Letter to My Future Husband

Dear You,

Though I know who I want you to be, what I want you to be, and how I want you to be, I don't know who you are. I just know that the holy spirit told me that you were created and put on this earth just for me. I know it sounds cliche but there is no other way to describe it.
  I know in my heart that you have been hurt before just as I have. The fear of falling in love again is just too much to bear. To place my heart in someone's hands for them to be careless with it, is beyond me. I don't want you to be afraid of me. Nor I afraid of you.
  With Christ in the center of our lives we can heal and overcome our heartbreak. We can overcome anything. With my strength and yours we can not be defeated.
All I want is you and no one else.
I will no longer give your "stuff" away. So many men masquerade as you, causing me to get confused. When it is revealed that they are imposter's, I feel used. I need you.
I need your arms around me, lips upon me, your seed inside of me. So we can birth our own descendent's. I want you. I want you right next to me. Your baby growing inside of me. Your love surrounding me.
Patience is a virtue. A test hard to pass and so many women end up as ribs misplaced in the wrong rib cage. But I refuse to be misplaced. I fight and remain steadfast so that we can be conjoined. Together.

Love,

Your Future Wife

My Ex Man's Best Friend

I never intended to wind up on my back, legs wide, hands gripping my hair with my eyes rolled in the back of my head. I never intended to spend my rainy afternoon gripping the muscular back of a man that was supposed to be off limits. Silk sheets twisted in a knot at  the foot of the bed, fitted sheets hanging midway to the floor. In between epileptic like fits of orgasms I ask myself repeatedly "What Am I Doing Here?" mentally. Sweat drips in my eye, burns a little from the salt and I imagine fire and brimstone raining down in the bedroom around me. I want to push him off of me, slap him, and rush out into the pouring rain to wash the impurity of we were doing off of me. But what would be the point? I want him and he wants me, the pleasure we mix together is supernatural. Every body part and organ was made just for me. Even though he is my ex-man's best friend and I told myself I would never ever cross that line, I couldn't help the magnetic attraction that pulled me to him in the first place.
  He knew my man, his best friend messed up a good thing, threw away the precious jewel in his possession. Any sane person would pick up a bag of one hundred bills if found right? He asked me out of the blue after countless times of telling him this was the wrong thing to do. What if it was me wearing the other shoe? But then again it has been me minus the best friend part. The countless times he has lied and cheated on me, and the countless times his best friend covered for him. He knew it would only be a matter of time before my man lost me and he could step in and claim me like a lost prize. Every thing about ex man and his best friend was so different all the way down to the size. Where my man was selfish, his best friend was selfless, what he lacked his best friend gained. My ex's oral game was quick and boring but his best friend's is insane.
 My ex-man was cheap, practical and predictable where his best friend had a taste for the finer things. My wrist sparkled in the darkness of the room with the newest gift he showered me with. Morally my conscious ate at me because a woman should never cross the line into friendship territory but deep within my heart I knew I wasn't willing to give up the goods. So I guess I will accept being the horrible person who has fallen in love with my Ex-man's best friend.

My Kitty Kat Talked To Me...

My kitty kat spoke to me and this is what she said: "You keep me clean, odor and bacteria free, I have never had to worry about any itchies or scratchies, I am not bruised and torn, loose or worn, and from the beginning I have been hello kitty pink. You are so particular about who you allow to even touch me. You keep me well groomed, sweet, and perfumed and you will never have to worry about this pussy failing you. But how I miss being french kissed, licked and petted, and that strong connection with the right erection. Crying thick and soapy tears whenever my sponge or my head is tickled and lulling you fast asleep. But I appreciate the good, self-love you always make time to give me. And whenever you do run into a "Him", you always make sure you protect me. I appreciate you for keeping me healthy, loved, and disease free."
 I smiled and beamed proud of the words that she whispered to me. Although I've had some what we call some loose, and fast days she still found it in her heart to forgive me. But then again I don't think it ever bothered her because if it pleasured me, it pleasured her. But if it didn't then I know she was too mad with me. You feel me? I have always believed that if you take care of your kat, she will take care of you. Never a dry season, never loose. Never takes too long to cry real tears unless there is something wrong with the dude. And when she cry out, she makes damn sure I do too. The seratonin that releases in my brain when we have an O relieves my stress, sometimes I ask myself do we even need penetration sex? Sometimes I don't think so but she craves that penetration and the perfect fit of a nice sized hooked dick. But in the meantime she settles for the self love I shower her with. Fingerella and her lovely daughters satisfies us just as well but in the mean time, large prints in slacks, relaxed fit jeans and basketball shorts is the eye candy that makes her mouth water. We are just waiting for the right man, and our pipes he will slaughter.

