Harder

Harder

By. Devin Owens

With no helping hand in sight, is it right

To want to get up after your legs bent backward

When its simpler to lie there and do nothing

Darkness comes so easily, from measly

Little problems, that treats me like food

But there’s nothing eating me

Ah! A scream would be nice but what would it do

To deaf ears and what would tears do for a blind person?

Would it give them less fear? …beats me

Everyday ask yourself what are you doing

Because you can lay there feeling sorry for your self

But the world keeps on moving

So you might want to catch the train before it leaves

What is it that keeps us down, unmotivated?

Uncertainty, leaving each choice hesitated

Well damn, if it’s easier to stay down,

Then why don’t we all do it, until it’s as fluid as water

Uh uh, I rather be a white water rapid

Despite its dangerous actions, you gain a lot more

It’s harder to get up, let me tell you

Almost like you left yourself glued

And you have to apply the effort to get up

If you want to stay down, go ahead, be my guest

I won’t harass you

Guess it must be a nice view to see life pass you

This is dedicated to the depressed who stress

What life hands them, this an anthem

To get back what you loss for a price like a ransom

So get up, make noise, and get loud

Or lay on your back, with the only thing moving, the clouds

A Family

A Family
By. Devin Owens

Is a family someone who has your back?

No, scratch that is a family something?

Yes, something that fills in the cracks

In fact, is a family really a mom and dad?

Is a family just a word that you heard?

When you were growing up that your mom,

Dad, aunt, and uncle confirmed?

Is family something we learn? To make

Our chest warm, slowly turning to heart burn

Hold on, maybe a family is a safety net

That we can always fall into

Is it that simple? See some might argue that point

And say it’s a mother’s warmth and a father’s strength

Or a fathers warmth and a mothers strength

Either way, there are no missing pieces to this puzzle

Does family keep you out of trouble?

Or is it better when you’re in trouble with them

Oh, I know, family is a secret people won’t understand

And there is no woman or man who ever will

Is family water that stays still because it’s a constant?

But if that were the case then so would day and night

They’re brother and sister, no…that isn’t right

Wait, they’re husband and wife

Everything synchronized, everyone does their part

A whole bunch of strings like they were attached to a harp

Playing a beautiful melody, calming every heart

A family is love, no matter who’s there or where you go

A family is arguing, leading to making up

A family jumps into danger when one member is stuck

A family says you’re right, even when you’re wrong

Whenever you’re weak, they make you feel strong

They’re everything I just said they were

They’re everything that you won’t even admit

Probably out of the fear that they’ll get up and quit

But family is more than mom and dad, brother and sister

They’re aunts and uncles, cousins and friends

Cats and dogs, cradled in the hands of God

Whether you’re angry, sad, happy or mad

In the end, family is all that we have

It's Hard Being Black

It’s Hard Being Black

By. Devin Owens

Oppression, Racism, the KKK

Nowadays that’s all my race has to say

Forgive don’t forget, because once it slips our minds

Then our climb would’ve been for nothing

But even today we’re still suffering

And no one ever stopped to think: It’s hard to be black

Matter of fact, did you know we’re three races in one

Light, medium, and dark, like you trying to adjust

The picture on a TV. Once my own race sees me

I’m not black; I’m yellow…since when was I a banana

But I try to stay mellow to the blissful ignorance.

In the work place I’ll get the last laugh

Though my skin color is the only thing they don’t look past

They don’t care if I can read or that I’m good at math

But that I’m light skinned and the closest they’ll get to a

Diverse white man, if you’re medium your chances

Are as slim as a push pin, and if you’re dark,

You can’t even get your foot in

We’re still looked down upon like everyone’s a giant

And we’re placed under the microscope in hopes

That we pass the test that’s omitted to the rest

Cool, cool, cool, guess MLK’s speech doest mean much

Because we’re still complaining on how much life sucks

And we’re stuck hoping someone will give a fuck

And extend their hands, looking past the years of

Stereotypes that are so ground in that bleach can’t remove it

Only hope that some day we’ll stop being stupid

And find outlets other than music, it’s not useless

I know it’s hard but we can still prove it

And at least on this we can agree

There is no bigger threat than a black person with a degree

Making real money, crossing out the minimum fee’s

Damn, sounds pretty good doesn’t it?

All that’s left is for us to start seeing it

Success, its hard being black, but I enjoy being it

Is Dreaming Crazy

Is Dreaming Crazy

Is dreaming still considered crazy?

Doing something you love and maybe

Getting paid in the process, to be happy

Instead of only settling, expanding your wings

And taking to new heights since the sky is the limit

But now everyone sets limits on creativity

From written and visually, pictures taken digitally

Who’s to say a waterfall can’t flow upwards

Or that you can’t make up words

Why set boundaries, when you had to think

Out of them to make them, why not break them

Or take them and remake them, or come up

With your own rules and replace them

Is it crazy to dream, even in negativity?

Hostility that’s expressed so modestly

Keeping idea’s locked up in fear of rejection

But we’re only hurting ourselves with our own protection

Kind of funny, like there’s been a label switch

Poison mixed with dream bottles, and you don’t

Know which is which, or what to go with

But if the sky’s the limit, then why aren’t we outside

Playing like kids, the freest of thinkers

Who think it only takes a little magic dust to fly

So don’t sleep in a box, but dream of the sky

Only through that will creativity survive

Is it so crazy to want to live a dream?

Things so serene, a picture perfect scene

So my question is

Is dreaming crazy, or is it crazy not to dream?

Hip Hop Paper

This is a paper I wrote for someone, for a contest that she entered. And it happened to reach the top ten. So tell me what you all think of it. Because you really don't want to see the one she initially wrote, horrible



I believe the hip hop culture has a negative influence on children today. Hip hop/ rap tend to have a negative effect on inner city youth, along with suburban children. The music itself glorifies gang violence, disrespect towards women, and disrespect towards the race. Though music has come a long way, hip hop has only made and developed the idea that a certain type of lifestyle that is accustomed to violence, sex, and drugs is okay. And unfortunately, with the way hip hop is continuing, only darker days are ahead.
It is no secret that gang related issues coincides with the rap culture. From artist such as Lil’ Wayne shouting out the Blood call “soowoo” and wearing a red bandana constantly throughout his videos, to Snoop Dogg repeatedly saying what side his blue flag hangs out of, which is the symbol for Crips. As children see this they begin to feel they can relate to the artist, or feel that the entire lifestyle of a gang member is fun. On the contrary, when a gang member is initiated in to a gang, they go through a “jump-in” process, which involves other gang members beating up the potential member, possibly to the point of death. As the glorified gang culture is spread, more children become influenced, buying firearms, selling drugs, and fighting. This also breeds killers and continues to increase the idea of stereotypes among black men.
In most hip hop songs, there are lyrics that are degrading to women. In Soulja Boy’s hit single “Crank Dat Soulja Boy” he is heard referring to women as “hoes”. Now, when the song came out the rapper was still in his teens, the youth. This is a prime example because this is a kid, no older than 16 or 17, rapping about women in a derogatory manner. How was this influenced? Well, veteran rappers like to refer to women as “bitches”, which is the start of it all. Not to mention, in hip hop videos that are prone to insult women, different women are dancing and receive the title of “Video Vixens” or “Video Hoes”. This is what the hip hop culture has done to women. It has created women such as Karrine Steffans (Superhead), and Andrea Herrera (Kat Stacks). Both of these women are known in the hip hop world for sleeping with different rappers and being disrespected by them, and as a result, they have become the poster children for hip hop prostitutes, and the models of ridicule among social networks. This isn’t good for teens because if their favorite rapper is seen treating a woman badly, what is stopping them from mimicking their idol, and doing what they do?
Hip hop is not only offensive to women, but to the primary race that embraces the culture – African American. In the song “Real Nigga Roll Call” the artist known as Lil’ Jon is heard screaming out the word “nigga” profusely throughout the entire song. The word “nigga”, though truly only meaning ignorant, has been the permanent stamp among the African American culture since slave times. And as a race who wants to get away from racism, and blaming white people for their misfortune, why do that? Why give so much power and influence to a word that the race is trying to escape from? Most rappers continue to use this word throughout all their song, serious or not, normally referring to their friends or someone they don’t like. This is considered racism within a race, the hate of your own race, and that’s what hip hop is influencing. This gives teenagers the wrong idea about how to treat their fellow man. The songs give the illusion that it is fine to refer to an African American as a “nigga” or white children might feel that it is fine to recite the lyrics from one of their favorite hip hop songs, using that word. This is the wrong message to send out, and it will continue to breed more racism within a race. And the mentality of racism will never disappear because of it.
In conclusion, hip hop is negatively influencing the youth as a whole. The idea of glorified gang violence to emulate their favorite hip hop icon and being drawn into a world that could possibly kill them isn’t the way the youth should be raised. Treating women in such a way that starts a chain reaction, this could lead to more serious charges such as children born out of wedlock or domestic abuse. And, finally, racism within the race, it needs to stop. The lifestyle that is portrayed in the videos doesn’t begin to cover the full spectrum of what the life truly entails. Hip hop has basically said, “It’s okay to be nothing as long as you can rhyme.” No, that is not what is needed. Children need to graduate and become accustomed to a life that is more suitable for them, something to be proud of.

