I Am In Love

She makes me want to do better.

She makes me want to be better.

She brings a smile to my face and a deep longing for more of her elixir. I. Love. Her.

I told my husband that I am in love with a woman. He knows my penchant for falling in love. It is who I am. It is what I do. Love is woven into my being, into my hair follicles, into my bones, into my name, into everything which makes me me. Over the past two years, though, that which once came so easily to me has been difficult to reach. I have not been myself. I have been an echo, a shadow, an impostor of my true self. But just recently, I believe that I have fallen madly in love with a woman. I may have truly fallen for her.

Her voice.

Her inflection.

Her word choice.

Her language.

Her accent.

Her fierceness.

Her boldness.

Her courageousness.

Her strength.

Her beauty. That illuminates from the inside out.

Her fearlessness. Her ability to go deep into the places, the depths, the crevices that I can not.

I think I love her… or I am obsessed with her. The two look so similar. I guess it depends on one’s perspective.

She is my age. She is amazing. She is Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

I am not sure where I have been for that last thirteen or fourteen years but I have finally met the love of my life*. Last year, I was introduced to her via Twitter and decided to purchase her most recent novel, Americanah. So, I have had this book in my possession for close to eighteen months and I have just read the first chapter today (5.27.15). Over the last few months, I began to listen to TEDtalks on YouTube while driving home from work. I would listen to talks about life and finding ones purpose, about education, about love, about sex, about writing, about feminism, and about books to mention a few of the topics that peaked my interest. Last month, I listened to Chimamanda’s TEDtalk entitled, “We should all be feminists.” And that is when she began courting me. Yesterday, I came across a couple of her hour-long interviews about the book. As I listened to the conversation between Chimamanda and Zadie Smith, I could not wait to get home to hold my book, to feel its smooth pages, to dive in and to devour every word. I was so ready for it. Which was odd because, initially I was intimated by it. I looked at the thickness of the book, the physical weight and the weight of the subject matter frightened me. But yesterday, she embraced me with her soul and my fear dissipated.

When I arrived at my house, I raced to find Americanah not even to begin reading it, but just hold it in my arm, nestled close like a baby. But, it was not where I’d thought it to be…. And I tore the house apart searching for the book that I know I purchased. After a few hours, I became desperate and went online to find another copy. I did. I was that upset about not having the book in my possession that I was willing to spend more money to get another copy. I, first, considered going to my favorite Barnes and Noble to pick up a copy but it was after 10pm and the bookstore was closed. So, I put a copy into my online shopping cart along with a copy of White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Before I hit the purchase button, I sat still to calmly think for a moment about where the book could be, in what space did I “put it up?” It came to me in my calm. I knew where it was. Literally, I felt like a light bulb was lit over my head like in the cartoons. I ran upstairs, to the closet in the office/guest room and surely, I found my copy of the book right next to my college degree (TUMF! All my Temple Alum stand up!). I was so elated. And so very much in love again. I carried it around with me for the rest of the evening, slept with it by my side, took it to work with me, and finally cracked it open after work.

I finished the first chapter and started the second. I read with a pencil, as a reader and as a writer, and the first chapter is marked up. Not in a bad way but in a taking notes, ahh haa kind of way. One of my notations on page one is next to the sentence: Philadelphia had the musty scent of history. I’ll take it. I wrote: WE MADE THE FRONT PAGE! LOL!

I told my husband that I am in love with a woman. She sparked something in me. Helped me rekindle my passion for writing again. And I love her for it. I am purposely reading this novel slowly so my review will probably be written in the fall.

I hope I love Americanah as much as I love Chimamanda (or rather my idea of her ’cause I honestly don’t know her personally).

*Okay, the whole love of my life thing… not really… I mean, have you seen my grandboy?

Look at ‘im


We were on our way to vote on 5.19.15


Raven and Ryan: A love story

I wanna try something. Today is step outside of your comfort zone day for me. Many writers and bloggers that I have connected with over the years know that I am very hestitant (and sometimes anxious and fearful) of sharing my work. The following is a small sample of a story I have been working on (for far too long) and plan to finish during the first quarter of 2015.
So, here goes nothing.. *squeezes eyes tight and cannonballs into the deep end*:

*written 11.09.13*
The ambulance ride was a familiar one. Stark white interior illuminated by severe lights. Just like the emergency room. The rough rocking back and forth. Constantly trying to hold your balance on the seat while, at the same time, trying to hold back your tears. Your own anxiety creeping up your neck to your face pushing against the vessels in your eyes. The pressure causing them to burst. Raven had a random thought about poor people and seat belts that forced out a small chuckle. The EMT looked up at her as he checked her mother’s blood pressure again.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Just had a.. uh.. a thought…anyway, how is she? Will we be there soon?” Raven knew the hospital route, knew that they had two more turns and to hit the roundabout before they arrived but asked to put the focus back on her mother.
“Her blood pressure is elevated but she is stable. We should be there in two minutes.”
Raven nodded and went back to staring at nothing. Her resolve settled over her like a heavy cloak. This was her life.



I like to write to music. I need music that I can groove to, nod my head to without being too distracting… that’s what I received and more when I tuned in to the Big O and DJ A Squared Show on PhillyHottRadio.com. October 3rd was their premier show. I appreciate their premise, to promote up and coming Philadelphia artists and to discuss the issues important to Philadelphia and Philly entertainment. Their chemistry was excellent and I laughed as if I was in the studio with them.  There were artist interviews, audience participation, and, most importantly (to me anyway), good damn music. But the balance of all the elements was on point.

Great show. Tune in every Thursday, 6pm-8pm on phillyhottradio.com or download the Tune In app and go to Philly Hott Radio

for Suncera

I inhale deeply
And breathe
clearing my mind…
finding the time
to search my soul
digging deep within
a beacon shines out
connecting with friends
When I look at me
the reflection is you.
My sister’s keeper
no matter the weather
Reaching the apex
will be done together
        as a whole
             as one
                  we will shine as the sun

(written 03.24.13 for my dear friend)

Until Next Time

I close the distance between us. He feels so very perfect against my body. I nuzzle my face in his chest just enough to take in his scent. My hands slide to his waist, under his shirt, around to play along the smoothness of his back. I press my ear to his chest, listen as his response to my closeness increases all of the sounds that lets me know he is here… right now. I respond to his arms now wrapped around me. The warmth begins at my midsection and spreads outward to my digits causing a spark. Skin on skin creates electricity. I want all of my skin to spark. I want his clothes off. I want my clothes off. Skin on skin. I want us to be one in this space and at this time. To see beauty in its raw, uncut state. To get us higher than we’ve ever flown. To move in sync… we were meant for this. I want it to last until I reach my peak and he takes me there again and again. We then lay together, wrapped in each other’s essence. I nuzzle my face in his chest to take in his scent for later. For the aftershocks. Until next time.

Cloudy Days

I feel detached. Empty. Like I’m floating. I need an anchor. Gravity isn’t working for me. Your fingertips on the curve of my back keeps me grounded. Your kisses on the crook of my neck keeps me grounded. Your skin against my skin keeps me grounded. My days, absent those things, are cloudy, foggy, hazy. I can’t see clearly or think properly. I need you.