Love - iUniverse

Love - iUniverse
http://www.iuniverse.com/Bookstore/BookDetail.aspx?BookId=SKU-000192941

I Am

I am the girl who when she looks in the mirror, she sees someone fat . . . Someone whose face is obscure and someone whose nose is to big. When I look in the mirror I see reflection of something that I detest beyond reason. I hate the face that I see. The eyes sometimes don’t even measure up to the beauty that I want to see . . . that I want to feel. The hair is breaking, the hair is short. Guys call my name but not the ones I want. Sometimes I hide from them as though their making a game of me. In one mirror I can look somewhat pretty and in other not so much. Some pictures I look good, but most don’t measure up. It burns me up inside when I see other girls . . . because they look like models while I in my head look like a dog—worse than that. This is what I see when I look in the mirror. But I never cry . . . I never cry . . . I just cry invisible tears . . .




I am the boy who when I walk through the door everyone flocks to me. But they don’t understand me. Or necessarily care for me. It’s only because I have this talent with a ball, and I stand 6’4’’. They don’t see that when I go home there’s nothing there. That when I go home my mom is at work and she don’t come in till like 11 at night. They don’t understand that my brother disappeared, on to college. They don’t understand that he’s smart and I’m not and that feel insecure because I’m not as smart as him. But they don’t see that. They don’t understand that the reason why I am is because there was nothing else to do. I waited hours for my mother to come pick me up when I was young after school . . . where all children would desert and go home. There was only me and a ball and the sitting sun, so I just pound the ball against the ground and in a sense releasing all the anger that I contained. And its as though I only began to receive love when I became good, and so I wanted to keep that . . . because that’s the only attention I ever had . . . With my dad no where to be found . . . maybe somewhere in the ground so when they crowd around me I no its fake . . . Which drives me to invisible tears . . .



I am the bad bitch of the land. Yea that’s who I am. I don’t give a fuck bout nobody. I run this shit. Don’t nobody mess with me because if they do they know I ain’t scared to hop out there and do work on a bitch. I talk to much, I’m the loudest one in the group, they all flock to me, the guys can’t stop staring at me . . . But I know it’s not what it’s all caked up to be. All I do now is just smoke weed, to get me to a place where I don’t have to deal with the things that really press me to unbridled anger. I used to be the quiet one. I bet you don’t even remember me. I’ve transformed. Because I need something. I need some attention. The attention to make me feel like I’m here. Like somebody sees me so you know I gotta have a boyfriend every week . . . But its costing me my reputation and my real friends keep drifting away from me . . . At home there’s no one. My dad forgot about me, and momma died long time ago. I never cried though . . . It’s life-Weexy. So I just keep cheesing while he keeps chasing after her who could never be her who brought me into the world while all in all it tears me up inside . . . But go with the flow yah know, when I’m at my highest high I just cry invisible tears . . .



I am. But you don’t see me. Tell me where I be in this game that we call life. Tell me where I hide behind the lies and what is my true pain. Tell me where and when it will be when I will come forth from the you who has transfigured me. Because here I can’t breathe. Here I suffocate to a death, to an isolation, to an anger that doesn’t match me. I dream to be! But I cannot be! I just want to cry but it is as though tears will not fall from me. They refuse. I believe it due to a callous that has over took me . . . I just cry invisible tears

Have I Not Found God (Poem)

In my time of being alive I have found little rhyme, little time
I have found in time that my hands cannot clench time nor even hold it for even a glimpse of time
I have found in my hands a trouble of jealousy and greediness to plunder lands that barely stand to withstand life
In life I have found a terrible ache that shakes the whole earth under one earthquake
I try and move one step to be knocked back four with doors closing and the one that is supposed to open and reveal a new and generous alternative stuck. As if with no luck to pluck me out of which I am stuck
That as if everything that I undertake, undertook, is tied and twisted in all crookedness which binds me in desperation and frustration
I have found in this distression my current and past obsessions. . .
I have found in all frustration and subordination still and unfulfilled soul
Deep in me is a person that wishes to be but cannot be
Evil and religiously at peace, both still frighten me
Because even in them who am I, and as time flies and I cannot grasp I have to ask will I ever! Be content with me
If there is a me
All that time had taught me and the world has bought for me and friends and boys have sought and thought for me to be is really and can’t be what I truly desire all to be
For life and time and death seem all as if one kind
Because death is life and time is death and life is time and time is death
For what breath do I give and for who do I breathe and is the breath, my breath even—worth it?
In my time I have found little rhyme and little time
But have I not found God?
God who is time and is rhyme . . . and life and death . . . should I not be content?

