the traditional way, my tears would stain the paper. .
If I was writing this the traditional way, my handwriting would be illegible…
My pen shakey…..
My words jumbled..
They wouldn’t make any sense
Have no meaning and my sentences would run on…
If… I…
If I was writing the traditional way…
But there’s nothing traditional about me or my life..
Im going thru a journey of sorts if you will. ..
I’m being led down a rabbit hole of unknowns and I’m doing it: kicking and screaming. .
The journey is not mine…
I’m just a passenger. ..
An unenthusiatic, unprepared, unsolicited passenger. .
This journey, this ride that I’m on.. I would love to get off but I can’t.
I would love to make it stop..
But I can’t
I wanna yell, scream, shout:
Abort mission!
Abandon ship!
Cease fire!
Just. .stop..
But I can’t. .
It’s not my ride
Not my journey
Not my life
I’m just along for the ride, for the adventure..
You see, my daughter is in the process of transitioning into a man…
She’s deciding to live her life out loud, but why do I have to go with her?
Why couldn’t she live out loud, a little quieter?
A little less rumble in her jungle?
A little less fire in her cracker?
A little less pop! In her snap. ..?
Just a teeny roar….?
Don’t get it twisted…
I’m not here looking for pity or hugs…
Or quiet words of understanding….
Little nods with the hand on my arm, like Oh Girl..
Do not feel sorry for me..
Or her..
Hell, I’m proud of the kid..
I applaud the kid…
I applaud her courage, her tenacity, her audacity…Her bravery…
However things are getting a bit outta hand now…
The physical changes are afoot..
She’s getting taller, her shoulders are broadening, her waist slimming, feet growing, voice deepening and she’s growing facial hair….
But all I see is my girl…
That tiny baby girl I gave birth to… that I taught to ride a bike, to stand up to bullies, to hold her head up high, to be independent….to be happy…. My… girl…. my one and only, my everything..
my heartbeat…
If I was writing this the traditional way, my tears would stain the paper. .
My pen shakey..
My handwriting illegible…
My words jumbled…
They wouldn’t make any sense,
Have no meaning
And my sentences would run on. .
If… I…
….was writing this the traditional way…
But there’s nothing traditional about me or my life….
Or this journey…
Or this ride…
But love…..



My time away from you or trying to shut you out was to get my mind and heart right. .. well, to get you out of both, really… I don’t think you totally get how I feel about you. I know you don’t believe that I fell for you the moment you kissed me two years ago… my heart has been tethered to you ever since – most days I wish it weren’t…. Most days, I wish I could fuck you with no regard. Let’s just get it and keep it moving. I can’t. Most days I hate you and wish we never met, let alone kissed that night of our first meeting. I wish, like most of my brief dating encounters, we fizzled out after the first phone call so I wouldn’t feel what I feel now: emotions, love, loneliness, unwantedness, played and manipulated. But I did invite that, didn’t I?

I wish I could say I was doing better when I was giving you a hard time, as you put it, I wasn’t. I retreated into a cocoon…. playing it safe… not getting involved… trying to fuck with no regard… trying not to compare them to you… trying not to decide who is the biggest asshole…. trying not to think about you. ..trying not to love you but loving you from afar….. and still loving you now….

Fuck me…


An Unlikely Source

I received a phone call today from an unexpected source. I’ve never spoken to him on the phone before but he’s been in my life for a little under 25 years.  I loved his wife.  By that I mean,  she was one of the dopest women I know – definitely in my top 3. She loved me like a daughter.  Always had a kind word or a jewel for me.  Always been one of my biggest supporters and I can still hear her saying, “You go, Girl!”. whenever I had some good news to share. She showed me unconditional love, support and understanding… She was awesome.. Continue to rest in Paradise Beautiful…

So her husband calls me because I texted him as I have been doing since her passing.  The text is always short and sweet but this time he needed clarity so he called.  We talked and laughed and he, too, dropped some jewels on me. Hearing his laughter made me miss her even more, yet I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. I can see her smile and shaking her head at his stories.

They welcomed me into their family when I was dating his son. As our relationship grew so did my love and respect for her. I always wanted her to meet my mother – THE dopest woman I know. She always asked about her. Always showed respect for her – that meeting never happened… One thing I definitely regret.  She taught me things when I got on my own, what to look out for,  who to look out for and what moves I should make.  I could talk to her about any and everything, she was my diary for real. We would talk for hours. The last time I heard her voice was a month before she passed. She said she would call me back but never did.  I made sure to text her every other day. One day, I was laying in bed when suddenly I got the urge to text her,  I love you and I pray you get better sooner than later.  No response.  I didn’t expect one.  I knew she was sick. However,  I wasn’t expecting the next text I received, which was from my ex the next day, saying she passed. I cried. My heart broke. I mourned a little but not like I thought I would.  I have no guilt or regrets. She knew I loved her. She knew how I felt for her. There was no mistake or denying our friendship. I later found out my text was the last text she received before passing. At her funeral, I didn’t view her body.  There was no need. My friend was gone.  The body in the casket was a shell. I didn’t want to remember her that way.  I wanted to remember her smile, her laughter, her sense of style, so I remained seated. Her husband brought all that up. Memories of yesterday. Memories of our conversations. Memories of her love, support and friendship…

