How can you mend a broken heart?

I can still feel the breeze that rustles through the trees. And misty memories of days gone by, I can never see tomorrow, I was told about the sorrow. How can you mend a broken heart?

I love how movies end; I hate how real life starts.

You think life starts when you’re born, thrust from a darkened womb to a lighted day. You never think that life starts after a man you can’t forget tells you he’ll never love you; and a brother who acted as a shield dies on your way home from work.

You realize that until the tragedy overwhelming your existence, you’ve been living in an incubator: safe from the world’s misfortunes. Now you’re left wondering why life can’t be like a movie. Where is my happy ending?

Sometimes I feel like there’s not enough air. I’m gulp, gulp, gulping to try and soak up oxygen while still left gasping for breath. I wish I was stronger. I wish life didn’t break me down and hollow me out. I wish I could feel the sunshine in my snowstorm.

I just want to know when my heart will heal. I want to know when I will stop seeing his face, hearing his voice. I want my memories not to remind me of someone who doesn’t want me.

I want my brother back. I want the world to revolve around the sun again. Every galaxy in orbit has ceased spinning.

My birthday is coming up and I’m ambushed by the pending day on the calendar. My brother isn’t here to call me. That’s all I can think about. That I won’t hear his congratulations. I don’t want to celebrate. I don’t feel joyful.

My life is a vacuum of bad decisions, in every corner hopelessly confronted by many mistakes: defeated. Some days, most days, I don’t even want to wake up.

I have to remind myself I’m not a little girl anymore. I can’t run away from my problems. The world won’t stop because my heart is broken. It is my choices that led me to this mess, it’s up to me to be responsible and mend the pieces.

I’m tired. Everything in me hurts. It’s so hard to maintain a smile. Weighed down, my laughter sounds forced. Overburdened, my shoulders sorrowfully sag.

How do I again find happiness?

How do I move forward?

This not the forecasted year, the day by day struggle is real.

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Lift Every Voice & Sing (Black History Month Event Recap)

We have come over a way, that with tears has been watered. We have come, treading our path thro’ the blood of the slaughtered, Out from a gloomy past, till now we stand at last, Where the white gleam, of our bright star is cast. Lift Every Voice & Sing

Us social media junkies were privileged to attend an event held by VSB’s Panama Jackson and Urban Cusp’s Rahiel T who moderated a panel of local DC celebrities to discuss Black Identity and Culture in Mass Media.

The central theme of the event discussed black culture as merchandise commercialized and sold to our generation. Overarching questions of what is “black identity”, how to capture the definition of being “black”, and who owns “black culture” permeated the conversation. The principal point analyzed by the panelists and attendees alike was that there is a discrepancy between our reality of blackness and what we are fed as the reality of being black in America. Lost in the commonality of the audience’s comments was the innate complexity of blackness with the ability to relate to both the video vixen and the preacher’s wife. It seems that when faced with definition of ourselves we are quick to escalate outliers counteracting the mere idea that we, as a culture, can be defined.

Does being black correspond to being bi-polar?

One mutually agreed upon annotation of blackness was the possession of a struggle-ridden, heat-emanating soul derived from a history rife with strife and victory. Does that mean being black correlates to hyper-sensitivity?

The panelists were challenged with rationalizing the repetitive battle of Tyler Perry vs Spike Lee; or the degradation of hip-hop submerse in ‘ignant’ artists like Rick Ross and Waka Flocka vs socially conscious rappers such as Common and Lupe. They rehashed the targeted comparisons of the perfect black family-structure of The Cosby’s with the drama-filled modern representation of family in The Game. Each a media derived construct representing one perceived facet of the black community. And it seems that even within our race we’re conflicted on which element to select as our outward face.

The conflicted images portrayed in the examples internally divides the race, you have to be one or the other: the overshadowing question of ratchet vs bougie. So what is it Black America? Do we find our voice in being dissatisfied in the “other me” we see? Are we forever relegated to play the apologetic Negro perpetually asserting that we’re not like the “them”? (But clearly we can easily navigate between the two).

I’m left wondering if this is the cause of the debate and distain of our civil rights predecessors. Have we become complacent, so disenfranchised that we internalize negative images as fact? Or positive images as unrealistic? Have we accepted a singular, narrow view of being black that we’ve forgotten our past?

What was the point of Carter G. Woodson designing Black History Month if not to remind our race that despite our daily obstacles we have a legacy of outstanding black figures who paved the way for future generations to fantasize and dream their successes into reality?

An underlying tone in this conference was an inherent selfishness and self-consideration of mankind. It is only when degradation invades our comfort zone that we become cognizant of creating a boundary of relativity encompassing more than just our immediate surroundings. Basically, we care when it becomes personal. In the debasement of our race, images of hyper sexualized women, criminalized men, “movies as street CNN” lay the sensationalized shame supporting white imperatives of inhumanity of black people. Slavery was justified as the only way to protect and preserve black people from self annihilation. I’m sure Too Short’s article in XXL helped counteract that argument (insert sarcasm here). It’s time to wake up.

