Time for What I Want

Time for What I Want

I keep hearing the same cliché, over and over again. From way too many lips I’ve heard, “People make time for what they want to make time for.” Now, I’m not saying that this isn’t true but…

What if… I want to spend my time being the best dad I can be and making sure that my kids are good?

I’m just saying, what if… I want to spend time focusing on my career so that I can make sure that my family doesn’t have to struggle…ever again?

I know that it’s rare nowadays but…what if I don’t want to chase a million women, or want every woman that might be down to lay with me because maybe the only woman I really want is YOU?

What if all I want from you is patience and understanding for what I’m trying to do? What if you took the time to see that no matter who may like me, none of them is YOU?

All I want is for you to know that everything I said about my time, and how I want to spend it is absolutely true. Just because I don’t get to see you all the time doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. I’m just working hard to get to a place where time is not issue because the foundation for what I’m building will be strong enough to give me time to catch my breath. I can’t do what I need to do for the people I love if I don’t do this now.

P. S.,

I know I work too much and can sometimes become distant. It’s not on purpose. I’m just tired of the life I had and I’m fighting for something different.

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Frozen in Place

Frozen in Place

I’ve been there at times and at this point I don’t know why I even find myself surprised but, before I go on, I feel the need to define what exactly a “beautiful woman” is to me. Everyone’s definition is different and it’s a matter of taste….in so many ways.

 She’s a beautiful woman to me, but not just because of her mischievous, mysterious, Mona Lisa-like smile. Her beauty is deeper than the pools tears that I’ve seen pour from her eyes because of her past and tighter than the way she hugs me after I tell her that I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that none of that old pain lasts. Her beauty is all-natural, like the way she moves her hips when we slow dance. Her energy is like a hurricane whenever she’s mad but her affection can be as calm and sweet as a summer breeze. She loves me for who I am today and not because of who I might eventually become later on down this road                                                                                       that I’ve been traveling steadily on.

 “A beautiful woman distracts most men but paralyzes a writer,” is one of the truest quotes I’ve read in a long time. How do I know this? I’ve been paralyzed, stuck in place, completely caught up and spellbound by a beautiful woman. I saw and felt everything that was inside her that no one else might have taken the time to see. They were always obsessed with the outer shell but it’s what no one else saw that made me fall and once I fell, I was stuck there, unable to move.

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Freedom is god

Freedom is god

When did we become so afraid and terrified to be ourselves? I’m free to love you the way I want or, not at all. I’m free to hold grudges and remember every cruel thing that was ever done to me so that I NEVER allow those things to happen ever again. I’m free to learn from my mistakes and I’m free to make new ones every day. I’m free to do what I want, and to keep my distance from whomever I want. I’m free to express myself the way I want or to keep my feelings to myself. I’m free to be flattered but not love you back. I’m free to give my heart to her even if she takes it and throws it away. I’m free to keep my heart to myself, free to protect my soul and free to be cold. I’m free to share my bed with her but not my life. I’m free to be single forever and I’m free to choose a wife when I’m ready, if that’s what I want. I’m free to not feel guilty if I don’t fall in love with you. I’m free to be selfish. I’m also free to give you everything I have and share everything I am. I’m free to be goofy and I’m free to be cool. I’m free to be me and you’re free to be you. I’m free to not give a fuck how you think I’m supposed to feel…or how I’m supposed to be. I’m free to focus on what I’m trying to do with my life. That also means that I’m free to not get mixed up in dumb shit that never works out, and has NEVER worked out for the hundreds, and thousands of people who tried everything I DON’T want to do. I’m free to be stuck in time if that moment that has me paralyzed makes me happy.

Nothing that’s good for you will hold you prisoner…and that applies to love AND hate equally.

Link to Books by Keith Kareem Williams

3 am

It’s almost 3am here in Brooklyn and I’m sitting here sipping on this strong white rum, not really sure what I should do. Life for me is much kinder to me than she used to be and I owe so much of that to you. Your grace came along and freed my soul. This rum has my head spinning and I find myself grinning when I think of about your mischievous smile, the one you flash when you’re up to no good. You made me forget everything that was false before you came along because I found so much truth deep inside you. The only problem now is that I’m drowning fast. My crazy fits inside your crazy like a glove. I’m addicted to that Goddess Love  you keep spoiling me with… drunk off of the taste of all your lips, the ones between your thighs and the ones above your pretty chin. I’m obsessed with the way you take all of me, the way you sigh and move your hips. Writing all of this down is the one way I know of to express myself. When you get out of the shower, I’ll take the rest of the night, again and again until sunrise, to show you the rest.

Books by Keith Kareem Williams

The First Chapter

The first chapter of a book is even more important than the first track on a musician’s album. The first chapter has to reach out and grab a reader by the throat, penetrate the deepest parts of their thoughts and make love to their mind. Then, those first few paragraphs have to seduce them with the skill behind the strokes until the reader is totally addicted and obsessed with finding out what happens next. They should be able to feel and taste the ink deliberately splashed across the pages. Get it started the right way so that first chapter is foreplay to keep them engaged as you spontaneously and creatively keep them excited. The last page should make them feel an explosion of emotions, leaving the reader as spent and as exhausted as those blissful moments after the best orgasm.