Lost and Dying (Still in Progress)

     I had a friend once who was sweeter than any person that I'd ever known. He was quiet in a way that was bit abnormal, or at least at the time it seemed that way. But eventually, me and this other girl got him to talk more and more, and with each day he began to open up more and more. I don't know . . . It's something that just won't leave me . . . I've lost many friends as is understandable in life . . . but he I cannot forget. Because it, it seems so sinister . . . Something that sends chills down my spine. He was a quiet boy as I relayed earlier. Clean cut, with his hair to the side and glasses, neat clothes . . . I don't know what it is but the image is like engraved in my mind and I remember. Sometimes I wonder if anybody else remembers. If anybody sees what I see.
     As I, and my friend were opening him up, so were other children. Telling him to do this with his hair, and that with his glasses, and this with his clothes . . . Thing is, is that in a year he was unrecognizable . . . He was completely transformed. He was no longer himself, no longer innocence.
Later, two years or so, same children telling him to do this and that led him off the path and on to their crooked ones. He struggles with drugs today, sexuality and other issues. Same as other friends of mine, but . . . I don't know, he just stays in my mind . . .

     I have another friend. One that is very dear to my heart. I've never really cared for anyone. I don't even care for myself. Or maybe it's just that my emotions I never let myself feel, and therefore I am unaware of their existence. But she to was one of the sweetest people I had ever known. But it seems this world, neglect, and time has turned her into a lost soul more desolate than those almost in third world countries similar to my other friend . . . I see her everyday . . . But somehow I have lost the will or the desire to speak up. The voice that I speak without delay in other situations but with her it seems lost in my throat, my thoughts. She has not a father that pays her attention, so she searches for it among boys. She has nothing to go home to, so she stays out all night. And she has anger that was never dealt with, so she spurs out perverse language gaining her the reputation of a hoe. Only thing is, is that this title that hangs about her head she does not see . . . Only others . . .
     But I see her everyday.

     Time . . . Lost . . . Souls . . . My friends. But how many others are there. And those who seem to have it together, even they in their own worlds hold struggles unseen and unwanted. But when we see them, why is it that we turn our head and look in the other direction. Talk about them when their gone and say muffled, 'I pray for her . . . him'

    

 'If everyone cared and nobody cried, if everyone loved and nobody lied, if everyone shared and swallowed their pride, then we'd see the day when nobody died . . .' Nickelback

