Beautiful Monster

This is a dangerous love affair to say the very least. I can see the light of God inside you but you can also be a beast. The pain that you walk around with makes you beautifully ugly, if that makes sense. Let me show you what I see.


When provoked, your hate is unrivaled and wild, impossible to stop. To be honest, your level of “mean” is almost unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Everything in me says to stay clear of your path because it’s not worth making a misstep and risking falling in the line of your wrath. It just doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t add up and it equals bad math. I know that you can be a monster but because you’re being you, you’re beautiful.

No, I’m not blind. The beautiful I see has nothing to do with your shape, your eyes or the wicked smile that will sometimes grace your face. There’s an aura, a vibe, or what I’d call a unique energy that envelops your space. It’s there even though, behind that smile lies teeth that can tear and maim along with a tongue that can break hearts.

Despite all of that, I can feel something else fighting to be free because you’ve trapped it for fear that it would make you weak. Despite you holding it in, I’ve seen it in your tears. I’ve felt it on my fingers every time that I wiped them away. It’s only the “pretty” that you try so hard to hide, that makes me want to stay so close to you.

I’m just a man. Trust me, I’m well aware that you have enough game to cause confusion in these lames but me? I’m not exactly the same. The only thing I can promise is that I’ll always try to do the best that I can to understand. I’ll try to ease the pain that you live with and that dark cloud over everything…I’ll lift it. I’ll take my chances that you’ll injure me because of all the hurts you might inflict. The only thing I ask is that you don’t destroy me.

Speed of Light Flight

Moving past so fast it seems like I'm traveling in light years. I guess that explains why it's so bright here. I'm polite here but some people don't fight fair. See me on another day when I might care and try harder to slow me down with something that I might fear. Loving every bit of this life, my own beautiful nightmare.

Pardon My Back

What are we talking about? Are we still dreaming, getting older every day and still talking about what we WANT to do one day? Are we running our mouths and not taking any steps to make it happen? Do we still have doubts about whether or not we have enough talent to make it happen? Are we still buying things to give the appearance that we’re making major moves when we’re really standing still? Are we still taking risks that could destroy our lives when we eventually get caught up? Are we online bragging all the time but if someone took a closer look those gems don’t really shine? Are we still trying to sound busy when we’re really, really bored? Oh, we’re still on that? Well then, I’m not co-signing THAT so please……… pardon my back!

Oh, so you’re here just to see what you can get? From afar you spotted and plotted on the potential although I’m not there yet? Or maybe you just want satisfaction and like the way I can get you wet? Think you can just whistle and I pop up with the sex pistol? Or maybe your mood is always blue and you won’t be satisfied until you infect me with it too? Maybe you’ve been hurt so much that you want to hurt me too? Do you have a mind of your own or do you need me to think for you too? Could it be that I’m so comfortable being me that you want to see if you can change me? Or, is the plan to prove that I’m just like every other man? Possibly, is it a fact that I might just be the latest toy? Or maybe I’m the challenge because I’m not as thirsty as the rest? Are you looking for flaws to convince yourself that I might not be the best? Do you want to put me to the test to wrest this thing out of my chest and make my life a mess? Can’t let you do that, so in advance, I gotta ask that you excuse me as I turn my back.

Are you mumbling and whispering gossip? Are you trying to turn fiction into real life facts? Are you tarnishing good people’s names in a petty attempt to gain some measure of fame? I bet you’re the villain dressed in a victim’s clothes. Are you starting fires, spreading rumors and pumping your own lies? Then you get caught in them, don’t stand by them, jump off the hot seat, pretending to cry? Are you really jealous over things that aren’t yours? You’re worse than a dog and you should walk on all fours. Attention-starved creep, I’ll never see you because I’ll never turn around. I rather keep people like you at my back.

Thought I was crazy when I said I’d make this work or die in the attempt? Oh, so you think I should have just been satisfied with the life I was lucky enough to have and be glad? You aren’t really a rider are you? Never really lifted a finger to help in any way, shape, form or fashion? Secretly hoped that I wouldn’t last, fall back and go back to doing what you do? Was it you that tried to sabotage the movement before it even started by quietly closing doors and believed I never saw? Doubted I was really ABOUT IT? You don’t believe in it? That’s cool. Just stand back and give me room. Don’t be offended when I turn around and chuck up the deuces.