My Apologies

Sorry everyone. For those who really care, I've been in a bad spot lately and haven't really known how to handle it. You see, I've been back and forth with people, attempted to find a job, but not sure if this is the type of employment that I'm looking for currently, family drama, female issues, so its just been all types of bad. But I promise that I will start posting more things for you to read. Thank you for bearing with me.

Legacy Never Dies: The Vampires Love Chapter 1 excerpt

Chapter 1

The sun rose up over the horizon for the start of a new day. A gently breeze blew outside as clouds started to roll in. It looked as if rain was coming, because the clouds darkened in color as the wafted across the sky. Leaves began to detach from the branches they were connected to, falling, and as they fell towards the ground, they began to age rapidly. Like the descent represented life itself, because by the time one of the leaves had hit the ground, the aging process had stopped and they had transitioned from a forest green to a decaying brown.
A man had been standing there, like he was the cause of the leaves dying. Walking over to one, he crouched down, and ever-so-gently tried to pick up one of the decaying leaves. But as soon as his ghostly white fingers touched it, it began to crumble like a sand castle that had been trampled. Breaking in to fragments, the small bits flew off as the wind started to pick up. Like every small fragment had grown wings and left on its own accord, but it again it was only the wind. As the fragments blew away, the man stood up and sped away down the seemingly abandoned street.
Once the man had left, the clouds lightened up and disappeared, the wind had ceased, but the leaves regained none of their original luster or zeal. As the clouds pulled back, a light shone back down on a neighborhood that was initially blocked by cloud cover.
A curtain was pulled back from a window, which belonged to a house that the tree was rooted in front of. Daniel Hellings stood and gazed out the window, with a perplexed expression plastered on his face. Could’ve sworn I saw someone standing out there, he thought to him self. He shrugged the feeling off and continued to get ready for the end of summer open house, which every student, up and coming and returning, was welcomed to.
Daniel Hellings was 16 years old and attending Bluestone High. He was going in to his sophomore year, but he was less than excited. Nothing exciting ever happened in Bluestone, Virginia. The most exciting thing to happen, within the past two years, was a small fire that was started from a rag that was left on the stove. Other than that, life was normally dull.
Daniel took a deep breath, yawning afterwards and ruffling his brown hair. The light shone in through the window and brightened up his dark room. His room was clean, and everything was neatly arranged. He walked over to his dresser drawers, opened it, and pulled out the clothes he was going to wear for the day.
Leaving his room, he walked to the bathroom. Once his shower was done, he wiped the condensation off of the mirror, and looked at him self.
“Ugh, back to school.” Daniel complained. “Hopefully something excited will happen this year, but I’m not counting on it. I mean, come on, it’s Bluestone. Nothing exciting ever happens here.”
“Daniel,” his mother called up to him. “If you don’t hurry up and get down here, you’re going to miss the open house and all that good food they normally have.”
His mothers attempt to get him excited only made Daniels movements more sluggish. Turning and looking at the door, he scowled a look at would offend anyone. He then, cut on the water, brushed his teeth, taking as long as possible to prolong the events of the day.
Finally ready to leave, he heard the door bell ring. Running to the window, Daniel look out it and saw that is was Will Rhymeless, he could tell by the old, beat-up Chevy that was parked out on the curb. Gliding down the stairs, like he wore the boots of Hermes, Daniel opened the front door to greet his friend.
Daniels mother, Anne stood behind him, while his father, Mitch, was in the kitchen reading the morning paper.
Will and Daniel were two friends who rarely separated. Whenever there was an event anywhere, those two were normally there. And the only reason Daniel had ever considered going to the open house was because he knew that Will was going.
“Hey, what’s up, man?” Will said, entering the house and slapping Daniels hand as he came down.
“It’s nice to see you again, Will.” Anne said. “Are you excited to go the open house?”
“Very much so, Mrs. Hellings,” Daniel stood there, smirking because he knew that Will hadn’t meant anything he had said. He knew that Will probably loathed the idea, if not more than Daniel him self. The main reason Will had ever went to any event was to talk to the co-eds.
To Will, Daniel was his wingman. Whenever there was a girl he wanted to talk to, Daniel would talk boldly about his friend, talking his name up to which ever girl he was infatuated with. That was the relationship those two had had.
Daniel was more of a turtle stuck in its shell, never wanting to come out and see what is really out there. He was more cautious than Will was, but, unfortunately, that made him less appealing to some of the girls he had a crush on, too.
“Alright, mom, we’re going to get going now, bye.” Daniel said, rushing out the door to avoid anymore questions.
The sun was bright, brighter than it was earlier. What a perfect day, Daniel thought, as he took in the morning air, strolling down his walk way to Will’s car. These were days that Daniel lived for, perfect. The day wasn’t too hot or too cold, there was a gentle breeze to compliment the weather, but as he walked towards the car, he noticed something that broke him out of his euphoric trace. The dead leaves lying on the ground.
When did that tree die, he thought to him self. Thought the rain would’ve kept it hydrated. And the other trees are doing just fine. He broke off his initial path towards the car and walked to where the leaves laid. Picking one up had the same affect as the leaf earlier that broke.
“What’s wrong, Daniel? It just a tree, getting a little overly sad, don’t you think?” Will said, questioning his friend as he opened up the front door of his car.
“Nothing, it’s just – I could’ve sworn these leaves were perfectly fine yesterday.”
“Forget it. It’s probably global warming. You already know what kind of effects it’s having on the earth. Get over it, man. We got hunnies to cruise for. Besides, what’s more important: getting the numbers of younger girls, or trying to figure why leaves are dead? That sounds like something a plant nut would do.”
“Whatever.”
Daniel crushed the leaf in his hand and let it fall back to the ground. The thought had passed, and he joined Will in the car.
As the car pulled off, there was a man standing down the street, looking at the car as it drove away from him. From the position he was standing at, a second later he was at tree in front of the Hellings’ residence. His expression was ghastly as he looked down at the dead leaves. But his facial composure was stern, serious as he crouched down to grab a leaf. It was a familiar scene to him, as the leaf crumbled away.
“Still can’t do it, can I?” he asked himself aloud. “I’m going to have to be a little more careful from now on.”
Rising to his feet again, he sped off down the street.
At the school, Will and had pulled in to the assigned parking spot they had given him in the parking lot of Bluestone High. There were a lot of tents set up around the campus, like the circus had come to town. A lot of the students were already mingling and eating and greeting one another. Since Will had been lucky in the drawing of parking spot lots, he was able to park near the front of the school.
The two boys got out and stretched their limbs. The car sputtered and hissed, from being such an old and worn model, that left the boys feeling a little embarrassed as a group of girls passed by, giggling at what they saw. Will turned around and kicked the bumper of it, causing it to unhinge and fall off.

Pissed Off (Rappin' to the Fed Up beat)

So my friends cousin and I decided to record me rapping, since you only get to here me every now and then. So enjoy Shadow rapping to DJ Khaled's "Fed Up" beat. I killed this shit. Forgive my pauses, I was running out of breath and my throat was kind of sore.

New Idea

Hey, a big shout out to everyone who has read my stories, and told people they know to read them. The publicity is greatly appreciated. But something I may do, since I plan on publishing these one day, is start just posting snippets. This is so I can have my readers wanting more, plus there would be no point in publishing these if you can just read them on my blog. So just a heads up "So Complicated" is the last full story you are going to see, as for the rest, you will just see snippets. Which is probably for the best because I know some of my readers hate reading my stories in their entirety. Peace and Love, Devin aka Shadow D.