Michelle Obama

     From the mouths and pens of the founding fathers, America is built on the principle and core belief that all men are created equal. This American value has not always been demonstrated in the course of this country's history and many times has seemed a struggle to obtain what seems all to simple. Recently this idea has reached the forefront of many discussions, though many have tried to be avoided as it was with the discussions of slavery in 1790, with the first African American couple to reside in the White House with the authority and title of the President and First Lady. Michelle Obama more prominently, being the descendant of slaves, has caused this revisit, and through this has helped move America to reassess and accept the principle in which the country was built.
     America has been referred to as the Great Melting Pot, in which people of all races and cultures have come together in the idea of obtaining the American dream. If there was a picture or an artwork that when looked at you immediately connected its representation, then Michelle Obama would be the complete image of America. At Whitney M. Young Magnet School, Obama displayed her very social and diverse character amongst students of all colors, race, and cultural backgrounds, being recalled as being able to “float gracefully” between social groups in the school.”(Mundy 55) Her overall ability to relate to all students who went to her school not only positioned her strategically for her future but also set her up for her most destined position, being the First Lady of the United States of America. She was and is, also and most importantly, a voice when she chose to speak, an odd trait among women but presently is the overall admiration of a strong woman. Marian Robinson, Michelle's mother, made note that, “Michelle's always been very vocal about anything . . . If it's not right, she's going to say so,” (Mundy 56) a characteristic that has followed her to the White House adding to America a stronger sense of equality by on a public and national setting endorsing and promoting that women are a voice equal to men; fulfilling the principle that all men are created equal.
     It is said that behind every great man there is a strong woman; with Barack Obama, Michelle Obama is the aid and fire as well as the strength behind Obama as it was designed but at it's peak of functionality. Mundy analyzes in her biography of Michelle, that “If Michelle was intense and driven, Barack soon emerged as more intense and more driven, at least when it came to making a mark in politics.” (Mundy 123) An intensity that has benefited America not only in the rigorous production since the inauguration of Obama, but most importantly the care of the American people, primarily the middle and lower classes, gradually dispersing the inequality of the more wealthier classes versus the lower classes. Michelle Obama's advocacy, that has followed her since her days at Princeton, where she involved herself in the Third World Center that supported minority kids and Harvard, where she participated in advocating the hiring of professors of minorities, for those less fortunate has been clearly visible in the days in office of the Obama administration with the proposal of a public option, and her visits to homeless shelters and soup kitchens in her first days of being the First Lady. This focus on those struggling has initiated a national discussion and look at how we treat those people who are less fortunate, sometimes showing a darker side of our democracy. Such as on a news report on MSNBC where a business man was seen throwing money at a man who could not walk at a healthcare protest. This concern for the less fortunate is many times misinterpreted for a communistic impulse on democracy.
     The lasting legacy of Michelle Obama will probably be the example of what an African American woman is capable of and the deterioration of the 'Sista Gurl' stereotype that has clung to black women. She has also brought to the eye nationally, that black women are pretty and more importantly bringing a sense of pride to many African American women and more so African American young girls who are constantly faced everyday with the white skin and long hair as a sense of beauty. Bringing black women finally, as somewhat of the last people to acquire equality in the American culture. Presently she is also the representation of fashion as Mrs. Kennedy in her day and time was, and the representation of discipline as Barbara Bush was. Consequently as with every First Lady she is the female role model impacting America not only on its fashion but on American women and young girls and their conduct. Michelle Obama again is the discussion and the positive progress of America's long racial history, as Mundy perfectly puts it, “. . . her very presence at Obama's side as the descendant of slaves . . . [has raised] questions about how far we have come in our tolerance and how far we have to go . . . [her] journey will have a more lasting impact on our dreams of equality, our hopes and our audacity . . .” (Mundy 198)
     Michelle Obama, the descendant of slaves, has caused the revisit of race and has moved America not only to reassess but to accept the principle on which the country was built. The first time you look upon a picture your eyes divert to a certain point and usually your memory remembers this first impression, an impression that will stick and will be inevitably hard to remove. Michelle Obama is the image of America in its purest form that when looked at resembles the principles of sovereignty, freedom, but most importantly equality by her skin tone and her gender that reside in the highest form of authority in the United States. She is the success of the struggles of men and women, and leaders and politicians, and slaves who have gone before her and carved out the path to the fulfillment of the words that were written in the Declaration of Independence, 'that all men are created equal.'

Something's Wrong (Excerpt from Book Destiny)

     Sometimes I don't know why I go out. Like out to the clubs or to that party. I mean this isn't a new thing that's just started with D.J. No I used to do this sort of thing before. But not regularly of course. I hate what I see in the clubs or the house parties. Women bent over like dogs and men bouncing from one to the other. It's a little different now but not that much. Men instead of putting a ring on a woman's hand and committing to her, drunken her for that which should be saved for marriage. Others drug. Some women show off their bodies and act promiscuously to get a drink instead of pulling out their own cash. Some use the ugly lonely men standing or sitting off to themselves. Extremely vulnerable not only because of the lack of good looks that permits them to attract women, but they are fresh from a divorce and desperately seeking a rebound--more so comfort. Others who are shy and not much of the party, who if it were not for their friends would be home enjoying a quiet movie with popcorn and their lover, drink until they no longer restrain themselves and then become the life of the party. Both men and women, hunting around the club exchanging eyes and glances and smirks and smiles--like wolves in sheep's clothing, only interested in getting laid later on tonight. Not realizing that both parties are worth so much more than a one night stand. And the music that drowns the air along with the smoke, like an illusion--a mask but not really, hiding it's true face, but propaganding the sickness of this world. And the beat is so sweet that you don't realize it's poison.
     I look at D.J. And he looks at me.
     "I thought I was the only one."
     I had a friend once who pointed all this out to me when I was apart of this sickness. A sickness so strong and so captivating it was like a blindness--worse total darkness that I took for my light. She called such things incorrectness. I recall once in a similar setting as this with her on my right and my friend Liz on my left, she said, " . . . And I ask again . . . What is this world coming to? So much incorrectness and so little time." I remember frowning at her through the dark of the party trying to read her expression--her, of which this craziness had come. But her face was as mine is now and D.J.'s is. Just a calm and humbled--concerned but just so face. I remember looking out into the sea of destruction disguised as pleasant waters, sweet to the tongue and gentle to the touch . . . Later that night it was still pleasant and gentle but after awhile it began to burn. Like being in the sun for to long my body began to scar with injuries that seemed unhealable. But my friend Liz, she grabbed my hand, "Come on girl. There ain't nothin wrong with this."
     But there was something wrong. Two boys kissing on each other, girls dancing on each other, a humping party rather than a party, rather a sex party with clothes on. Boys smoking weed and girl's weave catching fire which was supposed to be funny, and boys fighting not realizing that they're brothers, you couldn't say that wasn't wrong. Of course you might come around and say it's not after painting over it so many times--thing is, no matter how much you sugar coded it--it was still there.

