Chronicles

Poem: Madness

Artwork: (Title Unknown) by Vadi Tkachev

Based on the recent start of my short story series (ah hell you missed it…catch up here), I wrote poems to dicated and elaborate on each character’s overall demenor.

This poem “Madness” is a look into Tina’s plight that is truly just starting and at the same time ending.

Share your thoughts on this one. I can related directly to life bring the “crazy” out in me when I didn’t even know it was possible.

MADNESS

And my tears hit the pillow alarming me to the fact that I’m finally awake.
Awake to a morning of undesirable regrets and madding secrets.
Secrets of lovely lust and love lost.
Lost on my own emotional roller coaster ride created from pent-up mistrusts.
Mistrusts…naw not really. Your insanity didn’t deserve my trust due to your actions.
Actions around the who, the what, then when, or why and fucking how.
How? How did I become this crazy women without control?
Control or faith in how I could handle the pressure of loving you.
You couldn’t have love me and then senselessly smash my heart against the wall.
Walls of “I told you so” painted with “you couldn’t see that coming”.
Coming was truly your problem and raging addiction.
Addiction to your presence and momentary comfort was my affliction.
Affliction to be dealt with on an insane level I never knew I could go.
Go to deal with your insatiable lust and my masked pain.
Pain that must heal quickly to make room for new love.
Love for me and this blessing growing in our madness.

DNC’s Short Story Series: “Complicated” – Chapter One: Tina

***********FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY********

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THIS SHORT STORY OR ANY PORTION THEREOF MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED OR USED IN ANY MANNER WHATSOEVER WITHOUT THE EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION OF ME, DNC! NOW ON TO THE READING…

………….

I hold tight to my tear-soaked pillow, wanting the sun to set again, but it’s too late. Morning is here and reality is in my face.

His arm wrapped tight around me is supposed to give comfort and protection, but it doesn’t. His loving embrace is false. A mask. A deterrent to his truth. And foolishly, I let it stay in place. Maybe because I’m too scared to move it. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to get up. Or maybe it’s because I want to wear the mask too.

If I could rewind time, I wouldn’t. I want to act like yesterday didn’t happen. Like the argument was just a bad nightmare. Like the tears were me acting out a scene I’ve been rehearsing for. Like the wound on my heart was due to some unknown health issue.

My reality was unnecessary, unwanted and unforgettable. All I want to do is forget, not even forgive. Just act like the face on his phone never showed up or the condom in his pocket was truly his friend’s. Or that the rumors circulating around social media about his cheating was another story mastermind by the blogs. So many signs that I never wanted to see.

I can act blind or forgetful, but I just can’t. There are too many battle scars to count that still fester today. Too many moments of reflection and revelation to play dumb about what my reality was now. Each scar has played a vital part on the woman I am today; for my good and bad.

This was just another moment. Another war for me to march through. I’m just trying to live to see another day.

But this war is different. There are more lives at stake, particularly the one growing inside of my belly. The being he has no clue about.

He doesn’t deserve to know either. Not right now at least. So I guess I do need to wear masks; one for his infidelities and one for his unborn child. Masking my emotions and confusion is my only weapon in this battle.

Morning is here. It’s rays remind me that there could be a brighter day for me one day, just not today.

Time to get up and face his demons.

………….

“Today’s headlines: Police officer accused in the wrongful death trial of a black teenage girl gets his day in court. The City is under a water restriction due to this month’s lack of rainfall. And music mogul, philanthropist and CEO of Yardmen and Stacks has been accused of not only infidelity but of fathering a 5-year-old child from his former assistant.”

On the news already. Wow…

Fighting the urge to smash the T.V. with the remote, I decide to just turn it off and shut my eyes. I’m tired of crying and thinking.

“Hey babe, you want bacon or sausage this morning?”

And look at him, wearing his mask nicely. Waking up to feed me because of course, that’s whats going to make me forget about everything. Food is his new means of manipulation.

“I’m good, I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure?”

Motherfucker, if you say one more thing to me I will race over to you, gouge your eyes, rip out your esophagus and piss on your head is what I really wanted to say. But I just responded with, “Yep. I’m sure.”

Knots twist in my stomach, making me run to the bathroom. I don’t know if I have to shit or throw up. I could feel whatever race up my throat. Throw up it is.

I shut the door and let it fly. Must be the nerves from all this drama. Wait…or maybe it’s the baby.

Life inside of me? Who knew that God thought it was my time, but why now? Why with all this drama and looming pain from him. Bastard ass punk!

More puke flew from my mouth. This time from the thought of all our drama.