So Complicated

So Complicated

There was a girl in my class that I was attracted to, but I didn’t know how she felt about me. I don’t even know what it was about her, but her just being around me made me want her, more and more.
She had two classes with me and always sat near the window, where she would look out of it and day dream. She had smooth chocolate skin, natural hair, a pretty smile, a toned body, and the list could go on and on. And I would sit at the desk on the opposite side of the room, so she wouldn’t notice me taking little peeks at her. It was a habit of mine; I couldn’t help that she was attractive. Think of it as me paying homage to her beauty.
During our history class is when I got to interact with her the most, since we were working on a group project together. Associate the Bill of Rights with issues that were going on today, current events. It’s the schools way of seeing if we’re retaining any of the bullshit that they are trying to spoon feed us, sad, right? But even though the project was a waste of time, I was still happy to work with Andrea.
“Jasmine, did you get the information I asked you for? We can’t be messing around on this project. You already know how much it’s worth. It’s bad enough we got stuck with these two dumb asses. So I really need you to come through for me, okay?” Andrea said.
Yeah, my name is Jasmine, and I’m attracted to girls. I’ve had this feeling for as long as I could remember, and it became certain when I had gotten my first kiss, a year ago at 13. It was with a girl from my neighborhood who enjoyed rough housing. I’ve always been the type of girl who never liked to get dirty and roll around in the mud like a tomboy, or butch in a sense.
One day she had come over after school, forgetting her keys she was locked out. We couldn’t agree on what we wanted to do, while we waited on her mother to come home so she could open the door for her. But something seemed different about her that day, like she was hiding something. It was then she confessed to me that she thought I was cute. It was flattering because it was the first time I had received a compliment, which made me smile that is.
I had received them from boys in the past, but they never seemed genuine. My mother had always told me, “Jasmine, stay away from those boys. They only wanna get you pregnant.” So with that thought in my head, I just stayed away from them and didn’t give a rats-ass to what they had to say.
Back to the girl who thought I was cute. Even though she was more boyish than anything, I thought the same thing. She was cute, in her own way. She had pretty eyes and a nice smile, almost similar to Andrea’s. The girl had looked me in my eyes and cradled my cheek in her hand, so gently. Leaning in, she kissed my lips softly. That kiss sent a surge through my spine and goose bumps sprinting down my arms and legs. Her and I never pursued a relationship, because she had came out to her parents, about liking girls, and was sent away. But after that day I’ve only liked girls, boys do nothing for me. I don’t find them attractive, I think some of them are cute, but from a friends perspective.
“I know what you mean, girl. I don’t see why the teacher grouped us with these little fucktoids. I mean, we’d be better off doing this project by ourselves. Just you and me, doesn’t that sound good?” I said in sarcastic tone, though I meant every word of it.
“Ha, ha, yeah, you right, girl. I’d be happy if it was just you and me working on this. Besides, I can’t afford to fail this class. I’m not trying to be a freshman forever. And I definitely know that these two nigga’s aint going to hold me back.”
“Amen to that.”
Andrea and I got along well enough, but those were the only times we really talked, during class. We never saw each other outside of school. I don’t even know how I would approach that.
It was hard falling for a girl, because there weren’t too many people I could talk to about this. Much like the girl I shared my first kiss with, my parents didn’t support homosexuality. They would always tell me how much they wanted grandchildren, and I was an only child. So it would be hard to pursue a relationship, with another girl. I couldn’t talk to Andrea about this, because I didn’t want her to stop talking to me. So on days I was confused I would go into the girl’s bathroom and sit in one of the stalls and just talk to myself, or I may even talk to myself in the mirror.
“Don’t worry, Jasmine. Everything is going to work out in your favor. You aren’t weird or awkward for liking girls. It’s normal, well, not technically normal, but it is normal for you, and that’s all that should matter.” I would tell myself, looking in the mirror, fixing my hair and make-up.
Everyday I would go home and go through the same routine: grab a snack, do the chores, do my homework, help mom with dinner, listen to Bible study with dad, finish up any homework I didn’t finish earlier, and go to bed.
But it was during my sleep when everything started to get – hot and steamy. My dreams normally told me a lot about myself. But sometimes they made me feel – naughty, and I didn’t enjoy having these dreams…well sometimes I didn’t. But that particular night I had a dream about Andrea. She and I were sitting on a bed, gazing into each others eyes. She cradled my cheek like the girl who first kissed me did, and she took the same action. Her lips touched mine, but instead of us stopping there, we continued. My hand pressed to her cheek as well, as we started to lie down. Our clothes started to come off and I was feeling pleasures that I never imagined before.
Andrea was touching all the right spots and kissing me in places that I could, literally, only dream about. And as she did I was calling out her name, “Andrea, Andrea, Andrea!” I would scream out.
I woke up out of my dream, and as my eyes opened I saw that my dad had me in his arms with a look of worry on his face.
“Jasmine, are you alright? You were screaming someone’s name, Andrea, I think it was. Is everything fine? Was it a bad dream?” My dad questioned.
“Yeah, just a bad dream is all. I saw something bad happening to my friend Andrea and I wanted it to stop, so I was calling out her name over and over, hoping that it would bring an end to it.”
My father pulled me into a hug and stroked the back of head, consoling me. I was happy that the lights were off and my blanket was above my waist, because what I hadn’t noticed before was that my hand was down my pajama pants, in between my legs.

The next day at school I was in history, doing my usual stare at Andrea. While I did, I was thinking about the dream I had the other night. The feeling of how vivid and how real it felt was insane. It felt like she and I were really making love to each other. But, even if something like that were to happen, I wouldn’t know the first thing to do.
In Family Life Education they teach you about how boys and girls do it, but they say nothing about how two girls are supposed to do it. I supposed it wouldn’t be too natural for them to go into too much depth about it.
It wasn’t until the teacher told us to break off into our groups that I really started to pay attention.
“You got the info?” Andrea asked me.
“Yeah, it’s right here.” I said, as I reached into my backpack and pulled out papers that pertained to our project.
A big smile came on her face. Part of me wanted to smile back, but the other just wanted to kiss her soft, sexy, smooth lips. That was the part of my dream that I enjoyed the most, whenever we kissed I just got that rush throughout my body.
The other two boys were fucking around and not getting any work done, while Andrea and I were trying to put everything together. I was reaching for a pencil, but she was reaching for the same one, then our hands touched. Her skin felt so pure and soft, like she had just applied lotion to it. It felt warm, and that warmth seemed to travel through my arm and into my chest. I could feel something as our hands touched. I had wanted so much just to hold her hand, but she moved it away and apologized.
But as she did I caught a quick glimpse of her face, she seemed shy. I also could see a slight grin start to form from her lips. Seeing that made my heart jump, maybe she was feeling the same thing I was.
“Awww, look at the two budding lesbians,” said one of the boys who was in our group. He and his friend started to snicker at us, little bastards.
They both were punching each other in the arms, some ritual that guys seemed to do when they thought something was funny to them. Andrea and I found little-to-no amusement from it, and Andrea let them know.
“Nigga, don’t be mad cuz you can’t land a girl like this and I can. Sorry ass, nigga.” Andrea said, as she motioned to me and kissed my cheek.
“Oh, girl, I know you just didn’t say some shit like that to me.”
“And what if I did, little man? Shit, I heard your girl talking bout you. I won’t repeat it, I’m not trying to put you on blast, but how bout you do your work of the project and leave us the fuck alone – Mr. Little Dick.” She had said the last couple of words in a hushed toned, not wanting to embarrass the boy in front of the entire class.
He and his friend had got up and left, leaving Andrea and I by ourselves. She looked back at me and raised her hand, like she had wanted a high five. So I gave her one, and once again when our palms had touched, my heart jumped again. Retracting my arm quickly, I sat back and looked over the information I had gotten for the project. Andrea had done the same.
Class was over and the students started herding towards the door. I was trying to leave until Andrea stopped me.
“Hey, Jasmine, wait up for a second, will you?”
I had waited for her outside the classroom. Leaning against the wall, I started to think about the entire period of class. Every gestured made, to the boys taking their jokes a little too far. Our hands touching had affected me the most, because of what it had felt like. I had hoped in the deepest parts of my heart that Andrea had felt the same way. A warm feeling that someone would get from hugging their mother, after they haven’t seen her in a year and everything just feels together.
Andrea had come out and we had started walking towards the lockers. I couldn’t help but notice her figure, shapely. Her figure was perfect, toned and sexy. The curves were in all the right places, with her clothes hugging her tightly and draping down smoothly, with no piece of fabric being sucked into fat creases, like how some girls had fashioned.
Andrea never had any trouble getting a guy to notice her, they’d always swoon. But she never dated much, I may have seen her with one guy this entire year, but they didn’t last too long. All I know is, after her and her ex broke up he went to go date the school slut, see how far that gets him.
“So, what’s up, Andrea?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Nothing, really, but – do you want to go to a party this weekend?”
She had caught me by surprise with the offer, and I really didn’t want to turn her down. It had been a while since I had been out and to a party, should be fun.
“Sure. Where is it at?”
“My place, since my family is going out of town. So we gonna partay! We got drinks coming, so I hope you ready to get drunk, girl.”
She had brushed her shoulder against me and was dancing, so I reciprocated the gesture.
“Aight, I’ll see you there, then.”