Standing Against Authority

     It is common in the depths of a man's soul and a man's being to have this urge to repeal authority no matter whether that authority be large or minor. But despite this instinct and the few that act on it, it is always in one's best interest to assimilate themselves under the established authorities in that favor may be gained and safety will have its umbrella of protection around the individual and his family. Such as Frazier Robinson, father of Michelle Obama, who in the late 1960s and early 1970s worked with the ‘Machine’ in Chicago, and by doing so enabled his family to not only attain a comfortable living arrangement but also enabled his children to receive a high level of education. There are those though, who we have come to admire and respect in history who have chosen to adhere to this instinct based on core beliefs to not conform to the headship and have succeeded, though not without hardships and struggles. Rarely is this the case; it unwise and calling upon adversity when you oppose authorities already in place.

     Martin Luther King Jr. was bold, and as he was very active he was a very well-heard promoter of his stand for integration gaining the attention of those who had put in place a system in which social and racial relations were intended to follow. His skin which spoke more than his words along with his radical ideas gave him the podium for which he later was executed. He stood out in a way, unlike that of a man on a highway trying to stop traffic at the busiest time in the day, but stood out further in that he was so passionate and rigorous about which he was defending. The many speeches that he gave including these elements led to several historic riots as well as civil disobedience, such as the Bus Boycotts, furthering and strengthening his own display of civil disobedience; making him the target of which to stop the continuing of such behaviors. Integration is a key ingredient of not only our economy today but also the innovations of tomorrow, but that was not the idea of that era and instead stood in contradiction to ideas already standing and therefore he was executed.

     Christianity is one of the most followed religions in the world today, but only due to the stand and sacrifice of the prophet Jesus, who through doing benevolent deeds was still exiled by his own religious authorities in terms of acceptance and was later executed. The actions and/or so called miracles, in the hope and idea to strengthen the society as a whole back-fired due to the rooted ideas of how society should run and these teachings could not be received even though presented humbly. No matter how much something might be beneficial to a person or one receiving something from another, if that person is so conformed to their way of doing things then they will not receive. Like the 2008 debate on healthcare in which many refused to even consider the idea of a public option which would have benefitted mass amounts of people providing healthcare to everyone. This refusal to consider the proposal of a public option is in its simplest form fear, and is the same fear that the Jewish authorities had when it came to the teachings of Jesus, and the same fear that any authority undergoes when challenged.

     Even in appearing to disagree with the rules and regulations of a particular area can institute dangers to that sphere of safety and peace of mind, relaying to that fear in the authorities to maintain control at all times. Throughout history those who have appeared to be unshaken by authority and always carry a self-controlled mentality, have been the ones singled out and either alienated or executed. The best example of this is John Procter in The Crucible, who simply by his views, his intuition, and what was right, as well as primarily his reputation for being below the standard of an elect Puritan male in the community, was dragged into the confusion of the head authorities. And like the prophet Jesus, even in trying to aid the authorities was instead assumed as being aligned with the opposition and trying to deceive within the inside; another form of fear on the part of authorities and an element that led also to the destruction of the prophet Jesus.

     Rarely is it that those who stand, for whatever belief it may be, right or wrong, go without some sort of persecution. History shows us that leaders and even ordinary people when going against a stronger or a higher authority than themselves face adversity. Despite if their ideas are beneficial for others, world changing, the most followed religion in the world, or just purely the reality not corrupted by illusions, they are susceptible to persecution and worse death. Ghandi, the Kennedy’s, Thomas Moore, Malcolm X, Monte Cristo . . . the list is endless. But it all goes back to the principle that if you put yourself on a pedestal you are susceptible to be shot down. It is better for a man who values his life to assimilate himself under the present authorities.

