The Prostitute

Friends, this piece means a lot to me. I’m a man and I love women, even the prostitutes. If this piece of literature offends you, then I recommend you educate yourself about a segment dear to the academic arena, a segment called sexual education and the darker side called sexual exploitation.

In my younger years I would laugh at a sexual joke while fantasizing about many local women dear to me. Battling with what I thought to be a sin turned out to be natural amongst men. I bring this topic up because men and women battle with sexuality but I’m just brave enough to talk about it. Some people even commit suicide because of extreme loneliness. Yes, I take pleasure in looking at naked women and if I were to lie to you I would be a coward. Yes, even as a young boy growing up in the ghettos of the world I would fantasize about every kind of woman I could think of, it’s every man’s struggle. I will not exploit too many of my inner demons nor my family’s demons but sexual desires are real. The porn industry is real. These are people who take their clothes off for the world to see and many have no shame. As I’ve grown older I’ve come to take the time to listen to these professionals talk about their industry. Many of these women are very attractive and have the power to inflict images that many of us cannot control. We’re human, but I do question the business because this is a no nonsense brutal business that is legal in some states and some parts of the world. Let me paint the picture, I have to let this out. The urge is there, a man or woman has been brutally beaten down in life and there he or she is; the prostitute, fulfilling every sexual deviant thought known to mankind at a price. Mainly women selling their self for money. Vibrating and gyrating as extreme stimulation takes over our most inner fantasies. We want it, we have to have it and nothing or anyone can stop the trance. The laws of science and every religious law cannot define the physical nor mental attraction. The ultimate stress reliever awaits, but just like everything it comes at a price. The truth is your girlfriend is an excuse, your wife is an excuse, your profession is an excuse, and lust is your curse. Guilty of our own human nature. The saddest part is dealing with the reality, many of these women are stuck in a pit and so many of their stories are the same. They have signed their entire cognitive dissonance over to a pimp. Many of these women have spent their entire lives fleeing drug infested surroundings cursed by the temptations of perverted minds. Some of these women are kidnapped and sold into the sex trade never to be rescued by a hero. Yes, I am human, and I am man enough to admit that I may have never slept with a prostitute but I see them all the time promoting their profession to the world. Yes, I do battle with my conscience perverted thoughts so I wrote this piece for the prostitute. Sweating, sitting in a room fantasizing about someone that I’ve never even met after going through so many terrible relationships in life has taught me one thing and that’s we’re all in this together. Drowning in these desires I’ve grown to listen, yield, and take the time to encourage the opposite sex. Goodbye February, I’ll end the month of American Black History and love with a little humor, maybe I’ll get lucky in March. Who knows?🍀 HaHa.

The Prostitute 

The Game of Chess

Each player must think.

Each piece has value and some pieces are worth more than others.

There are pawns fighting on the frontlines to protect the most valuable pieces—the King & Queen.

Compared to life, people often surround themselves around people to better their position.

The suicide bomber, the police, the pastor, the president, the criminal, the teacher, the radio host, the dictator, the scam artist, the banker, the businessman, the doctors, the writers, the dentist, the fisherman, the accountant, the farmer, and even the pilot. 

In this game there are losers and winners. Some people know they’re playing and some people don’t, but the key to winning is to outthink your opponent. 

The most important focal point taught in the game of chess is that you cannot control the way people think, but each move will influence your opponent. What you will find is the fact that a selfish confused person that is constantly blaming or putting their trust in others often may take what they win never to shake their opponent’s hand. 

What are the odds?

Out of billions of sperm wasted, how did one nut make it between the cervix, through the uterine cavity into the ovulation cycle through the ovum path busting open the conception fertilization site and it doesn’t stop there, he or she then slides through the protective shell to fertilize the ovum only to be born later to grow up sitting at a table playing chess with world players. 

The point is simple, the odds of life and death are defined by so many choices, but who decides who’s born? If you make the wrong choice friend, my advice to you is be very mindful of the child that makes it to the ovum and fed through the umbilical cord—protected by the uterine muscle wall, uterine lining, uterine cavity, amnion, and amniotic cavity.

This child has a purpose and once he or she finds out his or her purpose they will find out the choices that you’ve made in his or her favor and they will decide whether you lose or win the game. These children are the pieces on the board. They invented the game by observing others then growing up to make the rules.

Good Luck finding where the other billion sperm went, they could be the forces guiding the hands.

Who’s watching us and who is selective breeding? These are the people doing anything and everything to win. They’re doing whatever it takes to increase their odds.

Good luck. 🍀 

Exodus

Standing at the border they came in droves. Whatever they were running from had gotten out of hand. Just by the looks in their eyes, it appeared as though they were searching for an illusion that promised them everything, a policy that empowered them. Who was I only to notice women offering me their innocents and families offering to sell themselves at any price. So there I stood, in my uniform, battered and bruised for the will of the people. I’d come to the conclusion that the world is a sphere of illusions and sadly I had to uphold a law just to keep my own family fed and my people protected. Who ever was their Moses, he’d given his people an awesome dream. Exhausted, I’d become numb to a sad reality and just like the Pharaohs in Egypt I became the victim of an Exodus into my very own imaginary representative republic. They’d reached the promised land flowing with milk and honey, sadly, I was just their stepping stone. In a ball of frustration, I’d come to a sad conclusion that it was impossible for me to fix the way people thought and if I didn’t know their language, why even try? It was clear that their mind was made up and my home was their promised land.