The night of the party was crazy. I had gotten dressed in a nice dress, yellow and brown. I had on my black heels and I was ready to step out, but not with the intent on bagging a guy. I hoped Andrea was going to like what I was wearing.
Getting there, the music could be heard from down the block. I saw people chilling outside, couples making out, girls grinding on guys, and goers bringing in different types of alcohol.
Inside was a fascination of colors. Andrea had picked up a multi-colored ball that flashed different colors throughout the house. The house was nice, small, but nice. It was one floor, and all the doors were locked, I guessed so no one would steal anything.
I had seen Andrea, and she looked amazing. She had on an all black dress, with some black pumps, and part of her hair was in a bun, while the rest draped down her back. Seeing her made me feel the same way I did that night of my dream. I had wanted her so badly, but a guy was talking to her. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealousy.
I walked over to her and took her by the hand, pulling her away from the guy. She told that she wasn’t even interested in him, anyway. Her and I danced, my hand wrapped around the back of her neck, while both of our pelvises shot forward. They brushed up against each other and it made me feel like seeing what was under her dress, but I had to keep my composure.
As the night continued, Andrea was drinking and socializing. I didn’t drink at all, but I talked to a few people I knew from school. I had seen a guy who had played my friend, Monica. No one really knew what happened to her, but she all of a sudden just stopped coming to school. I don’t know what this nigga was doing, but he was talking with some other girl, she’ll learn.
The party ended around 2 in the morning. I decided to help Andrea clean up; well I would be doing most of it because Andrea was a little drunk.
“Girl,” she said in a slurred voice, “that party was so fucking crazy.” Andrea had come up to me and put her arm over my shoulders. I could smell the booze on her breath, she looked cute drunk.
“Come on, Andrea, let’s get you to bed.”
“Nooooo, I don’t wanna.”
I took the arm that was over my shoulders and grabbed her wrist. I had helped her to her room and laid her down on the bed. Taking off her heels, I started to take her dress off, so she would be comfortable.
“You just wanna get me undressed, don’t you?” Andrea said loudly, as she put up a struggle for me to get her dress off.
“I just want you to be more comfortable.”
“Don’t think I haven’t seen you making kissy faces at me. I’ve seen you in class starring at me like you want my goodies. Well, guess what? I’ve wanted the same thing, too!” Her drunken words made me feel some type of way, as she placed her hands on either side of my face and kissed my lips.
I didn’t know how to react, the girl of my dreams kissing me. My entire body had gone numb and loose. The kiss was amazing, despite the lingering smell and taste of Vodka.
I had pulled away and tried to regain my composure. “Andrea, do you even know what you’re doing or saying? I mean, yes, I have been staring at you, but…okay. There is no point in hiding it. I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time, and that kiss just meant everything to me, and I know you are drunk, but I just want you to know that I think I’m in love with you.” Of course, I didn’t know how I was truly feeling, but what else could I have said. I wanted to be true to myself, and myself told me that I loved her.
“Shhhhh,” she said, putting her index finger in front of my lips. “I,” she pointed to herself, “like you,” then she pointed to me, “not just like friends, but I have dreamed about kissing you. Now kiss me again.”
I couldn’t hold back my tears, so I leaned forward and kissed her lips. Her lips felt so smooth touching mine. The warm feeling that was there anytime our hands touched had returned. Then I felt something I thought I wouldn’t have, her hands groping me. Then she and I lied down on the bed together.
The next morning she and I woke up next to each other. Something I had noticed when I sat up, all my clothes was off. I had no recollection of what had happened last night, just that I felt a tingle in between my legs. Well, let me correct myself, I knew what happened, but now it is just a blur of what was. Looking next to me, I had noticed that Andrea was still asleep. I lifted up the covers and seen that she, too, was still naked. And the only thought that was going through my head was, thank God her parents weren’t home.
She began to toss and turn, pulling the blanket with whichever was she rolled. As she was about to roll off the bed I caught her. My arms were wrapped around her waist and she began to wake up.
Andrea sat up, palm placed against her forehead, slowly moving her head back and forth. She probably had a headache, from all the drinking she did last night. The blanket fell off of her, as she sat up more, exposing her luscious breast. I couldn’t help but take a peek, but my priorities went to back her to see if she was okay.
“Are you good, Andrea? Do you want me to get you anything?” I asked her.
“What all happened last night?” She asked, as she continued to shake her head.
“Um, well, you got drunk. We kissed. And, somehow, we ended up in the bed naked with each other. Minds can only inquire as to what happened.” I said laughing a little bit. But then my light-hearted demeanor soon switched to a more serious one. “You also told me how you really felt about me…” I looked away from her, as I revealed what had happened the night before.
“Oh, wow, I said all that?”
I nodded my in agreement. I began to gather my things, and started to put my clothes back on, they were scattered across the room. The silence was brittle, but no one did anything to break it. It wasn’t until I was putting my shoes on that Andrea actually said something.
“I meant every word…” Andrea said in a low voice. “I really do like you, Jasmine. Have you ever noticed that I never really date guys like that anymore? It’s because ever since I’ve seen you, my heart feels at ease, like everything just seems right when I’m talking to you. And there were times when I saw you looking at me, but I would continue to stare out the window and just day dream about us. My only problem was I didn’t know how to tell you how I was feeling. Of course, I would have to be drunk to tell you my true feelings.”
My heart had stopped. Everything that I had once dreamed about was coming true. The feelings that were wrapped around my heart, finally started to loosen. I had real feelings about Andrea, and I wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass me by.
But even though I was sure I knew what I wanted to do, my parents feelings still scared me to no end. My parents were avid church goers, and didn’t believe in homosexual relationships. They felt they were morally wrong, and anybody who was in them was bad people. I was afraid that if they had ever figured out they would send me away like my first kisses parents did to her.
It was the last thing that I needed to worry about. Andrea and I decided to keep our relationship under wraps, rather than exclusive.
In school we acted like the best of friends, but after it, she and I had a relationship that some people could only dream about. We were happy, and we continued on like everything was as normal as could be.
“Jasmine, I’m glad you and I are together,” she said to me.
“I know, Andrea, I’m happy to. I haven’t been this happy in a long time. There really aren’t too many girls out there who are accustomed to this sort of lifestyle. So I feel fortunate, that I was able to find someone like you.”
She leaned in and kissed my lips gently. She and I were at my place, one day after school. My parents weren’t due home for hours, so she and I took advantage of the time we had by ourselves. She had closed the door, and my clothes had started to come off. Once our lips had touched, I had gone in to ecstasy.

We had lost track of time, as Andrea laid her head on my bosom. I had brushed her hair out of the way of her face and kissed her forehead. Her body felt so warm against mine, as my hand softly stroked her arm. I could feel her toes tickle my leg, reacting to how I was touching her arm.
The sun shone in through my window and the bright rays warmed me up. My room was silent, and it felt right because I had rarely gotten the chance for peace and tranquility. It was like my own personal utopia, with every that I could have ever imagined in my room.
I had had everything that I wanted: peace, silence, the girl that I was falling for. Everything was perfect, despite having to hide the truth from my parents. But at this point it was a minor detail.
I looked down at Andrea, and noticed how adorable her face was. Her nose wrinkled as the hairs that draped down her face tickled it. Her eyes kept closing harder, as if she didn’t want to see something so bad, but I didn’t know why, because I had wanted to see her pretty brown eyes so badly.
As I admired her cute features, I could hear the handle to my door turning. Shooting up, I tried to wake Andrea up, but it was too late. Both of my parents stood there, bewilderment and shock covered their faces, witnessing their daughter naked and in bed with another girl.
“What the fuck!” my dad screamed out.
“Girl, put on your damn clothes, right now!” screamed my mom.

Ever since that day, Andrea hadn’t talked to me too much. My parents had told hers what they had discovered, and they felt that Andrea didn’t need to be around me anymore. The hardest part about it was how Andrea took it. She didn’t seem to care, or at least that’s how she came off. It was at school when Andrea explained to me what was happening.
“Jasmine, we can’t be together. I don’t even know what I was thinking…” she said in a low, almost sarcastic voice, “I’m a girl, I’m supposed to like guys, not girls. This was only something I wanted to experiment with, but you became too in to it.
“I’m sorry, Jasmine, but I just don’t like you like that. Please, don’t talk me anymore, don’t call me, and don’t come around my place. As far as you are concerned, I am just another girl in school, who likes guys. I’m not gay, you are. I’m normal, and my parents say that they’ll forget all this happened, and they’ll forgive me, if I stay away from you.
“At first I thought they were acting stupid, but then I really started to think about it. The Bible frowns upon homosexuality, and I don’t want to go to hell. And if you don’t want to go to hell, then you might want to get over this entire lesbian phase.”
Every word she spoke, she seemed to choke out. It was almost as if it was hard for her to say each word, and that even she didn’t believe everything she was saying. But even though I believed that, every word was still the equivalent to a knife slowly piercing its way into my heart.
After she was done speaking, she turned her back to me and walked away. There was nothing I could say to her that could change her mind, so what would be the point? But I knew who I was, and I knew what I liked, girls, and I was going to continue on with that lifestyle. I didn’t care what the Bible said, because the Bible doesn’t predict my happiness. The Bible doesn’t give me directions on what I should do if faced with a situation like this one. The Bible can’t penalize me, because of the way that I was born. But, it still did. Because of those words and peoples beliefs, some people won’t accept me for being me.
When I had gotten home, my family still didn’t talk to me much. But I still did my daily routine: grab a snack, do the chores, do my homework, help mom with dinner, listen to Bible study with dad, finish up any homework I didn’t finish earlier, and go to bed. But I noticed when I was helping my mom out with dinner, tears dropped down her cheek.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked, in hopes that I could help.
“My daughter is a fucking LESBIAN!” she shouted right in my face.
The word she yelled at me made me start to cry. Her words ripped through me like paper going into a shredder. I didn’t know what to say, or how to react. I didn’t want to see my mom cry, but I was the reason to why she was crying.
“Mom, why can’t you be happy that I’m happy,” I cried out.
“Why would I be happy that my daughter likes other girls and wants to go against the teachings of the Bible? How the hell am I supposed to have grandchildren now! You’re living in sin, Jasmine, sin!”
My dad ran into the kitchen, because of all the screaming. I tried to run to him for comfort, but he pushed me off of him. My face was hurting and I couldn’t keep it straight from all the crying I was doing. I looked in both of my parents eyes and could the disappointment and pain on their faces. Their pain reflected my own, as my mom found the comfort I was looking for in my dad.
I wanted to join them but I felt they would only push me away. I felt my legs start to go weak, and eventually they gave out and I began to topple to the floor. Trying to grab the counter for leverage was to no avail, because my fingers had slipped. As I lay crippled on the floor, I began to hit the ground to release all of my pain and anger. I kept hitting the ground until I couldn’t anymore; my dad had grabbed my hand. Looking up at him, trying to look past the pain, I saw how angry he truly was. The disappointment in his eyes was so tangible, as if he was looking at his biggest regret.
“Stop all that nonsense hitting. The neighbors are going think that we beat you or something. Look, the last thing I would want is to disown you as my daughter. But I can’t generally be proud to have a gay as a daughter. You are a shame to this family. Now, we could look past all of this if you leave that life behind and ask God for forgiveness. We’d be glad to forgive you, as well. And we will never have to remember this moment of ignorance. If not, then I can’t allow you to live under our roof anymore.” My dad said, extending his arm out to me.
They wanted me to forget who I was, what made me happy. They wanted me to ask for forgiveness for something that I didn’t feel sorry about. Is this how forgiveness worked? Is this how life is supposed to be? Conforming to a way that makes you unhappy, and makes you curse your existence everyday.
Part of me didn’t want to conform, part of me just wanted to go back to that moment before my parents found Andrea and I, my utopia. But the other part of me didn’t want to lose my family. That part was ready to do anything to get back into the good graces of my parents. That part of me was ready to leave my true happiness behind, and it was much stronger than the other part.
Looking up to my dad I grabbed his hand and nodded. “Yes, I’ll ask for forgiveness.” I muttered out, blinking through my teary eyes.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me in to his loving embrace. My mom came from behind and wrapped her arms around me, as well. My tears didn’t stop, as they held me. I didn’t know if they were supposed to or not. But what was I really crying for? Crying out of happiness for not losing my family or crying out of pain for everything I just lost?