Dreams So Far Away

They look at me and they say no, and in a sense I say no to because out there in the distance it's so fuzzy like I see but I don’t see. Then I look down at my feet and see that my first step is my second step, and on and on like I ain't movin no where. I turn to my left and them niggas laughin at me cause I ain't movin nowhere no time soon. But notice they on the left. But then why they still in touching distance. I thought you supposed to soar and when you step in the door it's like a roar but here I am and here I stand. Like cement in my legs I stand firm in the sand. But he said build your house on a rock, and as the days go by I feel like I’m sinking in quick sand, cause everything so quick and I just feel like I be missin. Some say live for today like there's no tomorrow because there's so much sorrow and so much hurt so why do I even keep on this shirt. That reads BIG BOLD AND BRIGHT CHRISTIAN. That don’t seem like it my mission, but better yet it’s a duty and I’m just like the nigga who ain't tryna to that, runnin away from the draft fakin a name. Or better yet whoever that nigga name was, oh yea Jonah. But back to these folks who doubtin me, thinkin I'm only a nigga who dumb and just up in the class to pass time. No ma'am, I make time. Cause he say honor your father and mother and your days will be long amongst the earth . . . I just wanna clean from hurt, but ain't it a trip when everyone around stuck in the dirt, dirty as all get out so I’m feelin crazy like I’m holding on to a dream--a fairytale. Somethin like Cinderella and that Prince. My girls tellin me there ain't such a prince and so I wince inside hopin I ain't livin a lie. But to die is gain and my aim is . . . I think to be where he is in the sky. Niggas getting high and I'm just sittin on the side smiling like crap is ok, and even in the circle in which I call a safe zone there are really wolves in sheep's clothing. I’m willing to continue but I just wanna know when I’m get mine. So I look up and peer at that mist in the distance. Tryin to see past, hope for that that I don’t see. For this is what they call faith. Even though I’ve lost every friend I’ve ever had. They like baggage on me, even though they done gone on about they business. Is it because I want to be them, or do I love them. Praying for them . . . while I pray for myself.

Invisible Tears

The thing with invisible tears is that it hurts so much more when you yourself see them; as the impossible and the numb to become falls without warning into the palm of your hands as you yet still try to hide . . . I cry invisible tears

Closure

You look down for awhile . . . until your feet begin to bore you, or this rebellion in you kicks in and lights this burning fire in which you start to slowly look up and around--though sheepishly at first. Because this is all new ground. And in a short time after being astounded by which you see, you begin to assimilate yourself. Only until that bores you and you look straight forward. Only considered about you and what it is that you are going to do. What you are to become and you become numb in the course or you already are. Because before, that which led you there, is that what you found when looking around--is that nobody gives a damn about you and the only way to make it is to do you. Which is your whole view. But in reality only a small perception. What happens when going alone begins to wear and tear on you and there's no one who can hold your baggage. So at one time you were flying where the clouds are and further beyond to the stars, but now your sinking--more so drowning. So much to where at a time you look up. And the blinding light of the son warms your heart and makes you not so cold and desolate and begins to guide your path. And you realize that this is the way--the light, not my own tunneled vision. So what is it about this light, this realization that doesn't last. Maybe its so blinding . . . so surreal, that I look down and stare at the ground . . . And once again it starts all over.
Where is the closure.

Carry On

I want to talk about the pain in the world. Things that I see. Like a rapper spits I wanna let y'all into my world. The way I see things. Many people say that the world is full of evil and hate and hurt and tears, and therefore due to all these things that we should throw in the towel and give up. But I disagree. I think there is a bigger picture. I believe in a higher being even though faith at the time and moment it is, is low and dwindling . . . And if my perception proves me wrong then it still does not exclude the fact that there is something bigger than ourselves. I believe that we should fight through the adversity . . . through the hurt and tears and pains, the mother's pain at losing a child, because I believe when we do we open up a part in ourselves that can inspire others. A part of us that continues to give hope. And this isn't a false hope, it is a true hope--one so purely felt that it cannot be claimed not credible . . . I believe that tears are strength not the angry, hopeless, reminisce.
While I carry mine, I carry yours, so that one day you can carry another


Renee'  Thompson

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   The rain was pouring incredibly this day in November. Mixed with ice and everything the sky could pour. Me and Charley couldn't stay in the sewer so we were sitting on the curb soaking in the rain. But to me the rain didn't bother me. It felt like nothing. It only numbed me. Which was . . . to me, the best feeling in the world. It's all that I could wish for just to be free of all pain, heartache . . . worry. In that moment I cared not about life or death. Both didn't faze me. Both were the same . . .