Bonded ( My Stay In The Hospital)

My week in the hospital had me in awe, stunned and a little shocked. As I sat in group therapy with women my color, my age, my attitude and my situation we had too much in common. It was like I was looking at myself in the mirror. The only difference were our features. We all had one goal set in mind that didn't come into fruition. I guessed that God had a plan for us all and he definitely weren't through with us yet. During a card game of spades, in between sips of water, decaf weak coffee and low calorie unsweetend Kool-Aid we vented to one another. We told each other things we didn't tell our counselor. Things we didn't dare mention out loud in the middle of group.
 How we still felt the knife in our back and our hearts that the very ones that birthed us, helped produce us, that we loved on, took care of, and that was suppose to love us back had plunged into us. We lashed out, tried to snatch the knife out but all that was removed was the handle. The blade would not budge. Sick and tired of the pain, the anguish, the turmoil, and the continuous abuse we each in our own way decided to end the hurt the best way we knew how. Well that didn't work because now each of our asses were sitting at a table, with no discharge date, playing spades, watching Basketball Wives in the community room of the hospital, exchanging war stories. Although our complexions were several shades different from one another; chocolate, butterscotch, caramel, vanilla, we all had the same ashen look. The look you get when you're not getting enough vitamin D from sunlight.
 We were all getting catty and agitated with the nurses because we were catching cabin fever and we were sick and tired of looking at them and eating the same food day after day. Tired of their condescending remarks when they took our vitals. Tired of sitting in eight groups per day. Tired of not having access to our cell phones. Tired of waiting to use the one office phone sitting on the wall while somebody cupcaked on the phone. "Phone Whore" was whispered out of the mouth of one my "peers". I giggled.
  Each day I grew closer to my female peers because although I didn't know them, they understood me. I fetched paper towels and lended a shoulder, we all empathized with one another, we cursed and vented about what drove over the edge until we ran out of curse words. And penis. We laughed and talked about penis. How we pretty much could live without that cursed body part for the rest of our days. I mean, hell...Penis is what drives every woman crazy as all hell. Even if it wasn't totally involved in all of our situations, it had a teeny weeny part in it. We all laughed and swore to not touching penis for months. Every last one of us confessed to having a broken heart.
  Hell, wasn't it penis that penetrated the wrong woman and got her pregnant and put us in this world sticking us with a poor excuse for a mother? Yeah. We swore off penis for a few months that day, playing spades. Being in the hospital was our wake up call. We vowed to each other to make a change, a change for the better because nobody was going to ever bring us to that dark hole again.
As the days passed by we laughed, joked, flirted with the male nurses. It was all in fun. We bonded.

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You're invited to read Miss Monroe Exclusive

Subscription invitation

God's Property Come read my newspaper You are invited to discover my newspaper! I select and edit my favorite content daily, and Paper.li does the rest. It's a great way to treat yourself to fresh news...       Miss Monroe Exclusive Published by God's Property                         This message was sent by a friend who uses Paper.li to keep up with their favorite news. If you would prefer not to receive emails when other friends invite you to Paper.li, Click here

Who Will Save The Little Black Boy (Child Abuse Awareness)