THAT is what I try to give my readers, every single time….

Books by Keith Kareem Williams

Savages

Savages

She and I are similar because of life and the cruel lessons it taught us. When the love that we thought was real betrayed us, it changed us. What we always thought being in love was supposed to be turned out to be just smoke, mirrors fantasy. Ever since I opened my eyes and became totally uncivilized, I’ve been attracted to wild things with reckless, broken hearts. I'm not lying to her and promising to try to fix her because I believe in my heart that who she has become is much more beautiful than what she was. Her pain is a part of her soul and she wouldn't be the same woman without it. Because of those old scars that she bears, she's able to see mine and translate every line accurately to truly read me. She gets it, from the words on the pages I spill in ink to the tattoos that mark my flesh. I understand that the walls that she has built aren’t meant to protect her from the world. The real truth is that those walls exist to protect the world from her. I understand this because the walls I’ve built serve the same exact purpose. Of all the suitors and fans that she has, she can’t bring herself to love any of them but it’s not because she’s cold. They call her foolish because all the so-called "nice guys" in the world can’t make her blood warm. They don’t understand that not in a million years could a lioness truly ever love a gazelle. To her, they will always be prey. She has evolved to love only lions and everyone else that is anything less is just wasting their time.

But, what happens when two people who have become savages collide like two forces of nature and eventually, inevitably fall hopelessly in love? I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how the rest of the story goes. It will either be an unexpected journey to a beautiful end or a tumultuous path to a beautiful tragedy. All I know is that only savages can truly tame each other.

Copyright © 2015 Keith Kareem Williams
All rights reserved

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For You

For You

I wonder if you know that every drop of ink I spill today is a tribute to you. I wonder if you really know how often my thoughts are consumed with the parts of you that infatuate me as I eagerly anticipate the next time I get a chance to make more memories with you. I find inspiration in the strangest places and you inspire me in the strangest ways like no one before you has been able to.

I’m in love with those lips but not just because of how soft they feel or how sweet they taste when we kiss. I am haunted by all of the dope conversations we’ve had, and the power of the words you whisper to me that always seem to be exactly what I need. If I didn’t know better, I might think you used magic or something unnatural to trap me because I never even noticed when I became so wrapped up with you.

I hear your voice in the rain and remember your tears as I watch the heavy droplets fall from high up in the sky down into my eyes as I look up, amazed by the heights from which they’ve traveled to reach me here where I stand on the ground. I feel the same way about your love. There is something genuinely different about you and the way your soul speaks to me in language that I understand. With a dangerous smile, you brag and tell me that it’s that Goddess Love you give me and I’m a little embarrassed, but I’m honest enough in this moment to admit that I have to agree.

I don’t gift you flowers that will quickly wither, then eventually die because you say that you rather hold my hand in places where they grow naturally and should be, free to live and grow, just as we are. Today, as it rains outside and waters those gardens, your vibe waters me and helps me to grow into a better person, a better father, a better author and a better man, so ALL of the ink I spill today, every single drop is For You.

Everyone is free to believe, or NOT believe in anything they choose but, when I look at an amazing woman, mind, body & soul...I’d have to ask an atheist, “How can you NOT believe in God?”

– Keith Kareem Williams

Books By Keith Kareem Williams

Writing…“Death in the City” day 35

Writing…“Death in the City”

day 35

As I work on this novel, I'm falling in love with the story more and more with each drop of ink I spill. (That's a really good sign because my readers and I often feel the same way.) A recent post from a friend on Facebook reminded me how much I enjoyed and revered Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man.” I went to my bookshelf and picked up the worn copy that had miraculously survived the decades since I last sat in a college classroom. I remembered how reading that book, along with Zora Neal Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God,” had inspired me to write my first novel, a book in which I could realistically tell the stories of the people that were from where I’m from. No superhero, pulp fiction-ish, over-the-top tales of magnificent, fantastical drug dealer adventures that would never, and have never taken place in any of the streets that I know of. No literature draped in absurdity to mimic reality TV. Just stories about real folks caught up in real situations trying to survive in the city that I will always be in love with, that we were all trapped in under the shadows of skyscrapers. That’s how “Water Flows Under Doors” was born.