   My eyes poured no water but the water that rained upon them. My heart beat not fast . . . not slow. It was hard to even feel my heart . . . hear it. I knew not where it was anymore. It was like it had escaped me. Like water on a sunny, hot day. It's gone—subtly. With no hello or goodbye . . . just vanished. My arms, legs, hands felt no pain anymore. My mind was oblivious to all things . . . even money. Like it didn't matter anymore . . . I didn't matter.

   My heart no longer screamed . . . like I said it one day disappeared . . . cool breeze signing the start of something new. The breeze had healed me. It was like this awakening . . . this understanding. I no longer hungered. Not physically, not emotionally. I had accepted . . . finally that, I was . . . just was. Nothing spectacular or special. I just was . . . here. Accepting that I was nothing and that nothing ever special . . . like family would happen to me.

   All hope . . . and all joy was drained out of me. Not even the slightest hope ran through my veins. All . . . and I mean all was gone. Maybe just a trickle of joy . . . from Kelsey . . . but that was it.

   "Eh y'all kids need to go home. Y'all got a place to go? It's supposed to get record cold tonight." I glanced up and saw a white police officer sticking his head out the car. Why the hell you care? I nudged Charley who hadn't even looked up to see who the guy was. He looked up at the police officer and nodded with no visible emotion and said, "Yeah we got a place to stay." The officer gave a worried expression and looked to his partner speaking with him briefly before turning back to us.

   "We see y'all again we're taking y'all to county." He drove away on with the roar of many other cars. We stayed seated for awhile before abruptly Charley stood up. He started walking at a fairly fast pace so I hurriedly, like jumping back into life, stood up and followed him. Like a puppy following its master.

   "Charley where we going?" He didn't look at me, only kept walking through the pouring rain with a sense of determination. He answered roughly, "Momma's." I stopped dead in my tracks and stood in disbelief.

   "Why would we go there just to hear her say get out!? Too bad!" Charley turned around and stared at me with bloodshot eyes.

   "We'll die out here." But isn't that what I wanted? Death? Death to just come and snatch me away, instead of playing with me and mocking me at every turn of my head? When would it be my turn to die? To pass and be like dirt? But even dirt is valuable! It grows and multiplies things! Helps and feeds! But me . . . me, I am of no value. If I died no one would mourn, no one would cry. Life would move on as it always had . . . it wouldn't stop for me. It'd spin as it did everyday . . . people would laugh! And children would sing and play! Rich folks would be comfortable in lofty houses, white folks would count their flow . . . nobody would stop for me.

   Charley looked at me, compassion in his eyes now and he said words that I will never forget. "There is always a reason to press on. Life is always worth living for and the strong always find a way to survive . . . Never commit suicide at the hand of another." I sighed deeply and shrugged. My mind tired yes, dismayed yes, confused yes . . . but those words meant something . . . knew something. And yet my mind was all these things my heart had a strength that I couldn't explain and to me is apart of my mind . . . So I . . . I walked, preparing my mind as I best knew how.

   We came to her house shivering and wet as anything. When she opened the door she stared us up and down quickly and then allowed us in.

   "I want you out of my house in the morning." We went into the kitchen and sat down as she disappeared off somewhere. I looked around and noticed how the house was warm and clean. Just as it had been when I first arrived. Such mockery, I thought to myself, such a show. She came back with towels and clothes which she gave to each of us. "I want y'all to wash up real good, and if yah hungry there's food in the pantry and the refrigerator." She stood and looked at us both with a bit of concern, but it faded quickly. "Charley you use the guest and D.J. you can use mine." My body heated up terribly but I tried to ignore it. Charley got up and headed to the guest eager to become dry again.

   "Thanks," he muttered. I in turn stood up and headed into her room. She followed behind me and locked the door behind her. I didn't look back at her; I focused all my attention on the bathtub which I started in haste.

   "Don't use the tub, use the shower." I turned around and she was leaning against the door frame staring at me intently. I shook my head solemnly knowing exactly where this was leading . . .