I suffer from black eyes, bloody noses and bruised ribs. I get hit so much I don't even feel the pain anymore. My daddy comes right through the door, gets a beer out of the fridge and pushes me into a wall as he walks by me. He doesn't even acknowledge me. I am like a chair that has been sitting in the middle of the room. No feelings, no mind, I would have thought I didn't have a heartbeat if it wouldn't skip everytime my father walks by me. I am always on gaurd, to jump and ball into a knot to protect my face. Teachers and classmates already ask several questions. What is that red spot in your eye? Terrell, Why do you jump everytime I come near you to pass you your paper?
   I sit in my room and do my homework, whenever I can concentrate. When I can't concentrate I talk to God or I draw. I draw. Draw. Draw. Then I hear my Daddy calling me. His voice sounds funny as if he can't talk straight. I know my daddy hates me. He hates the fact that I am here. He always tell me that he tried to make Momma abort me but she couldn't. He blames me for her leaving him. Leaving us. The last time my daddy called me and I went to him, he punched me so hard in my face, my jaw broke. "The jaw heals itself, "He said. He lied to my teachers told them Grandma died which is why I had to stay out of school for two weeks. My Grandma been dead for years.
  I don't even cry when my daddy beats me. I pretend to. Because if I don't he'll think I'm being a smart ass. So he beats me harder. Then when he's finished I go and talk to God. I ask him who will save me. Who will save the little black boy that no one seems to love? Who will save the little black boy that no one seems to care about? Who will save the little black boy that endures so much pain? Who will save the little boy when all he sees is rain?

Dear George Zimmerman Letter

Dear George Zimmerman,

You know that I know, that we all know that you knew that this little boy was doing nothing wrong. You assumed just because you saw a black man walking through your cookie cutter surburban neighborhood, that he was a culprit in the so called many break ins, your neighborhood has had. Wait. I am using the wrong the word here. I said "Assume" but really, in all actuality you didn't assume anything. The writings are on the wall clear as day, on what you were thinking that night.
 First of all, you are the so called captain of your neighborhood watch. A couple of caucasian neighbors put it in your head, that you were the man who could protect the elderly and retirees from whomever has been breaking in your homes. If someone had been breaking in at all, because I really do not believe that there were that many break ins around that place. I believe you heard there was a break in, you assumed that the African Americans living in your neighborhood were the ones doing it, so you went and purchased  a gun.
 There are racist people all over the place. From the north to the south, from east to west. In the antebellum south, back in the day, a black person could look a white man in the face and shoot him dead. With that being said,  you have a gun in your home and your trigger finger was itching. You don't like the fact of all these blacks being in your beautiful suburban neighborhood, and you just knew they were the ones doing the break ins.
 George, you wanted a reason to use that gun. People walk down the street in hoodies all the time at all times of the night. But that is not even the point, the point is how do you say you felt threatend by a seventeen year old small framed boy? He was unarmed. You just shot the young man in cold blood.
 I believe that the Lord is the only one who should be taking out vengeance on you for what you did. I do believe that you will spend some time in prison, if you make it to trial. You are the most hated man across the world right now. I don't even want to call you a man, only a monster would shoot a child down in cold blood while he is begging for his life.
 George, the only thing I can say to you is to please turn yourself in to the FBI and tell them you want to go to trial. You know how when your ancestors would climb on horses and put on the white hoods and go riding out late at night to kill a black person (or some other race) for even looking at them sideways? Well we are ready to lynch you. Violence is never the answer, we are to look for justice in the hands of the law. But what are we to do when the law is not even on our side, and our blood is boiling and we are mad as hell because you took our brother from us for no reason at all.
What do you suppose we do? You can run but you can't hide. We know what you look like. I think some of us know where you live, if no one has burned your house down already. So you have three options. 1. Turn yourself in and tell the FBI you want to go to trial. 2. Someone kills you. 3.Someone beats you or shoots you without killing you, and turns you into a case v8. That would be turn you into a vegetable, so that you will be alive but you would be so brain dead the last thing you remember is shooting that brother down for no reason.
 The choice is yours. Turn yourself in.