I knew a storm was coming. It always does when the sun shines for so long. We just celebrated our third anniversary under the beauty of the Eiffel Tower after a long and expensive shopping spree down the Avenue des Champs Elysées.

Then I finally receive my director’s position as he wins the award for Community Leader of the Year by our mayor. We went from living a modest life, to exploding in the lap of luxury almost over night. A queen’s dream; my dream and I already felt like it was too good to be true. Obviously, it was.

“Babe are you okay?”

Oh, how his concerns once made my heart flutter. Now his voice is a nail on a chalkboard–painstakingly annoying. I despise him with every inch of my being. I can’t show my cards yet. Keep it easy Tina.

“I”m fine sweetie. Must’ve been something I ate last night.”

Ironically, I had to play trophy wife at his former manager’s retirement dinner. A mask I wear way too well. Last night, all I wanted to do was take it off and let them see the pain behind my eyes. The pain that he inflicted on my heart.

But instead, I played my role. I disregarding the epic arguement about the rumors of him cheating prior to the event and gave him what he wanted–an award-winning act. Unbeknownst to everyone there, this movie wasn’t the romance of the century but the tradegy of the decade.

Cheating was a dagger to the chest but hearing about him fathering another child?

Life is about choices and I’ve always told him that if we wanted to choose someone else, that’s fine, just let me go. I need my heart especially now that God has bless me to love this wonderful being growing inside of me. Of course he can’t let go. He believes this this charade is real. So he continues to damage my love every chance he gets since things will be fine sooner than later.

I wish I was the Virgin Mary. He has no business being a part of this blessing. But for now, I have to move in silence.

My girlfriend Nicki is getting my paperwork together and no matter what I’m going to come out on top of all of this–new baby and new life.

Two knocks follwed by a “Tina, I need to talk to you”, break me from my self-strategy meeting.

I open the door to see him and her. And…is that the child? My heartbeat grows to a rapid thumps. Fire grows in my chest making it hard to breathe, and even harder to not explode. Anxiety. Madness. Confusion. I can feel my mask fall to the floor.

“Tina, this is Skye and her…I mean…our son Jeremy.”

#writerslife Working on My Ship

There are so many moments in life where we lose ourselves in the world’s chaos. Moments where our roles overlap so much that we lose sight of how valuable it is to give each responsibility their necessary nurturing.

That has happened to me over, and over, and over again. And, I understand that will continue to happen again and again if I don’t openly receive the messages, signs, or green lights that God has put so masterfully in front of me.
Where is this thought coming from or going? Let me share…

I’m in editing mode of my next book. The book that I want to pitch to agents and publishing houses. A book that I know tells a story that is new, sexy and introspective. Hence, my due diligence to get it right.

But trying to get it right has been muddled with so many other existing priorities that I’m trying to juggle at the same time; each losing steam because honestly, my brain is exhausted.

So, I come into work today, thinking solely about how to prioritize my work for the day, and notice a uniquely shaped purple package on my desk.

Befuddled by this object, I open it before sitting down to find out that it’s a card, pens and an angel.

Two pens exclaim the message “Tell Your Story” and “Writing Is My Happy Place”. Then tears began to fill up my eyes because it is true. Writing IS my happy place because it lets me tell my story.

The Angel has “Joy” etched in her robe, with an open embrace to the sky.
The card, well the card says more than I want to share in this post because of its personal message and now its home in my heart. However, I’ll sum it up like this:

Sometimes, we don’t know how our actions or words influence the world that we live in. Sometimes we only notice how chaotic it truly is and how we just need to stay afloat. But sometimes, we need a reminder that our purpose is not to “just stay afloat” but to build a ship that helps the world around us, guiding it in a direction we have been entrusted to go.

writinggift3

 

The mom of one of my close friends reminded me of that. She gave me words and gifts that woke my spirit back up to complete this book, and the others that will soon follow, to keep blogging and sharing these moments because they are truths in many ways, and can empower those who may not feel that they can also “build a ship”.

 

“…empower those who may not feel that they can also ‘build a ship’.”

Have you started working on your “ship” yet? You definitely should. I’ll continue to work on mine too.

Stay passionate!
DNC

#Writerslife Proposals, Pitching, Queries…oh my!

This week, I stopped by one of my favorite podcasts, Writing Excuses, and caught this great one on all of the above.

They really tackle some of the old vs. new outlook on pitching, proposals and queries.

Even if you’re not at this place yet, it’s great to keep these thoughts, tips and tricks in your back pocket.

Writingexcuses_proposals

Stay passionate!

-DNC