Cheat

Cheat

I was in a relationship. This girl was bad, and when I say “bad” I mean she was bad. She had long black hair, perky tits, manicured finger and toenails, and an ass that would make a donkey jealous. Yeah, I had sex with her. Actually, I had sex with her a lot, every time better than the last. She was the type of girl who sent chills throughout your whole body, like every time you saw her you were at the point of climaxing, it was amazing. But have you ever noticed that relationships always turn sour – when the female wants commitment. Every girl commitment this and commitment that, it’s all just so damn tedious and I’m young and I don’t want to have to handle that.
I’m still in high school and every girl there is ready to be deflowered. I feel like some sort of gardener. Some girls just threw themselves at me; others took a little more effort. But in the end I always had sex with them, and there was no emotion attached to them. I guess I should feel bad about taking girls virginity, I always heard that was special. Oh well, if they’re stupid enough to give it up, then I’m smart enough to take it from them.
Where was I anyways? Oh, yeah, I was in a relationship. Her name was Monica, she was short, had dark skin, and everything. She said she was attracted to my light skin and that my eyes mesmerized her. I told her that she was the type of beauty I had never seen before. I didn’t mean it, but she believed everything I told her.
“Damn girl, you is so damn beautiful,” I would tell her.
“Shoot, who you tellin’? I know I’m fly,” She would respond.
She came from a run down family; I guess I could’ve taken that into consideration. But I didn’t, I only had one thing on my mind, and that was how long it was going to take to get it from her. So I’d just spoon feed her a bunch of lies, and she ate it and she swallowed it. Yes, pun intended. Her parents had filed for divorced when she was 11, and she had lived with her mother in an apartment in the bad part of town. She always came to school dressed nicely, though. Shoes always looked new, some designer shirts and jeans, and her hair always looked done. But that wasn’t her most outstanding feature, because old girl could suck a mean dick. Some guys had spoken about it and I had to see if it was true or not, though she always told me that she never sucked dick like that. God knows that the proof was in the pudding and I enjoyed every minute of it.
She asked me if we ever were going to be anything more than friends. Of course, I didn’t want the sex to stop, so I just told her another lie.
“Sure, girl, you can be mine.” I would lie to her right through my teeth.
“Oh, thank you, baby.” She’d wrap her arms around my neck and kissed me.
So we were going for about a month, and I filled her head with a different lie every day. Every night we would talk, she always used her mom’s cell phone since she didn’t have one of her own. Man, that girl was kinky because every night she would tell me what she was wearing and how she wanted to do things to me. Like things that you wouldn’t even tell your friends. She was really nasty.
“Oh, really, now? Trust, girl, if you’s talkin’ like dat den you only lookin’ fo trouble den.” I would tell her.
“Yeah, boy, I’m tryin to make you experience things you aint neva had befo.’” She said in a voice of seduction.
“Well, when you plannin’ on doin all dis’?”
“Next time I see you, sexy.”
Yeah, she was a real freak. But to me she was only jump off. A jump off was the type of girl you didn’t marry, but to just have sex with, in other words a hoe. To her I was everything, possibly she saw me as a way to get out of poverty. She was looking for a husband and I knew I was too young just to be committed to one female. I had guessed she was looking for a good guy, since her dad wasn’t shit. There were so many pretty girls out there, and I feel that it wouldn’t be fair to limit myself to one jump off, when there are close to a million. Well, maybe not a million, but there sure as hell were a lot of them.
There were even times I could hear her moaning on the phone. I had guessed that she was masturbating, or something. But all I knew was that this girl was sprung. I was sprung, but in a different way. I only had one thing on my mind. And nothing was going to stop me from getting it.
At the same time there was this other girl, Kayla, who was feeling me as well. Her ass wasn’t as fat as Monica’s, but it was a good size. Her hair came down to about her shoulders, and it was bleached blonde. This girl had had her ears pierced five times each, as well as her nose, naval, and tongue. And I heard that she went down. See, I was notorious for getting an extra taste every now and then. Shit, I had figured what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, but they all eventually found out in the end. But, hey, I’d be long gone whenever that time came and good riddance.
Monica and I were going out for about five months; all the while I had sex with Kayla, too. I couldn’t pick who gave the best blow job, or had better sex because they each put their own personal spins on it. It was easy to cheat since Kayla went to a different school, and I would normally see her after I was done with Monica. Damn, whenever I got to her place nobody would ever be home. Thank God both her parents worked late hours, because I’d stay late and a lot happened when I stayed late. Even when I told her it was time for me to go she’d always wanted to go another round. Who was I to deny her something she wanted? I’d make sure to keep my cell off, just in case Monica tried calling. I was feeling both of them, but to me they were only jump offs.
This all continued for a couple of months, and during those months I picked up a couple more jump offs. It wasn’t that hard to keep track of all them, since they all trusted me and didn’t ask too many questions. My luck must’ve been great, to sex up all those girls and not catch anything from it. Some of them didn’t care that I had a girlfriend, or that I was sleeping with other girls because they were in it for the same reason as me, to relieve some sexual tension. Whether she was dark skin, light skin, mixed, Spanish, Asian, it didn’t matter because each one gave it real good.
Monica and I had started arguing more often; well, they were more staged, I would start them most of the time or I said something out the way to make her start, because I was getting sick of being with her. After a few months of sex with her it just kind of lost all luster. It was the same moaning, same sexual faces, and the same ass. It was only a matter of time before I’d cut the rest jump offs loose and start my game all over again.
“What you mean you don’t wanna be wit me no mo, nigga!” Monica exclaimed.
“Naw, ya ass is getting’ too clingy, I need my space.”
“Da fuck you mean clingy! Nigga, I givin you dat kind of pussy dat no otha bitch could give.”
“Hahaha, yeah right, hoe, I been getting it in wit otha bitches and they was all betta den you.”
“Fuck you, nigga! Wit ya triflin ass! Yo dick wasn’t even dat good anyways.”
“Wateva, bitch. If dat were da case you wouldn’t have kept fuckin’ me.”
That was the last time I heard from Monica. She never did come back to school after that day, rumors spread that she moved away or that she went to an all girl’s school. But it didn’t matter to me; there were no feelings left behind, anyway, at least not on my part. Besides girls like her come a dime a dozen.
My parents hadn’t been married when I was born, and every time it was dad’s turn to take me in, he’d always bring home a different girl. It spoke to me, and I looked up to my dad as a role model, so why not flatter him and mimic his moves. He knew exactly what to say to a girl to get her to drop her pants. The quickest I had ever seen him work was when he met a girl at a restaurant we were eating at. He talked her up for about a minute and he told me to go off somewhere. I didn’t go anywhere. I followed him and that girl back to his place. Peeking around the corner I saw her go inside, and minutes later I heard her screaming. Even more amazing was that she had a ring on her finger, not just for show but a wedding ring. Guess her husband wasn’t getting it in as good as he thought. But ever since then I had thought to mimic his actions and try and sleep with as many girls as possible, the cheating part was just something I added for excitement.
It was April, the weather was getting warmer and the clothes the girls had been wearing had gotten tighter and more revealing. I remember seeing this one jump off in my class, her ass was so fat so I gave her the eye. Minutes later she went to the bathroom and before she left the room she gave me the sign. I got up and followed her into the bathroom and we went into one of the stalls, lets just say it got pretty heated in there and she went back to class a happy girl. I never saw any of this as me doing wrong; I was just giving these females exactly what they wanted, without any strings attached. I kept the same process, the same pace, and sometimes leaving a trail of tears in my path. But that’s the consequence of wanting to be in a relationship, you never know what’s going to happen.
In May, we received a transfer student in one of my classes. She was gorgeous, more than any other girl I had ever encountered. She had light skin and light brown eyes. Her books were wrapped in her arms like she was hugging them and she was dressed more conservative than the others. Capri shorts and a form fitting short sleeve tee-shirt was all she wore. You couldn’t even get a glimpse of what kind of panties she was wearing if she bent over. Her ass was nothing special, but it would do and her tits looked at about a B cup, again nothing too special. My eyes were more focused on her face. That flawless skin, that short brown hair, she even had a cute voice to boot.
“Why don’t you introduce yourself to the class?” The teacher said.
“My name is Kristen.”
Damn, that voice could make any guy melt. If her normal speaking voice could do that I wonder what her moaning voice would be like. I bet she could make dudes bust real quick if she called out their names in a whisper. This made me very excited, a new girl, new opportunities, and possibly a new experience for her. She took her seat next to me, and with confidence I engaged in conversation with her.
“Ey, girl how you doin’?” I asked.
“I’m fine, and what about you?” She said fluently with no signs of slang anywhere.
She was one of the first girls I had shown interest in that spoke properly, almost like she was white. Even though Ebonics was more my speed, her proper dialect turned me on. She was more educated than any other girl I had run into, this might be harder than I thought. She might actually think something of herself, thus the invisible force field won’t be let down so easily.
“It’s all good ova here. So, where you come from?” I asked her.
“My family just moved here from Colorado.” She answered nicely.
“Damn, dats a ways away. So what brought ya fam ova here?”
“Well, my dad got laid off, and we couldn’t afford our house anymore, so we had to move to a more urban area.”