There is a place and an audience for all kinds of literature. There is validity in every genre as long as the stories are well-written by authors who respect the craft and put the work in. I believe that every book written is a temple where readers will gather to read your words and see the world through your eyes for a short time. If done correctly, you can alter the prism through which they see things and even change their perspective. So, as I write “Death in the City,” I’m mindful of all those things. It has evolved into something much more than what I first envisioned it would be when I wrote the first sentence. As I bounce between the lives of the characters on these pages, it has become somewhat of an anthology with these lives, and sometimes deaths are all connected as they intersect. I find myself fueled by the same enthusiasm I had way back when I wrote my first book and THAT is a beautiful thing. I wish that the professor who encouraged me to become a novelist was still alive to read it but I’m sure that somewhere, Professor Leo Hamalian is smiling. My grandmother, Cynthia Brown is smiling too. She passed away long before I even published my first book but, when I decided to finish the book I started writing in college, I was filled with self-doubt. She came to me in a dream only once, and in that dream I was sitting in front of my old computer wondering if I was a good enough writer to make a career of it. She touched me on my shoulder, pointed at the computer screen, smiled and nodded her head before she left me again. That reassurance is why I’ve never lost faith in myself or my talent, no matter how hard it may have been to sell books in the past. The success that I’m after is about way more than my own personal ego and desire to win. It’s much deeper than material wealth, although it’s nice to keep the bills paid.

All of Her

All of Her

“Why not take ALL of me?” she asked me with tears in her eyes and as she cried, my heart began to bleed in my chest.

She told me to take her eyes because after what we shared, she never see the world the same if we weren’t together. For her, to be apart would be the same as draining away all of the colors that she had become so accustomed to seeing brighten up her days. Even with those big, beautiful eyes she just couldn’t see that everything had already started to turn gray for me.

She asked me to take her lips because if it wasn’t me, there was no other man that she wanted to kiss. She tried to tell me that she had no use for a voice that wouldn’t tell anyone else that she loved them and truly mean it. What she didn’t know was that I knew that I would never love another woman the way that I loved her either. She was only one that understood the true meaning behind every line of black ink in my tattoos and the truth in every drop of ink spilled to create chapter after chapter of my books. I was in love with her pain, her joy, the depth of her thoughts and the lightness of her soul. To me, she felt like something from a dream that would be gone whenever I finally woke up. I had grown so accustomed to the worse that I couldn’t find a way to believe in the best, even as I held it in my hands.

In the end, I was afraid of her because to love her the way that I did was to risk my own death if she ever left, so I foolishly walked away first. I couldn’t have been more wrong when I thought that leaving her would have hurt less. To this day I can honestly say that a sunset doesn’t go by when I don’t feel the full weight of that decision in my chest. I can’t even describe the pain and if I’m being honest, I’ve never quite been the same.

I remember when she said that I might as well take the rest of her because there wasn’t going to be much of her left for any man that came after me. I suppose the tragedy is that I took most of her and left behind most of me, even if she doesn’t know that I did.

Copyright © 2016 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

***I’ll find a way to elaborate on this in the pages of “Sometimes Brooklyn, Mostly Mars Vol.2.” ***

The Rain is Our Lullaby

The Rain is Our Lullaby

We lay in bed with the TV off because ratchet shows named after love and any musical genre are purposely, poisonously tainted images of what love is supposed to look like, no matter what state in America they are filmed in. Both of our phones are off and sitting on the nightstand because no one is calling us that we have any interest in speaking with at this hour. I only want to hear her voice and she only wants to hear mine. There’s nothing happening on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook that’s more important than what’s happening between us so we leave the rest of the world where it belongs for now, outside of our bedroom as we remain locked together in our intimacy, protected by the sanctity of our privacy.

There is no music playing as we show our affection in the most primal, passionate ways without shame. We’re not trying to hide the sound of our sex with R&B songs with the volume of our stereo turned all the way up. We don’t care if all of our neighbors can hear the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall to the melody of the noisy springs in our mattress. Only the pillow gripped in her teeth muffles her moans and if people outside of our walls listened closely, they might hear all of the beautifully dirty things I say to her while we make love. That’s what she wants and what she likes. She’s told me before that I have the soul of a poet but fuck her like a savage. It gives her butterflies when I’m sweet and she shows me how wet she gets when I become a beast. I love that I can be myself because she welcomes the complicated, creative, soulful side of me that most other women never understood but, she also isn’t afraid of the unpredictable, unbridled maelstrom that I can be. She gets sucked into what I am and doesn’t drown. Besides that, she’s just as wildly uncivilized at times as I am and proves it to me every chance she gets. She gives me wild sex when we’re alone, deep science when we exchange knowledge and real soul in ways that I’ve never had before.

Once we’re done, we lay side-by-side, still sexually high and not bothered by the gray skies outside. While we try to catch our breath, the storm clouds finally burst with a flash of lightning that momentarily illuminates our dark room followed by the deafening clap of the thunder’s boom. She rolls over, throws her leg over me and puts her hand on my chest as droplets of water beat against our window. I hold onto her tightly as if I fear that she might somehow disappear as the rain outside rocks us both to sleep like a lullaby.

Copyright © 2016 Keith Kareem Williams

All rights reserved.

***I hope you enjoyed this short piece I wrote specifically for the blog. I've been inspired lately and have been meaning to write it for a few days now. I'm thinking about including it in "Sometimes Brooklyn, Mostly Mars Volume 2." ***

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