We Clicked

We clicked. He matched my intelligence, my psyche, to the tiniest detail. I couldn't take it. It was overwhelming and it made me feel sick. Not a bad sick. But that good feverish, excitement type sick that you feel deep in your belly. A combination of nervousness and nausea. We clicked so well, the feeling of like for him sent chills up my spine. I couldn't take it.
  He was a hot commodity. Young, black, gifted, intelligent annnnd fine? That type of fine that would cause me to check myself in the mirror for discrepancies. He was the had my heart flip flopping, and mid breath stopping kind of fine. And he was smarrrrrrrrrrt. He was the street, mixed with book, but never forgot his history smart.
  He broke all the stereotypes of the way black men spoke. Because when he answered the phone.....He sounded like a proper english kid, straight out of the suburbs, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Correct english, pronounciation, and you would have thought he was caucasian. We clicked.
  Never afraid to say what was on his mind, he was a renegade. Mad brave, spoke up, liberated, and spoke nothing but the truth. But what really captivated me is the way he lead people to the truth. Professing his love for Christ Jesus to anyone who would listen. But if he was to just stand there, with his mouth closed. You would have never known he was Christian.
   Not all christian men walk around preaching in stuffy, bright suits. Relaxed fit jeans, vans, or some pradas, leather jacket, and depending on the weather maybe a button up. His swag was sick. So sick. It made me sick. But it was that good sick.
  Looking at him, listening to him, his demeanor and fluid walk.... You would have never guessed that he was beaten and abandoned as a child, busted his gun a few times, married the streets and did time. God cleaned him up, and showed him real love. We clicked.

Have I Told You That I Loved You

Turn me inside out and allow my heart to speak. This feeling I have for you is mad deep. Deeper than the pacific ocean after 90 days of constant rain. Love is supposed to feel sweet and beautiful, but all I feel is pain.
No my heart isn't broken, or bruised, or have been toyed with. I just wish things were different and the fire that was bursting between us was lit. Again. I don't know how long I can hold my feelings in. But I feel like a dam filled with water. Except I'm bursting within.
  I think you're in a "situation" though I'm not for sure. But I know she could never love you as hard as I could. Or did. But maybe that's what the problem is. I love too hard. Care too much. Good girls never go far. But wait. Let me be fair and admit that I wasn't a good girl at all times. I had my fun. I have my ways. But I never hurt you, intentionally. Did I?
  Communication is key and we lacked a lot of it. But now I'm here, professing to you how much I love and miss you.

Heart Transplant

I'm not blaming anyone else because I know I am partially at fault. I shouldn't have put myself out there so open, so quickly. However, I did and now I have a broken heart. I wish I could have seen the knife coming straight toward my chest, then again how can I blame you. You said it yourself, that it takes two. To tango. And to get feelings all tangled...Up. And confused. Now I'm asking myself what did I do?
  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And scorned I was.  Bitter, hurt, angry and seeking payback, for the emberassment, cold treatment, and heartache I thought you caused. When, to be honest, it was really my fault. Kept putting myself out there for you to hurt me continously. First time shame on you, but second, its shame on me.
  It feels like I have a gaping hole where my heart is supposed to be. If I wasn't walking around, talking and breathing, I would think I was heartless. Literally. And you ask me, why am I so damn angry? I'm not just some bitter black woman angry at the world for no reason. I'm angry because the mistreatment, the lies, the deceit, I endured.
  But its all good. I forgive you. My heart is here, and when there is pain, there is healing.

To The Other Woman

Me and him had a rough patch, he fell weak, became blinded and settled for less. Stimulate a man's "head" and all the blood goes rushing from his head. But don't get me wrong, that is not an excuse for how he ended up in your bed. And now that he's home, you're pissed off, hurt, and will not stop calling our phone.
  At first I was baffled, confused, the first few hangups I thought it was a child prank calling and acting silly. But when them calls started after hours I knew what was up. One morning when you called at 5 am he didn't budge, I could hear his heart beating right through his chest. As he played possum, he still had the facial expression "damn, I f__ up".
  Day after day, night after night you just kept calling our house. Sometimes breathing, sometimes not making sound. I just knew if we ignored you, you would stop. But then my man picked up the phone, yet you greeted him with sensual sounds. And that's when I knew I had to put my foot down.
  He confessed, I packed my kids and my bags, he got on his knees and begged ME not to leave. He explained it was just a tryst when we separated. He got lonely, vulnerable, and horny, went to the bar for a drink and that's when ran into you. So now its time for us to talk woman to woman, boo.
Its time to let go and move on, the chances of you and him are slim to none. I built a foundation that you will never break down. 12 years, 2 kids, a home, and I'm about to have his third child. If you I'm think I'm going to let you destroy my home, you're on one. And the fact that you knew he was married, but separated, but still in love with his wife, should have told you something.
  What God puts asunder no man nor woman can tear apart. He's home now, and I will forever be in his heart.