Normally, a sob story like that wouldn’t affect me, but I couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for her. But I was sure those feelings would go away soon enough – after I had sex with her. Months past, and within that time I was able to get her phone number, I had been to her place a couple times, I even met her family. Normally, I wouldn’t get this involved with a girl. But something was different about her; I actually felt a connection between her and me. She didn’t always feel the need to be conceited, she was more humble than anything and I liked that. The way she spoke turned me on, and I don’t know why, but I felt more pulled in after every word. We had conversations that weren’t solely circled around sex. She told me about her life and how she went from riches to rags. Some douche bag had turned snake on her dad and made him lose his job. Since little money coming in, they had to move to an area like this just to make ends meet. And someone would only come here if they were all out of options.
“It’s hard, but we are surviving.” And even through all the shit life has handed her, she still managed to smile. Hell, I never smiled here, only because there was nothing to smile about. But she had a pretty smile, so I’m glad she smiled during bleak situations. She wasn’t like most upper-class girls; she didn’t rely on material objects and possessions. She didn’t care if she didn’t have the nicest phone, or the newest clothes, or the sexiest lingerie. There was something genuine about her.
She made my heart stop at times and it would hurt whenever I wasn’t around her. I didn’t have the courage anymore to do the things I had done to previous girls. Even I found it crazy that her conservative lifestyle actually turned me out. I had become so use to jump offs I had forgotten what a real chick was all about it. It wasn’t hard to see that I had found companionship in her; she was even, real, girlfriend material. The type of girl you would even bring home to meet your mom.
“Kristen, I like you.” I told her.
“I like you to.” She responded.
“No, I really like you.”
“Are you trying to ask me something?”
“Yeah, I want you to be my girl.”
That’s all I said to her, and all she did was smile and nod her head at me. It was the first time I was actually happy to have a girlfriend. She wasn’t even easy; we had dated for over a month and didn’t have sex. I respected that about her, whenever we were in her room, by ourselves, I didn’t even lay on her bed. All we ever did was kiss, not tongue kissing, just kiss. That was all I needed. It was weird what was going on with me to make me only want this. Even bad jump offs on the street didn’t even catch my eye. And I’d seen one with her thong showing from the top of her jeans. Big tits looking like she had two cantaloupes in her shirt, she even tried to holler at me.
“Ey, daddy, how you doin?” she asked.
“I’m good, ya know chillin’” I responded.
“You tryin ta do something lata?”
“Naw, I’m good.”
Was that all girls wanted. I don’t know why I had believed relationships were overrated. It was nice knowing that there was someone out there who constantly cared about you. I never really accepted those kinds of people in my life since they were normally fake. My parents really didn’t care too much about me, either. They were too busy with there own lives. I never really experienced true compassion from the opposite sex. All I had ever done was just manipulate them to have sex with me. Thinking back on it all, I sort of felt bad for doing it to them. Sometimes, I’d even worry that I’ll revert back to my old ways and even cheat on this girl. Hopefully, my love will overpower my lust, and I can stay true to her.
Our relationship continued with little strain. We’d talk every night on the phone; there was never a boring conversation.
The new school year had started. And we’d see each other during the day. I could tell the jumps offs I had done wrong were pissed to see me holding hands with a girl in the hallway. In the past I never held hands I just told the jump off to stay close to me, or that I was too much of a man to hold hands. They all gave her a stank expression, they were just jealous of her status with me. I’d kiss her before I left her and kiss her when I’d see her, and even old jump offs tried to get me back to my mischievous ways. One girl tried the same bathroom tactic as that other girl did, but it didn’t make me budge. I was too committed to this girl to ever do her wrong.
I had never been known to be the jealous type, but when I saw another guy trying to flirt with her I stepped in and made it known that she was taken. The whole school eventually knew that she was taken, but that didn’t matter since guys still tried to persuade her. I could trust that she would make the right decision and turn any guy down because she knew she had a keeper. This was the happiest I had ever been.
Months passed in the relationship and things started to change up a bit. We still weren’t having sex, but that didn’t bother me. Sometimes she wouldn’t answer her phone when I called, I would call her about four times before I gave up and went to bed. I had just assumed that her parents didn’t want her life to revolve around me, which I understood. In school I would see her less, and when I did see her I’d only get a kiss on the cheek. I couldn’t tell if she was getting embarrassed by our relationship or not. Her reasons for her actions still baffled me, but we were still together so I couldn’t complain much. For the most part we stayed happy, and when we did talk on the phone we would go on and on all night.
“So where were you at today?” She said in her cute voice.
“I could ask you the same thing; I barely got to see you today.” Just being around her improved my grammar.
“Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I take a new way to my classes, it’s shorter.”
“So you gonna fill me in on it, or what?”
“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow in class.”
“Kristen…”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you.”
“Awwww, I love you too, night.”
I had finally said it, and actually meant it. Any doubts in my head and in my heart had faded. I had this girl for life now. I had always believed that those words bound to you to the person you said them to for life. Those words were never meant to be used loosely, and only for those who were special. And the fact knowing she said it back must’ve been because she felt the same way. There was no doubt in my mind that she was going to go through life with me. I wasn’t worried about cheating on her anymore, because I had finally found a good girl.
At school I had noticed that people had started whispering anytime I passed them. Probably still gossiping about me actually having a steady girlfriend, guess it’s not an easy thing to accept when you have a reputation of fucking girls then leaving them.
I had gone through the whole day and barely got to see my girlfriend. We barely exchanged words in class, I hope the “I love you” didn’t freak her out or anything.
“Kristen?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah?” She responded in a voice that sounded annoyed.
“What’s wrong with you, why ain’t you saying anything to me?”
“I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind is all.”
“Like what?”
“I’ll tell you about it later, I just have a problem that I need to solve.”
I had guessed it was her family again, so I wasn’t going to pry into it. Class had ended and we went our separate ways. I thought about surprising her so I went to the local grocery store after school, and bought her a couple of flowers. I had spent my last couple of dollars on them. Heading over to her place I sang a song of joy and there was even a skip in my step, I sort of felt homo doing that. Maybe this is what love felt like.
Getting to her building I went up to her floor. The door to her apartment was cracked open, so I decided to enter and peak my head inside. Her parents didn’t seem to be home, yet. But I heard a strange noise, like springs bouncing. Walking deeper into the complex I saw that a door was open and two people were in there. And with my own eyes I saw a guy and my girlfriend in a bed, which looked to be her parents. They were fucking. I had recognized the guy as Dante, a guy who had tried getting at Kristen times before. My heart shattered, the flowers fell out of my hands, and I left without saying anything. I had only talked to Kristen one more time after that day and that was to break up with her.
“Ey.” I greeted in a low voice
“Oh, hey baby, what’s up?” She said cheerfully.
“I came over today.”
“Oh…well I’m guessing you saw me with Dante?”
“So why’d you do it?”
“Look, I have a confession to make.”
“I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ confession, just tell me why!”
“First things first, nigga, don’t raise your voice to me!” her dialect had changed, “two it serves ya ass right.”
“What the hell are you talking about?!”
“You know a girl named Monica.”
As soon as she said that name, the girl that I was dating last year flashed through my head.
“Yeah, what’s that bitch got to do with anything?”
“Well dat so called ‘bitch’ was my cousin, nigga.”
Karma had just hit me real hard. The thought of the girl of my dreams being related to a girl I had had a relationship with previously. My heart stopped and I couldn’t say anything.
“You did her wrong, and she committed suicide. You prolly wonderin how I know, because she left a note sayin’ that she’ll still love you even in death. You’s a triflin’ ass nigga. I bet you didn’t even know dat did you? Cuz ya ass too busy fuckin’ bitches. Serves ya ass right ta get cheated on. Yeah, I had known who you were and I had transferred schools just so I could do all dis. You need to know what it’s like to have a shattered heart like hers!”
“...” I couldn’t respond; my own perception had just been flipped around.
“Dats right, I was only keepin’ you around because I wanted you to see me fuck dat nigga, I didn’t feel bad for you really, sayin’ how you loved me and everything. My fuckin’ cousin said dat to you, but you didn’t give a shit cuz you still fucked around.”
I wasn’t going to try to understand her logic behind it. You can’t hide emotions and if you do you end up getting hurt from it. I knew that I loved her, but I wasn’t going to put my neck on the line again, not to go through that. But it couldn’t help but remind me of myself.
I had hung up on her after that. I wonder if that’s how the jump offs felt when I did them like that. It hurt a hell of a lot, but I didn’t cry since no bitch was worth tears. I felt like I became what those other girls were to me; I was just a nigga she wanted to get revenge on. It’s ironic isn’t? That I would treat all these girls like this and I finally find a good one and she wasn’t anything but a bitch looking for revenge.
We don’t make eye contact with one another whenever we pass each other in the halls. We act as if neither of us exists to one another.
I went back to my old ways and fucked every jump off who came my way, and never got into a relationship again. But I would always see Kristen’s face on whatever girl I was fucking at the time. My heart never mended and no amount of jump offs could ever fix it. No girl could say she loved me, because I never wanted it. No girl could say she cared about me, because I didn’t care about them. And no girl could ever cheat on me, because I didn’t give them the chance to. Not after the first girl I fell in love with, no one would ever have the chance to do me like that again.

