As if things weren’t already broken Pieces unaccounted for What made this demolition any different… I usually hammer in my points And you bull-doze through the argument.

Then we break for lunch. By end of day we’ve cooled off

But now morning has crawled to our front door

I didn’t hear when you left But your presence is missed Your absence is felt

Will our paths cross? Or will we continue to brew a storm?

I’m the problem. Know it all Stubborn Nonchalant in approach All defensive mechanisms I’m Working on letting go.

You’re the problem Stuck on selfish Dishonest Bails in the rain. But comes around when it’s shining

Make your mind up!

Problems swept under the rug Emotional Volcanoes bond to erupt. We’re in love. But communication is taking rust And now we’re fighting over a storm in a tea cup

1 gallon of water 1/2 dozen eggs Store brand Vanilla bean ice cream And toothpaste on sale Patiently in stop and go traffic On the way to the cashier

The sound of hollow beeping Echoed in my ear

My tampons moved closer Behind the 1 gallon of water 1/2 dozen eggs Store brand Vanilla bean ice cream And toothpaste on sale

Belonging to the young man In black Dickies With shrugged shoulders A tense worry in his eyes Yet he carried a soft demeanor And stood about yay high.

“$8.80” she said coldly Pushing his groceries aside

Slid his debit card Declined Slid his credit card Declined

He became flustered He shuffled between a $5 dollar bill And 3 tattered old dollars

The cashier grew impatient. The bag boy shook his pockets for 3 quarters and 5 coopers.

I pushed my tampons up closer. “Just put it all together” I gestured. “I got it”

I paid. He bagged the eggs and ice cream in plastic together and moved out of the way.

I watched the bag boy double up on the water.

I half smiled at the cashier and I swung my tampons over my shoulder.

He hesitantly offered me $8

I kindly rejected and set him on his way with 1 gallon of water 1/2 dozen eggs Store brand Vanilla bean ice cream And toothpaste on sale for his mother.

Life was unfolding beautifully like patiently crafted origami art rigidly holding its own, stretching itself, recounting details of the journey.

This was the moment I wrote about on the neon green poster board I transformed into a visual vision. I still remember glueing clip art of big crowds and microphones while sitting on the round tarted rug in the middle of the spare room of my parents house, soft jazz hugging the walls as the windows welcomed Miami sunny summers.

I enjoyed summers at home. A break from the cold competitive campus life at Columbia University.

Simpler times I thought as I found rhythm in the timely taping of note cards beating the palm of my clammy hands.

They said 40 million people were viewing from hand held devices and another 12 million on a more traditional picture glowing from roaring TVs. None of my previous writing prepared me for this day - but when the White House Chief of Staff calls you answer.

I spent the last decade beseeching the attention of the academy. “The Oscar” and I finally made eye contact when I was handed 13 inches of golden excellence for Best Picture and Best Screenplay.

But on this day in front of of 52 million people and the President of The United States of America I was taking it back to the beginning. Grounding in my roots. Poetry.

Poet Laureate. Reciting at the Presidential Inauguration. My stomach folded up like origami as I sat front row and awaited my time to address the country poetically.

Under the bright lights I could feel the sweat beading across my forehead.

I couldn’t tell exactly where the laughs were coming from. But nonetheless I felt pleased. I missed this feeling. Being on stage.

In between laughs I over heard my manager stage right booking the next gig.

“No you pay the deposit and then we announce the show,” Teddy exclaimed.

I thought to myself things are really looking up after a seven year hiatus from comedy.

“Nobody wanted to hire me after that shit,” I said. The crowd laughed hysterically in agreement.

I paced around the stage and took a big sigh of relief as I prepared the next joke.

Before I could utter another word a tall slender woman in a hoodie and jeans pushed her seat back, stood up and yelled “I really can’t stand you. Your jokes about flirting with anxiety were insensitive.”

I replied, “are you flirting with me now?” And winked obnoxiously.

Everyone laughed but her of-course. I continued “then why are you still listening to me. Did anxiety send you here?”

The blonde hurried out in between the maze of tables and chairs tears running down her face.