I’ll only turn back around for the entertainment and satisfaction that the sick look on your face brings me. (Told y'all, I woke up in an ALPHA MALE mood today, complete with smashing the alarm clock and then beating on my chest!)

If You Let Me………

I would write you a love song but I couldn’t sing it to you the way I heard it in my mind. I wouldn’t want to cheat you. Instead, I do it my way and give you what you deserve, every word vividly visualized in my mind, the best way I know how to express it. I have a writer’s mind, vibe, spirit and soul……..to the very core of everything I am.


I want you to close your eyes, put your head on my chest, and listen to this story that I wrote. But, only if you’re willing make that choice, to lose yourself inside the sound of my voice. I want you to tell me if these words move you. I want to know if what I’ve written on this paper causes anything to stir inside you. If you have pain that’s locked away, I want these paragraphs to steal it. I’ll keep it safe, just in case you ever told me that you needed it. I want everything to tingle even though I’m not using my hands. I want these lines to feel like they’re etched on your flesh. Every sentence heightens your senses and you can imagine you’re trapped in this world I’ve created. I want you giggle too, when these characters do and their tears become your own when they grieve.

Then, I want you to open those eyes that I asked you to close. I need you to feel like every bit of prose became a mirror reflection of everything that is you. I want you to understand that everything you thought you locked away is something that I look deep enough inside you to notice every day. I see, I believe it and I know that it’s real. I can’t write you a love song but this is what I can do.

ALSO. READ THE REVIEWS FOR MY 1ST NOVEL.....Water Flows Under Doors

http://www.amazon.com/Water-Flows-Under-Doors-ebook/dp/B003CJTZWU/ref=pd_sim_kinc_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

The Reconstruction of Reem

By nature, human beings are predators. We basically hold dominion over most things and anything that we don’t, we naturally strive to make sure that eventually we do. It’s clear, based on our history and the way we behave that we seek to control most things. Whatever we can’t control, we deem dangerous and attempt to destroy.


Evolution is a must if a person intends to survive in this world. Any organism that fails to adapt to its environment eventually become extinct. Since I pan to thrive and survive for as long as I can, occasionally I have to become something new. As I said before, human beings are predators. As such, they’ll even resort to cannibalism in this “dog-eat-dog” world. What choice does a person have but to avoid being destroyed or devoured?

Everyone has a motive, an angle, or an agenda if you will. As you get older, you’ll find that your peers have become craftier and more skilled in manipulating situations to their benefit. If you don’t shed certain child-like tendencies, you’ll be eaten alive in a world of sharks. Sound pessimistic doesn’t it? I promise you, it’s all true.


From time-to-time, I overhaul my perception of the outside world and reconstruct myself. It’s the survival instinct in me. At my very core, I always have been, and always will be, the same old Reem. As the strategies, tactics and weapons that will be used against me change, I have to become a “new me.” Otherwise, I’d run the risk of being manipulated and taken advantage of. Never. So, as I prepare to enter a new phase of my life, I’m currently under reconstruction in preparation for the foolishness I’m sure that I’ll have to face.

Muse

‎Muse

"The Muses: in Greek mythology, poetry, and literature are the goddesses who inspire the creation of literature and the arts. They were considered the source of the knowledge, related orally for centuries in the ancient culture, that was contained in poetic lyrics and myths. The compliment to a real woman who inspires creative endeavor is a later idea." - taken from Wikipedia

I used to think that the notion of someone being a “Muse” from a realistic standpoint was a myth. It always sounded to me like the ramblings of hopeless romantics when I heard them speak of being inspired in such a way, by such a person. Personally, I’ve always found ways to motivate myself when it came to my own creativity. (Keyword: Motivate) I say this because I’ve come to discover that motivation is very different from inspiration.

Every day my own ambition motivates me to be “better” at my craft. I believe that talent can only be honed, sharpened and mastered through hard work combined with discipline. I mistook that determination and drive for inspiration. I guess if you’ve never experienced something, there’s no way for you to understand it or even believe that it exists. I know better now. Motivation is what makes me get up every day and write. Inspiration is what takes the creativity in my writing to higher heights.

A muse is different from someone who gives encouragement. What a muse gives you is effortless and natural. Just the sight of them will make you write ten chapters, finish that painting or compose that song. Their presence is a blessing. The sound of their voice, the way they see the world, and the way they look at you makes you want to be better tomorrow than you were yesterday. I guess you could call it magic.


Glad I have mine.

