Month: May 2017



Its too late to play house


I know that all people have their faults

and we all have had our challenges

I know that we have to let the past go and move on…

which comes to my point. I have gotten accustomed

to being ALONE

It was not my choice it was my family way

Every man and (woman) for themselves

Well it taught me to be competitive because

I had nothing but a bruised  EGO to feed.

I also ran to drugs to self-medicate

I lived up to being the loser I was told I would be,

My mother had told me I was not pretty when I was a child

A matter of fact statement was not said in anger

it was just her way to be passive aggressive.

When I eventually sold my body for drugs

I was shocked that anyone would pay to touch me

since I wasn’t exceptional in any kind of way.

A warped sense of self a warped sense of the world.

The street seemed more welcoming than my home

Now my mother is old and needs help,

I am clean  now and some say that is the reason

for her change of heart.

I disagree, I feel  I am convenient because “she” now

needs someone. The problem is I was never hugged

or loved by her, all I remember is the tantrums and the emotional

and physical abuse. She buys me things and

I am still struggling financially

It makes me feel shameful that I am “being bought” since

I don’t feel there is true love between us. We use each other…

She wants to have someone to call when she feels alone, the same way I did as a child.

What bothers me is I don’t feel genuine and I don’t feel happy around her

I feel like a prostitute again, shutting down and going through the motions.

the energy is so toxic so isn’t it a little late

to pretend that we like each other?




due to having PTSD I am constantly in therapy and psychiatrist offices. One of the favorite questions I am asked is if I have NIGHTMARES. I say, “No, they are like my life was , violent, crazy, lost and lonely but that is not a nightmare that is how my life was” so I finally ask myself Do people have happy dreams?

The lengths we go through… and for what?


Once I laid down in a row of beds (50 in total) the woman who I was in arms reach of her face at the head of my bed introduced herself. Within two minutes she asked me if I “smoked” inquiring about nicotine. At the time smoking had been taken out of RIKERS ISLAND but where there is a will there is a way. Not to mention corruption, due to the fact that the illegal contraband was brought in mainly by the same people who were our “captors” whom were the officers. She was an older woman that had no teeth and when I asked her what happened she said during an argument with her “get high” buddy she had broken her denture while she was biting her associate during the scuffle. Since illegal lighters were hard to find she explained how we would light the tobacco with a battery and wires from “headphones” and she knew someone that had the tobacco but you needed to have commissary to trade. I believe it was a Chips ahoy Cookie pack, Two honey buns and two Kool-Aids If I wanted a REAL NEWPORT it would cost me ten dollars in trade. After coaxing and getting a message from the girl (young) that was a wanna be “Scarface” of loose tobacco that she had no problem “cutting someone” which was saying that if I ratted her out. Why would I tell an officer when they are the ones that probably gave it to you??? loll (crazy life). Once she had asserted her tough guy persona after a painstaking fiasco of finding a battery, then finding someone that was willing to strip their headphone wire and they all wanted a piece of the action. Me, my new-found friend that likes to bite during fights, the wire master and the battery queen all piled into the corner of the shower to get our reward. I took one drag and handed it to the rest and said,” You keep it I am done” and haven’t smoked since.

The tides are changing



One day a woman called me a (low life) during an argument

Instead of retaliating with curses and obscenities

I simply said,”Well since you are way at the top

(using my right hand to demonstrate)

and I am way at the bottom

(using my other hand to show the difference)

There is ONLY one way for me to go


there is only one way for you to go


I will wave as we pass  each other by…





That feeling…it’s been so long


1467301_649652795085291_753601988_nI hate public transportation, I try to sit (if) I get the opportunity in a spot with the least movement. I am so tightly wound that I try to move my leg or body so that nobody brushes against me. No, I do not feel (better than) or look down on my fellow New Yorkers but due to life’s challenges, I am UNTOUCHABLE. I talk all day with my clients and run groups constantly but I am still in my own world. Suddenly a large man sits next to me in the two-seater I choose. I am thinking why would he want to squeeze next to me and start to rummage through my bag to look like I am not fazed by his presence. I feel the warmth of his body next to me and it reminded me of a time when I had someone I thought was special and I would have nestled against his shoulder and arm. I glance at his legs and he actually is tall and sturdy. I pretend to look if my stop is coming and look at his profile and get a longing that has been gone for so long. I can smell the leather of his jacket and imagine being able to rest my head on his shoulder. All of a sudden I realize its time to get up because my stop is coming and my guard goes up and once again I am UNTOUCHABLE.

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