We ended the call with I love yous and talk to you soon. I will too. I will definitely keep in touch with him so I can continue to get my jewels. He made me laugh and cry in the same conversation. He made me believe in love again and new beginnings and he made me feel stronger… All I needed was a “You go, Girl” and I would have been set. Maybe next time…


Today i’m gonna write some true shit, not no love shit. It’s the real world out here, and it’s a lot harder to deal with. People come in and out your life, trying to take your wife. Drugs take so many lives, leaving junkies to watch their back from left to right. Fifteen year old girls become pregnant by men that only wanted one night, left to provide and wake up all hours of the night. That man in the corner had his heartbroken when he heard her cancer took over. Mothers torn between drugs or their kids, dads praying they get the chance to give. High school graduate trying to get a grip on life, now with no where to call home or their own. The most beautiful girl is stuck in an abusive relationship, with no way out. There’s individuals that have it all, and others waiting for that life changing call. 

Rita Gabriiel

May your love live on forever

F cancer.. for real. It claimed yet another body, yet never took Dede’s spirit. Every single day I could count on her popping up in my feed declaring that cancer had no power over her as she rocked awesome wigs and blasted away any negativity with her infectious smile.

No matter what she was going through, she persevered in love and had love pouring out her pores. So in honor of this remarkable woman who wouldn’t let anything get or keep her down, let us always look to the silver lining of life… let us always find a reason to smile… let us always find a reason to be an inspiration to others because Dede would want us to continue her legacy of love and determination and strength. 

It’s ok to shed a few tears… we lost a beautiful soul… 

But remember she would want us celebrating eating good food, being surrounded by our loved ones, and looking fabulous no matter how we feel on the inside.
Gone… but never ever forgotten. ❤

Patience is key.

There she is with paper and pen, trying to think of ways to let people in. With such a complexed mind it’s hard to even think of the time. The time where she first became defined, the time where she first lost her mind. With so many walls up you would think she went to hell and back. She did, the deepest darkest part of hell in her mind. Growing up people didn’t realize the toll it took, or the many different ways her brain began to operate. When you’re told lies from the first time you opened your eyes, to the last time you seen the devil in disguise. She went from being that young always happy girl, to the one that stopped giving her hair a twirl. Day by day she was dying inside. No one thought about it, but just tossed it aside. Years go by and she tries to figure out why. No one ever told her she grew up believing every lie, that’s when the pain became intensified. She waited for it to subside, yet only felt more and more dead inside. It came to be she wasn’t remembering, her only defense mechanism. If she felt a certain way, heard the tone in a voice that she always wanted to go away. She blocked it out, no one could hurt her that way. Now she’s an adult, she’s got so many feelings and not a clue on how to let them out. She never learned to talk it out, only that her emotions didn’t matter..without a doubt. She has always been one of the pretty girls, even in high school. It went unnoticed when her hair was no longer ever in a twirl. The fire within her died, she tried her best to feel alive. Coping skills in every direction..drugs, anorexia, she even turned to cutting, just to feel something. There was such a thrill that gave her a chill. Seeing her blood spill gave her hope that something was real. Years went by and her self destruction only progressed. Between the booze mixed with narcotics, she thought she might’ve faded her psychotics. Without recognition she took more controlled substances, a whole bottle down. There wasn’t a thought in her mind to be found, she blacked out. A day later she woke up in a psychiatric unit, “Where the hell am I?!” She thought out loud. She didn’t want to be, she felt annoyed that she wasn’t left alone for the pills to have complete control of her body. Bruises on her skin, restraints after she was brought in. Scared heartbroken people around her, they just wanted to save her. She didn’t want to be saved, she was tired of all the pain she’s always had to hide. She just wanted to die, there was no sparkle left in her eye. Her skin was as pale as it’s ever been. She felt as if she was a zombie, questioned if she was even breathing. After she felt more human she began to explore the place she woke up in. The walls were blank, the beds felt like a plank. When she met the other people, she knew she was nothing like them. She didn’t see what wasn’t there, or hear voices. All she ever wanted was relief from damage that had been done. Whether it was a quick slice of her skin with the end of a pen, or denying a meal to listen to her stomach squeal. She wanted control of herself, she wanted to ease the pain and not feel so insane. Her suicide attempt made her mind so deranged. The thoughts of being alive, yet wanting to commit suicide. She never had hope or ambition. Before she woke up in the psychiatric unit, she thought she really blew it. What type of hurt and bottled up emotions would cause such a chain reaction, to be so low that you feel like absolutely nothing. Internal scars are reminders that she is alive. As alive as she will ever be. She asks for you to be patient, as she’s still trying to let the past be. A woman with such a great heart, has lived a life that wasn’t off to the best start. She’s grown now, she’s built barriers around herself. She is no longer young, or put on a shelf. She protects her complexed mind, she is divine.

Rita Gabriiel