The Prerequisites of Perdition: PREVIEW

The Prerequsites of Perdition


PREREQUISITE: required beforehand

PERDITION: utter destruction or ruin


EXCERPT:

“Good, so don’t talk to me about being selfish. I’ve given up too much and risked everything for everybody else. I’m the one who has to keep secrets and is tortured every day by the truth. I’m the one who’s sad all the time. I’m the one who doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be depressed,” she told Nash. At that moment, there was something in her voice that frightened him. Somewhere, hidden in her angry, hushed whisper, there was a terrible confession clawing to escape. Nash was terrified to hear it but, he had to know.

“Brenda, where are the boys?” he asked and waited for her to answer. Somehow, the look on her face when he asked this time let him know that he was about to get his answer. She paused and then took a deep breath before she spoke. Her confession had finally fought its way from the recesses of her mind until it found her lips.

“This morning wasn’t any different from any other morning. My husband had his coffee, way before I woke up, kissed me goodbye and left for work, long before the sun came up. I told him to have a good day, went back to sleep and waited for the alarm clock to wake me again. Once I was up, I got my boys out of bed and started to get them ready for daycare and school. I put them in the tub together to take a bath. I usually stayed with them, made sure they got clean and played safe. I don’t know why I left them alone. I knew it wasn’t safe,” she began her story. Nash’s heart was racing and fear gripped him mercilessly.

“What did you do Brenda?” he asked, disturbed by the direction her story had taken. Her mannerisms as she retold that morning’s events, terror crept into her face.

“I don’t know what was wrong with me. I just felt so tired. I knew that I shouldn’t have left them alone in the bathroom. There was more than enough water in the tub so I don’t know why I left the tap running. I sat down on the couch in my living room. I couldn’t see them but the house was quiet and I could hear them splashing and laughing,” she continued. Her voice was barely a whisper and all of the blood seemed to have drained from her caramel face. Her eyes were wide open but she didn’t seem awake. Nash sat on the edge of the uncomfortable wooden chair and when she stopped talking, fear gripped him again.

“Brenda, what happened to the boys?” Nash asked, terrified of what her answer would be. He gripped her arm firmly to get her talking again. She continued with her story although she still seemed distant and lost.

“I don’t know what was wrong with me. The sunlight from the window was on my face but the room felt dark. I sat on my couch and felt like I didn’t want to move, ever again. I felt like I was too heavy to move. I wanted to just sit there forever. I was chained to my life by secrets and lies and I didn’t want to be. Then, I realized that I didn’t hear them,” she said.

“What do you mean you didn’t hear them?” Nash asked.

“I didn’t hear them splashing. I didn’t hear them laughing. I just sat there with my eyes closed and acted like nothing was wrong. I should have panicked when I didn’t hear them. Any good mother would have panicked but I didn’t. I didn’t move. For a split second I wondered if they’d drowned. For a split second, I wondered if my little boys were dead. And may God forgive me, I felt free,” she said. Horrified, Nash reached across the table and grabbed Brenda by both her shoulders.

“What have you done?” he said.

Find out what's required before utter destruction and ruin with Keith Kareem Williams' gripping story "Prerequisites of Perdition" in CROSSROADS: THE ANTHOLOGY, coming Spring 2011

FAIRY TALE LIFE Vol.1

Cinderella is a gold-digger, just in case you didn’t know. She wore glass slippers? Where I’m from, only strippers wear clear heels. They’re the type of bad girls that dance in hole-in-the-wall, illegal strip joints to get money. Sometimes, they work a gold pole in the middle of an apartment living room. (True story, I’ve seen it with my own eyes) They take their clothes off on a dirty stage, shake their best body parts until everybody tosses money at them, totally dazed and amazed. You can’t really blame Cinderella for what she’s become. She was broke, working hard for other people and hated her life. In real life, the fairy godmother would have been an older, washed up, been around a few blocks, seen-better-days type of woman who would have put her on to the game. Everything she said would have said to Cinderella would have sounded like sense. She would have made it seem like it wasn’t that big a leap from what Cinderella was doing already. She would have just conveniently forgotten to tell her about the emotional scars it might leave. And of course, there would always be a trick searching for Cinderella after she lost the glass slipper from her foot. He’d try to save her even if she didn’t want to be saved, to his own detriment and, ultimately, his destruction.