Maybe I Deserve

I did you wrong. I severed whatever ties attracted me to you in the first place. You don't even look at me or talk to me the same. I can't even put my hand on your shoulder without you brushing it away on a sly. My apologies are as worthless as a penny with a hole in it. What can I say? I deserve it. Love is stronger than pride, but men forgive but never forget. But I thought if one forgives, then one must forget to let the healing begin.
  Maybe I deserve to come home to an empty dinner place, an empty hello, no kiss or a hug. Maybe I deserve to lay beside you at night drape my arms around you, for you to gently place it back. Maybe I deserve to try to make love to you, give you hints of seduction, by rubbing my soft feet against your legs, for you to move all the way to the edge of the bed.
Maybe I deserve, to show you just how much I love you, by kneeling down in front of you with eyes saying "Baby, let me give you some head." For you to shake your head, push me away, and say "I don't even want that".  So now I'm angry. I'm hurt. You won't touch me, or talk to me, or yell at me. At this point, I feel so bad, ashamed, and guilty. I love him so much, I don't want to lose him, so I won't even care if he hit me.
   As I sit here and cry, scream, plead, I forget I'm a queen, get down on my knees, and beg him not to leave. I grab his luggage, stand in front of the door professing my want and need for him. Deep down I deserve it, there is no maybe, its time to woman up and face the consequences. But he'll be back, if he really belongs to me. 

Apology To My Future Husband

God told me that I had already met you, but I pushed you away. The fact that all this time I was patiently waiting on a man of my dreams to come scoop me. Waiting on a man that God had for me, and only me that was made just for me. The fact that I was steady day dreaming about a tall, dark, handsome man after God's own heart. Somebody that wouldn't just love the good in me, but would also love my flaws. Telling myself these dudes I've met thus far isn't good enough for me. The man I marry has gots to feeeeelll me. You get me? I mean he has to understand me deep down inside. My hurt. My pain. I want him to understand the abuse I suffered, the street fights I've been in, the loves I've lost, and the bruises on my heart.
  That's the kind of future husband I told God I needed. That's the kind of husband I told myself I wanted. Until I had me a come to Jesus moment. Truth hurts. But when it hurts that's when its time to heal and make changes. But what blew me away is when He told me I had already met you and basically threw you away. Met you? Met who? What? I'm confused.
  I remember dreaming of a handsome man bragging about his wife. In my dream I laughed and told myself I can't wait until the man God has for me shows up. His voice was as clear as day and woke me up. You already met him and you pushed him away. That woke me up and I sat right up in stupefied shock. I couldn't believe it. I met my husband? But who?
  It doesn't even matter who. I just hope whomever you are, find it in your heart to forgive me. Forgive me for everything I have ever said to you, for whatever things I've done to you. I know you have moved on and if you did I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to marry the woman I was, either.
  Yes. "Was". Husband, I wasn't in my right mind the devil had a hold on me. I let the enemy get the best of me and it wasn't cool. Things got deep, messed up, and I thought I couldn't handle it. So I displayed anger, carelessness, distress, and hatred.
  But I'm a different woman now and hopefully we'll meet again, start all over, and leave the past in the past. I possibly belittled you, underestimated you and pushed you the breaking point. I possibly made assumptions about you, knowing I didn't know a thing about you. If you, whoever you are, was to call me tomorrow and scream at me, I would take it because I deserve it.
  If we never meet again and you move on to better things, I wouldn't even fret. I wouldn't hate, cry, mope, or pity myself. As a matter of fact, I would walk up to the alter and hug the both of you. That's how much I already love you and want to see you happy. Only if I could remember you. Please accept my apology. Please forgive me.