Exodus

The Casual Black History Topic

 When observing other cultures you may notice something different in America. You may also be confused by political decisions that could lose you money and support. The sad part about black history is that these obvious cultural and detailed abnormalities are very expensive to repair and have cost some people their life. Yes, it’s clear and true that Black Americans have a rich history in the foundation of a country that may be ignorant of what actually took place and many people feel that they have too much at stake when discussing the truth. The melting pot of America is riddled with native blacks still caught in a constant struggle of survival. Black on black crime is also a factor with a language gap dehumanizing other black Americans with the N word still being used fluently. Friends, this is a touchy topic that baffles those who study criminology. Drugs have also infiltrated family progress. Many blacks have stood idle trapped in drug infested communities with little to no resources outside of the church to survive. The wealth gap and psychological damage is serious. To sum things up, what has occurred under the radar has been published by those brave enough to take a camera into the sadistic reality of America’s black communities. Some who are products of these environments seep out into the real world and are overcome by grief of the many faces that never made it to see the promised land. The promised land filled with knowledge, women, wealth, and attention. Some of these people come back and many don’t. Some of these people are scarred and traumatized by an environment that almost seems like a trap. A trap that sucks people into hate, jealousy, and the structured demise of a group of people searching for love, identity, and a place to call home. Friends, it’s okay to celebrate your heritage, it’s okay to sing songs that helped your ancestors get through the struggles and those who don’t understand that may not be open to the beauty in the ghettos or suburbs of America. They may not understand the roses that grow from torn down trees where innocent black bodies once hung. Brethren, if time has taught us anything, it has taught us to never forget that we all have a purpose. The rich need the poor, the government needs the people, and a country that fought a war to end slavery is a country with a hell of a story. Standing in the middle of political discussions I’ve learned to shut up and get back to work so that the failures of the past do not manifest in those who still may have hatred brewing in their souls. Being a product of this environment, I’ve found that I’m better when I take time to reflect on a young man who has grown and can still plant seeds for others as well. Friends, I hope this message reaches you in peace and I hope we all learn something this month, and if we learn nothing, then the lessons being taught will never be able to habilitate our grief and the bitterness that many individuals may still hold inside. 

It’s not so hard knock after all

I’ve got Lisa, Alicia, Sa’Ryia, and Shanise, it’s not so bad after all.

I’ve got trees, the park and some grapes, it’s not so hard after all.

I’ve got a cot, a loaf of bread and some ice water, it’s not so complicated after all.

I may not have everything that I want or need and people may have figured me out, but I’ve got a love song that I’m going to drop dead singing.

I’ll sit in the back of the bus and sing my heart ❤️ out.

It’s not so hard knock after all.

Lifeless Love

It was a long deployment and by God’s divine will and mercy my life had been spared. The war was over. Realizing that I’d lost some of my natural senses I’d become lifeless in a way. Standing on the dock alone I realized that it was February, Black History Month. To be honest I had no clue who I was. My history had been erased and in reality I was a lost and lonely soldier. From a distance I saw my people differently. They left me alone to fight for myself, but deep inside I still loved them. My family had literally been torn apart by street curses, my bloodline splattered all over the city streets. Who am I? Am I an Egyptian statue with no nose? Am I a lost Israelite with no tribe? Am I a slave only 3/5ths a citizen? Who am I? Am I a deity who returned from the underworld to save his people? Am I the N word that both colors so commonly use? Who am I? Tired and weary I found comfort in a lady standing at a bus stop.

“You made it home, how was it? I’ve always wondered how it was out there. Where are your friends and family lone sailor?” She asked.

I remained quiet while noticing that she had a drawing in her hand.

“What do you want from me? Why are you here waiting for me to answer your question? Leave me alone,” I replied.

“So you want to live your life alone?” She says.

I give her a hug and a kiss then look her in the eyes.

 “I don’t know you and I’ve never met you but it’s better that way.” I explained.

She then dropped her artwork, “I need someone like you in my life. This dream I’ve held onto of fans screaming my name has been a curse. I’ve been beaten lifeless by loneliness, I need a man like you in my life.”

I turn to her as my seabag hits the deck, “Are you sure?”

She then jumps into my arms, “Yes.”

I then put her in my seabag, brace it on my back and I walk off into the sunset with her inside.

I’ve been discharged.

Lifeless Love

An 8 Ball of Love

We’re just a speckle of dust in the darkness of space.

A human mind full of wonders trying to open up closed doors, some locked.

Who are we?

So I ask, “Are we any better than a flower or a lost dog trying to find his way home?”

I say we’re just lost creatures searching for love. Rolling 8 balls fighting, scraping, and even killing for one thing—love.

Even when we think we know, we don’t, because love is the only answer.

We need it.

We desire it.

But most of all, we crave it, and would die of a broken heart 💔 without it.

An 8 Ball of Love