The Little Mermaid is confused. She doesn’t know if she wants to be a fish or if she wants to walk on dry land. Avoid her at all costs before she confuses you too. She’ll always live on the beach because she’s just one of those people that doesn’t want to make a choice. Even if you move her into your castle, you’ll catch her sneaking off to get wet, time and time again. She’ll even take you swimming with her but, don’t be surprised if she drowns you.

Snow White is attention starved and surrounded by those who are willing to give it in ample doses. All seven of them want her but she wants none of them. (She makes sure she acts like she does though) How else is she going to keep all of the lights on her? Spotlights, headlights, streetlights, camera flashes, and stage lights. She’s perfect from the outside looking in but she’ll never let any of them see her insides, no matter how hard they try. She’ll never show them who she really is. The persona she’s created is what she’s comfortable with, even if it’s a lie. The only problem is that the seven that she’s attracted are miners and will dig until they possess the treasure that they believe her to be. She’ll never give in to any of them totally because she knows that a treasure to them is all she’ll ever be. They want to own her, not love her, or even find out who she is. Eventually, somebody always tricks her into biting the apple though. Then she’s finished.

Sleeping Beauty is a classic. She waits for a prince to rescue her from her life instead of trying to find a way out of the tower herself. But, you see, Sleeping Beauty would rather watch as suitors try to climb up and lose their lives trying to save her. She doesn’t want just ANY man. She ONLY wants her prince. She believes she deserves perfection because she believes she is perfect. Along the way, men will come along that would have loved her but she’ll ignore them and let them go because she’s lost in a daze with unrealistic expectations. At the end of the day, she’ll blame the man she thought was her prince for everything when it’s her own fault that she let more than one KING pass her by while she had her eyes closed.

Rapunzel’s mother kept her locked in a tower, trying to make sure that her daughter never made the same mistakes that she did. The problem with that is, when you take away a person’s freedom for so long, the moment they see daylight, they go wild. The wildest girls had the strictest parents. And, you can quote me on THAT!

The real Beauty is the best because she’s not afraid of the beast. In fact she knows how to tame it. Instead of fighting for no reason, she rather see what makes the beast tick in order to make life with him easier. She wasn’t looking for what she found in him but when she did, she appreciated it. Love is a random thing. It hardly ever lasts when we try to force it to work with what we’ve chosen. Love is always a thing that takes you by surprise. She never saw him in that light but one day, to her surprise, she realized that she couldn’t live without him.

The Assassination of the Inner Critic

I have loyal supporters* who would love for me to release more material, more often. For a long time, I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I probably could if I could just mute the inner critic that constantly torments me. It is the villain that keeps me working on a single page for an entire week in a frustrating attempt to get everything just right. It is the plague that poisons my mind and makes me spend all morning taking out a comma, until I finally decide that it belongs where I put it. My inner critic is bigger than King Kong. It keeps me up at night and causes me to doubt myself.


I’d like to take this moment to thank KR Bankston, Elizabeth LaSahun, and DK Gaston for giving me the tools necessary to assassinate my inner critic with what is called a DEADLINE (Even though I missed the 1st one by about a month) We’re putting together an anthology which I’d like to say from now, is going to be amazing! If it was up to me, I’d still be writing my contribution well into next year. I’m grateful for the opportunity to work with such talented authors and the pressure of finishing somewhat on time has helped me immensely. Now I just close my eyes and write. Yeah, at times when I re-read I question my own thought process because occasionally, there will be gibberish but, for the most part, I get much more done now. This project has helped me free myself and take a step closer to being a complete author. I can’t forget to thank Kisha Green as well. She gave me the opportunity to write a weekly column called, “Makes Me Wanna Holla” on her www.writers-vibe.com site. Also, Brandie Randolph has also given me the opportunity to write articles freelance for her as well.

As far as finally putting an end to my inner critic, I haven’t. I still need it for the editing process but I’ve learned to lock it up until then. Lately, I’ve found that my stories flow more fluidly. It feels good to be able to smoothly empty all of the voices in my head onto the paper. They used to haunt me and scream to be set free. Now, I only let the inner critic take over when I have the red pen and highlight marker in my hand.


*[I hate the word fan because it’s derived from the word fanatic and none of my supporters are fanatics]

Voltron Facebook Promo Poster

My cousin did this for me to promote my 2nd novel, OPEN SPACES, while everyone on Facebook was using their favorite childhood cartoons as profile pics. (She's the best!)