When the blame game starts on who perverted our image, we run the gamut of excuses ranging from not being the ones to make the decisions, to complaining of being sold yet endorsing the nonsense (on the sly of course), to buying into a scripted reality if only as an escape from the miasma that is our existence.

Is it truly a case of imbalance? Are we in crisis because our iconic influences regale the life of hustling, drug-dealing, and misogyny? If we had more examples of upstanding, black citizens would that nullify the jaundiced illustration in the media?

Overall I was VERY pleased with the event, the discussion, the topics, the panelists… bomb.com. I left wanting more, similar events, a more diverse audience. We need more avenues of conversation to dissect the struggle within the black community and work together toward a solution.

I’d hate to see the dissolution of the dialogue because our overly titillated minds can no longer contextualize the expansive array of ideas spoon-fed by the media. I’d fate for us to give up our standards because it’s too hard to swim against the current and the fight is endless. Each one teaches one to keep that fire going. Let the legacy be a springboard, not a cooling board.

Until the next time, let us march on until victory is won.

Dont Kiss Me

But don’t kiss me, no, no, no, don’t you kiss me, Unless those lips that you kiss me with, Will say I love you, love you for life! And don’t touch me, no, no, don’t you touch me (you betta not do it baby), Unless you promise that those hands, Will never wave goodbye!, Can you do that for me baby?

Breaking up is hard to do, but jumping back in the dating game is even harder. I struggle with this desire to meet new people and wanting to mourn the lack of love from someone I can’t forget. I’ve waited an appropriate 6months, casually dating when opportunities arose, but not actively searching or pursuing anything.

I respect those people who can fall and get back up immediately, but I’m more the type that needs to analyze the fall: trying to recapture the exact moment I landed into dangerous territory. Only then can I acknowledge the fall for what it was and decipher the lesson from its occurrence. When you reach a place where the good of the relationship outweighs the way it ended, you are ready to move on. The now problem is the fear of falling again in the future.

To ease my way back into dating, I created an online profile on OKCupid! since I have two friends who’ve had some success on the site. Despite what I’ve read about online dating from fellow blogger Jimmy I’m finding this experience to be more comical than serious.

At first I was really overwhelmed by how many views my page received. I almost shut down the account when I logged back in to 10 new messages. But I’m not a quitter… I just need to learn how to play the game.

You start off with your standard fare in messages received. “Nice pics” Delete . “Hello Gorgeous” De-Lete. “Hey why haven’t you responded to my message, I’ve been trying to get at you for a while. Holla at cha boi” delete, delete, delete. “I don’t mean to be rude but would you be interested in casual s3x sometime?” DELETE!

I wasn’t fairing much better on my end. Balancing the elements of wit and coquette are hard online. Going through profiles I feel like I’m jean shopping when I’m bloated, inside of hectic Ross store, on sale day. After an hour of scouring the racks and fighting over slim pickings, you find a pair that you think just might fit. You go to the dressing room, try them on, and they make your love handles stick out. Or they fit great, they seem soooo nice, and you realize the jeans are irregular- a factory error: a capri leg on one side, a bootcut on the other.

I don’t know if there a just a bunch of wack-a-doos out there or if men don’t know how to date anymore, but the stuff they put on their profile? Lord Almighty.

This one guy wrote: “Have you ever lusted after a woman? If you have then you’ve sinned against God. I ask you dear brethren to repent and come back to God… (scripture, scripture, fire, brimstone) … “Now that I’ve said that you should know who I am” Really? Really? I know that you scare the living daylights out of me. That’s your introduction?

Another: “BLACK WOMEN I LOVE YOU BUT IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR STUFF TOGETHER, I WILL GO TO ANOTHER ETHNICITY TO TEACH YOU”. First of all, why is your profile in all caps? Second, why are you berating an entire race of women in your first paragraph?

And yet another: “I spend a lot of time with my dog. She knows what it means to ‘kiss’, ‘cuddle’, and ‘bedtime’. She’s the perfect woman “. I’m sorry sir; did you just introduce bestiality into the mix? Are you telling me that your ideal mate is a four-legged mutt with potential for fleas?

Recently I’ve held steady correspondence with two guys. The first, E, seems like a stalker. There are little red flags… “How busy are you?” “My favorite thing to do is spend the day at Barnes & Noble” and every message “How was your day yesterday?”… I don’t know it freaks me out. Sorry E, NEXT!

The second guy had such an intense profile, but it was funny. But after 11 messages, I’m over it. Especially when you don’t always answer my questions… it bothers me.

I give myself two more weeks then I’m over it. I have the patience of an infant.

Readers: Have you ever tried online dating? What were your experiences? I’m lucky not to have any horror stories, but feel free to share in the comments box. What are your dos and don’ts of dating? If you had an online profile, how would you introduce yourself?

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