Gone by Shrayne Harley

There was time when I felt like I was alone. Alone in this place we call earth. My only escape was into my mind,where everything was bright and seemed divine. The days when I smile and say "hi" when the truth is I internally cry. All the pain he caused turned my happy days gray. Hoping the tears would wash away the pain. Wishing that one day he would see that I'm slowly pulling away & that our love was no longer here to stay. I'm done with hearing your "im sorry",im done with all the second chances. Baby you made it this way & I tried to warn you that this was coming...coming to an end. That spark is no longer there & for you I have no care nor would I shed another tear.

Scott Pilgrim Vs The World - Official Trailer [HD]

Anything (Edited)

Anything

He was dead, my husband that is. Such an untimely end, he was just about to turn 26. I know, he died young and that’s what hurts the most. He died before our life could even really begin. No kids, one vacation, good memories, but not enough. And after everything he and I had been through, together and separately. Couldn’t God have given us a little more time to build those everlasting memories, to have children, to live out our goals and dreams? I know everyone has there time, but still. But all of this was bound to happen, regardless.
My husband was a sick man, even back in high school, but that never made me love him any less. The doctor had diagnosed him with cancer, and he notified us that is had already spread to his lymph nodes. It was already too late for us to do anything, and I couldn’t imagine how my husband felt. So I had to be strong for the both of us, but it weighed too heavily even if both of us were to carry it. It’s ironic, because one day he and I were laughing, but, then the next I find myself making funeral arrangements and watching casket being lowered into the ground.
I remember it so well, the day he died that is. That day felt like it was going to be my death date as well. It’s not every day that you wake up next to a dead person. I thought he was only sleeping in, but I should’ve known better. It never crossed my mind when I went downstairs to make his favorite breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. When I went back to the room I noticed he hadn’t moved an inch, which was odd since he was notorious for tossing and turning in his sleep. He would even let out a snore here and there, but it was silent and his chest wasn’t rising at all. It was then I knew – he was dead. Everything dropped out of my hands, but when the plate and tray hit the ground I couldn’t hear a thing like God had turned the volume down to zero as I ran to his body. Too soon, I kept telling myself as I wept over him.
I hadn’t like to make funeral arrangements before hand, because by planning, it made it feel like it was already over. I was in denial I guess, but it was a hard reality to accept. During that time I had hated making funeral arrangements, and not because of the money. That was the least of our concern, actually. My husband was a successful writer, so money had never been an issue for us. “Us” sounds like it’s supposed to be forever, but nothing is set in stone, right?
Sorry, but making the funeral arrangements wasn’t easy. There wasn’t one thing I could do that wouldn’t end with me crying. My sister had to accompany me to most of the places I had to go to. She was my support and I was glad that she was there to help me through my troubled times.
It was weird seeing the funeral home, with all those caskets. I couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable. When I had told the man who my husband was he was trying to sell me his most expensive casket saying, “Nothing less than the best for such a famous author.” That’s what had always worried me about his fame that people would try and take advantage of it. Not that I had a problem with paying whatever amount of money, but I didn’t want people to treat my husband any differently than they would a normal customer.
Devon, that was my husband’s name, had always told me if he ever became someone who everyone knew, he never wanted to be treated differently. He wouldn’t want to have any special treatment because he was famous and someone else wasn’t. I always respected that about him, he was very caring. Also, more considerate than most guys I had run into.
We had met in high school. I didn’t like him to begin with, because I thought he was trying to play me. I didn’t have the best reputation in the school; guess you could say that I was a little promiscuous. Not that I enjoyed being that, but I was convinced that that was the only way I could get a guy to like me. But guys never treated me the way I deserved to be treated, and every guy had only wanted me for sex, story of my life. Devon was different, though I didn’t believe him at first. I thought he was just trying to be slick and play me, also I felt that since he wasn’t looking for sex he was trying to get something else. Never would’ve imagined that I would’ve married him.
I had known he was sick, but never knew with what. But he spent a lot of time at the doctors. Even in high school he would go home early. Knowing all of that I still wanted to be with him, but the only thing that scared me was I never knew how long it was going to be.
Now that I look back on it, I feel bad for the way I treated him when he first tried to ask me out. Devon was a jittery guy, a little bit of a nerd even. But be that as it may, he was the sweetest guy in the world. He knew exactly how to treat a lady with respect, unlike those other guys at our school. My promiscuity didn’t seem to faze him too much, I was glad. I couldn’t have imagined how it would’ve been if my past had mattered to him, but he would always tell me the same thing, “You’re past may be your foundation, but it doesn’t dictate how the end result is going to be.”
His words always gave me comfort. He made me realize that who I was back then wasn’t who I wanted to be.
My dream was to be a model (you know typical high school dream), but after I met Devon, he had gotten me into writing. Since I was already writing poetry I thought it would only be a short jump to a different style of writing. He would always laugh at me when I showed him something I wrote, not because it was bad or anything. He did it out of care and Devon helped me so much in developing my writing skills. His skills when it came to writing were almost unmatched.
I remember how Devon was when it came to his own writing. He was always so critical of himself, and everything had to be a rewrite. Nothing ever seemed to make it as is. I never really took a full grasp of what he meant when he said this but he would tell me, “When you’re a writer you eventually fall in love with rewriting.” It took me a while to figure what he meant, but I believe it was something along the lines of: when you write, for the first draft, you’ll love it at first, but then as time goes on and your ideas expand, you begin to not like what you initially wrote and you want to add more to it, or at least that’s what I got from it. Knowing Devon, he probably had an entirely different take on it.
He had finished writing his first book when he had gotten out of high school. It was about the tales of different students we knew, names changed of course, and some of the trials and tribulations they went through. It was a big success, and after that day we really didn’t have to worry about money anymore. It was amazing, Devon was only 18 when his book was published and he was going on book tours and doing signings. People really seemed to enjoy it. The reviews we read claimed it was “A Story looking into how real students behave.”
When we read that the biggest smile came on his face. I had never seen him that happy before, and I was proud of him on top of that. I loved seeing him make his dream come true, and it was then when I found a new dream, to add on top of my wanting to be a writer. I wanted to be with Devon forever.
My previous boyfriends had never been as ambitious as Devon, and couldn’t hope to be now. Devon had everything in perspective and he knew that he going to reach for the stars, even if he had to fall a couple of times.
During the time between his book being published and us graduating, I tried my hand at writing a short story. It was about an abusive father, and a look inside to his past as to how he became how he did. Devon helped me edit and revise it, and once people in our school started to get wind of it, everyone seemed to like it. That was the second time I had seen Devon smile really big, I knew he was proud of me.
I was 21 when he asked me to marry him. He did it in the most – unusual, but sweet way. He had called me over, so I could look over his new book he was working on. He hadn’t told me anything about it, so I didn’t know what to think. He let me in and we made our way up to his room. I sat down and looked at the screen and opened up the file. And to my surprise it said in the oddest font, “?” I didn’t know what any of it meant, until I turned around and saw him with a box in his hand, then I figured the weird fond must’ve translated to, “Timika, will you marry me?”
And his words, his words I will never forget till the day that I die. “Timika, will you help in the writing the rest of our life together.” Once I had heard those words my eyes swelled up, it felt like my sinuses were acting up, and I had wrapped my arms around him, because I had accomplished my own goal.
It took about two years to get the wedding plans finalized, with his book tours and my attending college. But finally on June 21st everything came to fruition and I was Misses Timika Johnson. I knew my mother was happy, I have never seen her cry too much. But I knew exactly what she was thinking, “My knuckle head daughter finally made the right choices. She finally found someone whose going to treat her good.”
Looking back on the past, I guess we did have some pretty good memories. But that’s all I have now. I look at the bedroom we made love in, his closet that had a lot of clothes I picked out for him, his achievement room, which held all of his books he’d written and the awards he received for them. It’s hard having to walk around the empty house, knowing no one is going to be there but you.
He still gets checks for his books. The amount that he used to get on them didn’t compare to what he was getting paid for them now. Seems like the rumors are true that when you die, everything thing you did becomes more valuable. Well they can have the value of his books; they could have it all if it would mean that Devon would come back.