I told everyone it was a part of the show and shrugged it off.

Morning came and despite the small mishap I felt pleased with myself.

Before I could check my phone it rang. It was Teddy.

I cleared my throat and answered.

“Hello.”

“I really can’t stand you. You had to mess with the guest last night. Huh! You’re all over the blogs for making a lady cry. Jesus Christ!”

My palm met my forehead with agony. I hung up the phone and pulled the covers over my head.

“This too shall pass,” I whispered to myself a few times fast trying to combat an anxiety attack.

The keys played by the pianist faded As feet shuffled to their seats I could hear folks mumbling about their grief

I couldn’t smell the room of fresh flowers Only acknowledged that they were there And stared at the arrangement

Numb Shock this day had come

The first to arrive was me Even though seats weren’t assigned I knew which one was mine In the front row at the funeral

I thought I’ve sat here before For a similar occasion only this time without you to console me

Cautious not to break I sat ever so still As the front row filled all around me.

Your Mother, father, and step parents Sister, brothers, niece & nephews And me of-course Paying the high cost of respect.

I hadn’t planned to cry I decided I would play it by ear

But some how knew the tears Would get away from me.

In the front row of the funeral I was unaware of the hundreds behind me.

It was a task just to breathe I had never felt pain to this degree.

From the front row The worst seat I heard the pastor read

“Held, beheld, beloved”!

“Well it’s impossible to stop your thoughts. It’s more about being present.”

“Mm… I tried. Hated it. Being still like that. I can’t! I do it wrong or something.”

I rolled my eyes and sighed with frustration as Vee and I exited the nail shop.

I know her better than anyone. Our friendship has survived Destiny Child splitting, her brothers fight with police brutality, Katrina, and a pandemic.

She’s always on edge, nervous, one notification away from an anxiety attack, but refuses any and all help. Especially from me.

“Well it doesn’t change you over night,” I finally replied. “It’s about the routine. Cultivating awareness. Paying attention to your breath.”

When did I become so zen? So chill? Oh yea, that’s right when it got dark. When life gradually darkened and the walls starting caving in.

When I realized I was no longer in control. At the end of my rope. When all I had was “me” and “now.”

I use to think people who meditated regularly and spoke all spiritually were full of shit. Yoga and chakras. Shut up! I have real life problems.

But in my healing journey I learned to take what works for me and share with who ever is willing to receive the message.

I smiled half-way pleased with myself and acknowledged how far I’ve come.

“Let me be your mindfulness coach. Free of charge.”

We both laughed and jumped in the car.

To have my phone number is an absolute privilege and honor

You’ve made a list of a few good men

It’s to be handled with care Never shared Nor misused No Bug-a-Boos No FaceTimes unannounced Don’t ever leave me on Read And don’t call me after 12

Most importantly never forget rule number 1 Only And I mean only in a case of emergency shall you call my phone back to back with no answer

That’s my biggest pet peeve If you break rule number one You lose all contact to me

Typically it’s the same bad dream, a reoccurring nightmare. Tonight was slightly different because this time he wasn’t in it. I couldn’t see who was chasing me down the dark winding road. I couldn’t see further than two feet in front of me. I mostly focused on the rhythm of my feet slapping the wet pavement. In sync with my rapid heartbeat. I ran Until the ground left from beneath me.

And then I woke up in a puddle of cold sweat. I ran to the bathroom. Scrambling for the light switch I knocked over a bunch of shit.

Under the bright interrogating lights I noticed something about my eyes. They seemed different. More almond shaped than the nights before. Under a wrinkled forehead and arched brows and noticed how brown my eyes were for the first time.

There was a somber clarity in my eyes this time. A fierceness I didn’t recognize. Every other night when I dreamt this dream he caught me, but tonight I out ran my fears. I got dressed for my track meet. The one I had been preparing weeks for.

The gun shot clapped. I mostly focused on the rhythm of my feet slapping the wet pavement. In sync with my rapid heartbeat. I ran Until the ground left from beneath me and my team picked me up.

VICTORY! I Won!