SELF R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Ladies,

There is nothing like watching you mutilate your spirits...as you prostrate yourself before the men who want to be worshipped and celebrated, yet there is nothing celebratory about them or the way they treat you. You allow disease to infest your bodies. You allow yourselves to be referred to as hoes. And you think its funny. You think its funny because no one has ever told you that its not. No one has ever referred to you as a queen...or royalty.

And it saddens me. Not because I am some esteemed advisor who's never lowered her standards...but because I am no better and no different than you. I crave the attention of men who are willing to be what my father never was. I like them to be built just like him...tall, broad, fair-skinned with pouty lips and mysterious eyes. I am desperate for someone to stay in my life, even when caring for me seems overwhelming. I want someone to hold me. And though I die inside each time the intimacy becomes unhealthy, I tolerate it because anything is better than being alone...better than feeling abandoned. (Sound familiar?)

I decided, yesterday, that I wasn't going to continue living this life in search of affirmation from men. The father that "gave up" on me 20 years ago lost an opportunity to raise a strong, sassy young princess. I can't find his love in any other man. The only fulfillment I need is provided by a God who won't ever abandon me or misuse me.

I hope that you too, will realize that your beauty is your own. No one can increase your value just by being by your side. You don't have to curiously sneak from bed to bed hoping that some man will fulfill you physically and then, permanently, serve as your knight in shining armor. Because, if he's only around at night...and he leaves long before the morning sun is shining...you really are better off on your own.

There is nothing wrong with longing for the support, strength, and beauty of a man. Any woman who wants a man, should have a man. Just know that these men can smell your insecurities. You can't lack love for yourself and then expect a man to honor and adore you. If you think you aren't valuable, you'll attract men who have no intention to increase your worth. If you think that your ass is the most valuable thing you have to offer, then you'll find men who only want you because you have a Georgia peach, stripper booty.

Seeking fulfillment, seeking joy, and seeking validation in someone else is toxic-unhealthy-deadly. We have to start to realize our worth, without anyone elses input. It is then and only then that we'll attract the type of attention we want. Because whoever it is...that is purposed to love you will love and respect you as much as you love and respect yourself.

It's just that simple.

Lame & Lonely

How ridiculous is it to spend this life pretending not to feel anything? What is going on in the world? People are so cold and so broken. When I know that I know...I'm in love for good...I'm going to scream it from a mountain top. Nothing else makes any sense to me. Pride is a silent killer. Be real with each other, people. More importantly, be real with yourselves.

The Waiting Room (of Life)

"Wait here", they say. "Sit right here and patiently deny the reality that you have no idea who you are, what you want, where you'll go, and what will happen to you if this recession lasts for five more minutes."

They are our parents, our professors, our mentors, and our predecessors. They have no idea what they're talking about...but they give the best advice they can. Because deep down inside, they're mad about paying for and supporting an education that hasn't amounted to a hill-o-beans.

We're all just really, unnecessarily intelligent...and broke as hell. I know some of the most ambitious people on the planet (I'm sure of it). And almost 70% of them have jobs that they can't wait to escape as soon as things get better/improve/mull over/look up...or whatever clever phrase of optimism you'd like to insert. And it hurts to sit in this damn waiting room, with some of my best friends, talking about what we'll do when the struggle ends.

I remember when things were good, in the 90's. We were young, hopeful, and sure of ourselves. I used to talk about being 25 like it was going to be the age of abundance. I intended to have 2 Benz coupes, a Range Rover, and a boat by my mid-20's. These days, I'm just day dreaming about a bicycle or anything else that doesn't need $45 worth of gas every week.

We used to flip through the pages of Cosmo and whisper oooo's and aaaa's while staring at Louis Vuitton & Guess ads. We'd talk about the lovers we'd have once we could travel the world and the countries we'd see. We tip-toed around the house in heels we could barely walk in and chatted about the catwalks we'd sit around during fashion week.

Now, the only fashion week I enjoy takes place at Target during their summer sale. The heels I strut around in are 1.5 inches so that I can wear them EVERYWHERE. And the only pages I flip are the classifieds...(I'm exaggerating to make a point).

Everyone I talk to just says they are "waiting" to hear back about grad school/better jobs/new opportunities/the military. So, here we are, crowded in this little room. Our dreams, hopes, fears, prayers, frustrations, and doubts are all stacked like old luggage around our seats. We're waiting on everything...on God, on wealth, on tomorrow. And to be quite honest, I'm tired of it.

I'm waiting on an angel to come from heaven, into this waiting room, and call my name like a nurse in Urgent Care. And when she does, I'll jump up...eager to see the results of my patience...my endurance...and my optimism.

I know one thing though. If I have to sit here much longer, waiting on everything I've always wanted, I'm going to start slapping random strangers with this thick stack of resumes that I take every where with me. I may even blow the entire waiting room up...because I'm losing my mind.

And that's real.