These Words Are My Own.

I'm still working on how to post the next excerpt from my novel. I know everyone that has read is interested in learning more about the girls. However, I need to interject with a different sort of post. As always, leave me comments. :)

            Walking around in a pair of sparkly six inch platform heels, pajama shorts and pigtails (very Carrie Bradshaw-esque, I know), I decided I needed to make a list of things I need to buy. Such as blush, pressed powder, more shoes, etc. So I picked up the first notebook I saw laying around and of course, with my luck, it’s the notebook I’ve used to write down all of my thoughts from May until now.

            I skimmed. They were all about… him. I couldn’t bring myself to actually read these thoughts. I had dug myself out of the hole already. Going back in was out of the question. Besides, I was on my monthly. Emotions were running on an all time high for me. Tears were not a part of the equation today. I was wearing sparkly heels, for Christ’s sake.

            But the point of this post is, these words… Do I dispose of them? Are they constant reminders of my failures in this relationship? Am I tormenting myself by having them sitting on my desk? Or, as an aspiring writer and a person that is constantly evolving, are these words useful to me in some way? Maybe when my soul mate finds me, I can look back and see how silly I might’ve been. Or, I can use them for material for a future column, book, etc. etc. Am I making excuses to hold on to a piece of me I’m supposed to be over?

-sigh- I have questions. I’m over the situation, yes. However, these journal entries were a major part of me. These words are beautiful. They’re scrambled and sometimes ugly and depressing. But, they’re mine. 

Spot

You ever wonder what it all really means? This drama you go through. The ups, downs, triumphs and failures. You ever wonder what purpose these things serve as? I do. Constantly.

I wonder if I’ll ever reach my dreams. If I‘ll ever succeed or meet everyone’s expectations of me. If I’ll ever get that husband and 2.5 kids.

I have dreams. To write for a major publication. Own a condo and have one car of my choice. Well, until I get married and then it’s time to look for a house and more cars. Everything stress free and paid for and we won’t struggle and we’ll love each other and be happy.

Do I think everything will actually be easy and breezy? No. I know I’m going to have to bust my ass and fight my way to a spot.

But all this trivial bullshit I go through…. I wonder sometimes if it’s all a part of some master plan. If it’s shaping who I am as a person. If it will even benefit me in my future.

It’s interesting to try and guess the people that will actually make it in your future. Because, we all know that everyone isn’t going to stick around. Some people are going to walk out, or fall by the wayside.

I mean, I’m living for now… But I wonder a lot. Where will I fit in this world? What slice of the pie am I going to get? I’m just trying to find my little spot, like a polka dot. That’s all.

Stop Doing The Most

Love is a battlefield and it’s not easy and it’s worth fighting for but exactly how much are you willing to take to have the love of another?

How much disrespect, sore throats from screaming and heartache is too much?

I’m still trying to find this balance of just enough. I don’t give up or walk away easily at all, but at the same time, some shit isn’t even worth it. And you’ll know when something just isn’t healthy. Nothing that anybody tells you can make you walk away either. That’s something you have to get to on your own. And you’ll get there. I promise.

Remember that.

-Eboni Merriman

Love Songs

          I’m listening to love songs again. 


           I don’t know why, they make me really sad. But they’re so beautiful. They make me believe in the possibility of finding a guy that will drive me to write beautiful things. Spill my heart on the paper. Not just scribble these over emotional and dark thoughts on a piece of paper that no one will ever read. 


            They make the possibility of dedicating these beautiful melodies to someone who will appreciate and cherish them very real. Love songs make the possibility of walking down the aisle to these well thought out and well versed words not just a fantasy. 


            Love songs also bring me back to reality though. 


          Love songs bring me back to the reality that HE left. They bring me back to the reality that no matter how I cut it, HE lied to me. HE took my heart and squeezed it so tight that it oozed all over his hands and dripped to the floor. All of my thoughtful words, letters, smiles, kisses, and sweaty confessions of love dripped onto the floor where he threw my mangled heart and briskly walked away. The floor that he used to walk away from the promises he made, the door that he used to slam and shut out all my dreams for the future. 


             That’s what love songs do to me now. I’d like to listen to a love song without the echo of his voice telling me that I was his, forever. I’d like to listen to a love song without feeling his hand intertwined in mine. Just once, for Christ’s sake… I’d like to hear a love song, and be unaffected. 


                     Is that too much to ask for?!

Just Rambling.

Staring in your eyes, I get stuck.
To see a future, possibly an us?
To get to that, I must.
Scared to say too much, don't want to scare you away.
I just wan't you to stay.
Near me, feel me, be there with me.
Let's walk this Earth's journey together,
hand in hand.
Baby, we have GOT to make a plan.
I'm not a kid anymore and you've got to work with me.
Give me something to build on and make me believe.
I just want you to see...
the future that lies in ME.

-Eboni Merriman

I Live By This...

Life... is beautiful.

Let the future generations cleanse it of all evil, violence and oppression, and enjoy it to the full.

Evelyn.

She stood before me, trying to wake me so I could get my day started. She threatened me with ice cubes, so I obliged. When I opened my eye's, that's when I got a good look at her. Her hips, thick from years of her own good cooking, her long hair in waves, and her eyeglasses that corrected the vision of the most beautiful hazel eyes I have ever seen. Eyes that held pureness of heart in them, eyes that were filled with love and laughter, but also filled with a tinge of knowing. Knowing of what heartache and loss was, knowing of struggles and despair. When I looked at her this morning in her sensible black slacks and scoop neck tee, I knew that she had been through everything I was trying to work through and then some. But as her loving, healing hands brushed my calf to shake me from my slumber, I knew that I could overcome it. The smile lines laden on her fair skin confirmed that my days would improve.