About "Love"

          "Love" at first was named "To Find The Way" but once I came to the end of the story I realized that that was not a suitable name for the piece. Seeing that towards the end it was not himself that found the way but Christ had found him. The scripture says that "For I have chosen you"; for we have not chosen God, but God has chosen us. The story at first had not even been a story but had originated with me thinking of my future husband and his past--his story. And then in some way it turned into this tragedy that replayed over and over again in my mind. From the hood life of the streets, then to sexual abuse, and then to the indescribable pain and depression. But as this story continued to flow through my mind over the course of months I saw this revival. I saw God work in this boy's life, because after the story started to flow the fact that this had started from me thinking about my future husband disappeared.           After about maybe 2-3 months I realized that this story must be written. So I proceeded to copy the story as it flowed through my head. The amazing thing about it was that I never received writers block for more than a week. That's how profusely the story was spilling from my pen. I think also the fact that I was truly involved in the story helped in the fast finishing of the story. The fact that I could feel him, feel his pain, his anger, and could truly sympathize with him. Several times during this story I cried and several times my chest filled with anger and then sickness. I can honestly say that I felt all of the pain that he felt though probably not to the extremity that he had--felt.
          And really--I do feel that God had his part in this story because at the beginning of this summer I came down on my left ankle and was out for the remainder of the summer basketball season. During every summer, basketball being my other passion, I would walk to the rec center and stay from 10 or 12 to 6 in the evening. But because of my injury I no longer could walk to the rec center and so I was confined to my house. The funny thing about it, is that as every teen I feel as though nothing can hurt me. And yet it really was true because I'd fallen many times before and injured myself but always came back the next second. Never had I been knocked out for 2 whole months and 3 weeks with an injury. But due to it I finished the book in pretty much four months, because I had started on it I believe 2 months before school ended and finished the book on August 6. Truly I believe it was God's doing.
          "Love" contains much degrading speech to women, men, and whites and blacks due to the urban setting in which the story takes place. The book has been written this way to help paint a picture of how the main character and his friends situation is so serious, and also to add a contrast of the lifestyle which comes at the end of the story. Along with the realization of the degrading lifestyle in which the main characters were leading. This does not necessarily represent the views of I the author, especially the racist comments and slurs throughout the story. But it is only there to represent the mindset of the main character. Along with the sexual scenes, since this is a sexual abuse story, they are there only to describe and to shed some light on the outrageous-ness of the crime and the deadly, destructive consequences from it. And lastly the violence throughout the story was thought through thoroughly and was determined that it must be included to again paint a picture of how crazy, delusional, and numb to all care and feeling the main character was. Hopefully this forewarning will be greatly appreciated by the readers reading this book.
          I prayed about a month into the book realizing that it was by God that I had this story running in my mind and I now will pray again. This "about the book" was written several months ago, and so many things have happened. Currently I am in a very, very low point in my Christian walk and am struggling literally hour by hour to come back to Christ. I'll just leave it at that... But my opinion is the same concerning this book that it was when I first wrote it. It needs to be read. This story needs to be told. And that is why I have pulled myself with great difficulty out of my slump/depression to finish what I started. I pray that this book to whoever may read it will not become hung up on the degrading speech, violence, and sex, but will be able to see it for what it is and receive the true meaning from the book. That of the love that Christ gives, free of charge, to anyone despite what you've done or who you are. I pray that God be glorified in this and that those reading the book will be touched, but then more than touched--be astounded by the glory of God in the book. And if not believers themselves that they too will become saved.
          All glory to God.

Donations for My Book 'Infatuation'

Good afternoon to everyone receiving this message,




I have just started on the process of publishing my book 'Infatuation' after a year long process in writing and editing it. I have a few publishers who are interested in publication of my work and distributing it through book retailers such as, Barnes and Nobles, Amazon, Borders, and etc. My only block is finacial, with the price of this publicating process at $779. I'm asking that if you feel inclined, to donate $5 to $20. Your incentive for this donation would be a free book at the end of the publicating process.

My book, if you don't know already, is an inspirational book based on abuse and how through God you can overcome any obstacle. It is a fiction read and was written primarily for young adults, but is very much a book that can read be by adults as well.

Please if you are able to donate contact me through email, or (I don't know if this appropiate, I'm still a kid) you can mail it to me. P.O. Box 261905, Zip code 75026.

Thank you and have a blessed day,

Candice Thompson