Devon had written about 20 books in his life time. Some dealt with topics about his abusive uncle, who’d beat his wife. He wrote one about families sticking together even when everything comes easy to them and they get lost in the glitz of it all (that was my favorite one). He wrote fantasy stories that children enjoyed, but no movie rights. He didn’t want his books turned into movies. “Timika, when they take a book and turn it into a movie, then every vision the author initially had, goes out the window. It also makes the book lose meaning, at least that’s how I feel about it.” He always told me that, I never argued with his logic because it was his vision and his work.
He was always smart like that. He never let the publishers try and trick out of money. All of his deals were looked over with a fine tooth comb, and if there was something there that he didn’t like they would renegotiate.
All these memories are starting to hurt. I can feel it in my chest, but the more I talk about him, the more I feel that I’m keeping his spirit alive, his legacy.
We had planned on having kids, but we never got around to it. We both had agreed that we had wanted a big family. But now, I don’t ever see anything like that happening. Personally, I don’t want to have anyone else’s kids. I’m perfectly fine staying in this big house by myself. I don’t want anyone to come here trying to replace Devon in my heart. I’ll probably ask my sister if she wants to stay with me.
Anyways, I digress. Devon always knew a lot of things, it was almost creepy. It was as if he had premonitions about things, much like a woman’s intuition. He had the guy version of it. There were so many times he would tell that everything would be alright, and it was, or he knew deep in his heart that something was going to happen, and it did. I remember once he had told me that the story I had wrote before, about the abusive father, was going to change someone’s life. I told myself he had gone off the deep end, but he told me, “Words have magically powers. They can do some of the most amazing things, if they are put together correctly. Trust me, Timika, you’re story is going to change someone’s life, just you watch.”
It was about a week after that I had received a letter, from someone I didn’t know. The letter was from a little girl and her father. It talked about how they knew someone who was going through the same thing as the main character in my story, and they had decided to get the father help and take the little girl in until her father got better.
I didn’t know what to think about that, or even better, how did they see my story. That same day I had gone to see Devon and asked him about it, he then showed me that he posted my story on his website. Someone had got in contact with him about my story, mistaking that he wrote it and wanted to thank him, but he gave them my address and told them that I was person who wrote it.
Devon always tried surprising me, and he never failed in doing so. The ring he got me surprised me, and the house we bought, after we got married, was so marvelous. Considering the area we came out of, it was like a gift from God. I could’ve never imagined that we would get out of a place like that in a million years. The place was just so damn depressing, the place we grew up that is.
The neighborhood that surrounded our school wasn’t a pretty sight to look at. I couldn’t see anyone smiling about waking up, knowing that’s what they had to look at. There were even times when I slept over at Devon place, because I didn’t feel comfortable at my own home. And he was respectful, too, always taking the couch downstairs while I slept in his bed. Though I would’ve preferred him sleeping in the bed with me, just so I could have that comfort and warmth of him.
Now I can’t even anticipate it anymore. Every night, since he died, I’ve had to go to bed by my lonesome, not even sleep, but just toss and turn. It felt like that action of his rubbed off on me.
Something I had always known about Devon was that he was a man who kept his promises. It reminded me of the time I had to deal with my cousin’s death, and I don’t know how he did it, but Devon words had calmed me down. Everything he had said to me had made my tears go away, made my heart stop aching, and gave me peace of mind. I did say that he could work magic with his words.
I think that’s what made him such a good writer, was knowing that he could relate to people, and there situations. He always had a personal story for any problem that was brought to him. And, of course, it seemed like he had an answer for everything. But I was always worried if all those people relying on ever made him ware thin. I wonder if dealing with other people’s problems acted as a catalyst to his cancer. No, I shouldn’t even think that, besides its not like there’s anything I can do about it now.
The day of his funeral, that’s a day I will never forget. Initially, it was only going to be my family and his, but so many other people had showed up. During the ceremony, when everyone was filling into the church, everybody who walked by his casket and placed one of his books in there with him.
Seeing that I realized how many people had loved him, other than me, and had taken something from his stories. How many people his books had actually touched or helped was amazing. A lot of people had ended up standing outside, or in a different part of the church. I was happy to see that many people come out for him; it made things a bit easier to deal with.
His mother was crying hysterically, as was I. His father tried to keep his composure, trying to be the strong male figure, but I had known he really wanted to cry. His little brother stood there next to his father and tried to keep the same stoic look on his face, but his little nose kept wrinkling and tears couldn’t stop flowing. Even my mother couldn’t help but cry along with Devon’s mother.
There were a lot of words spoken, a few by family members, a few by close friends, and even some spoken by readers of his books. I said a few words, but I can’t even recall what I said. Something a long the lines of, “Devon saved my life. I know when a lot of people say that it seems out of place, but I truly feel if he had not come into my life when he had, then I would not be standing here a proud woman. He gave his all into everything he did, and his talent wasn’t just writing books, but writing books that gave people hope, that gave people courage, that gave people a reason…” I can’t remember too much more, and if I did I would end up crying.
Then the next day, I couldn’t bear to describe his casket lowering, at his will reading, everything was left to me. In his note he told me to divvy it up whatever way seemed right. He already knew I would help any of our family members, if needed. But there was one more thing he left me, a note.
I’ve been fiddling around this whole time reminiscing about him, but nothing is going to bring him back. Sometimes I wish I could’ve gone with him, but God has his time for all of us and unfortunately mine isn’t here yet. What could God possibly need me to stay here for?
The heartbreak alone makes it hard to sleep at night. Sometimes I will find myself not being able to sleep. I’ve even started to hug a pillow, pretending that it’s him. The thought of him being gone even makes me sick to a point where I throw up, that’s been happening a lot lately. Sometimes I get so excited, because I feel like I’ve woken up from a horrible dream but come to realize that its reality. I know this may sound crazy, but sometimes I try and go through my days and act like he’s off on another book tour. That never last that long though, and the only thing I have to remember him by is his books, this house, and this letter.
This letter is that last thing he wrote, apparently. I never read it because I was afraid of what it was going to say. Actually, what could it say? I guess it was my own fear, because if I read this letter then that’s it, no more Devon.
I have to accept it sooner or later, let’s see what my late husbands final words were to me.
“Dear Timika,
By the time you read this I am probably dead. Sounds very cliché, I know, but it is true. Remember what I told you about cliché in writing? Try to avoid them at all cost, because they are something people hear on the regular. But back to the topic at hand, by the time you read this I will be dead. I told my lawyer to give you this after I was already six feet deep.
First off, I wanted to say that I love you. It was the best decision in my life to marry such a wonderful and ambitious young lady, plus I was happy you looked past my nerd exterior. And I’m glad you gave me the chance to be yours.
My father always told me, ‘Devon, you don’t choose the girl, the girl chooses you’ and I always remember that when I think of you because it makes me feel special. It makes me feel special knowing that YOU chose ME.
You truly are my soul mate, in and out of life, in my case out of life. And I know sometimes you’ll think why couldn’t you have gone with me, but you have a much more important purpose. God gave you a job, and you have to see through it till the end, Timika.
There was a weird feeling I had before I died, I hope that what I’m about to write is true, but I’m hoping that I died with a smile on my face. No, it isn’t because I accepted death, but it knowing that I was accepting death with peace of mind. Peace of mind to the fact that you won’t be alone. I’m not talking about your sister, mother, or my mother, but our unborn child.
Once you read this letter I want you to get tested, if you aren’t completely confident in my words. But that’s why God didn’t let you go with me, he wanted you to stay so you could see our child live, dream, hope, prosper, and grow.
I am a little sad that I won’t be able to see them during this time, but I want you to tell me all about it when you join me in heaven. You can’t leave yet, you still have so many stories to live out and so many to make yourself. So do all that, so by the time you get here I can hear every single one of them.
I’m sorry these are the last words you’ll ever see from me, well at least anything newly written. But I want you to know that I will NEVER stop loving you or my child. And I know that you feel the same way.
Timika, I love you so much and I was honored to have you as my life partner. Goodbye, until you join me in heaven.

Love, Devon”
It’s hard to hold back my tears right now since there already coming, and they won’t stop. I looked down at my stomach and rubbed and felt it move and rumble a little.
This is my, no; this is our child, Devon.
How do you work the magic that you do? How could you have known something like this before me? I knew you were the one for me, Devon. I always knew you were special.
And I’m sure our child will be proud of their father as well.
Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to live out our dreams. Thank you for allowing me to find my purpose in life again. Thank you for guiding me, and taking care of Devon. And thank you for blessing us with a child, one who I can make memories with, one I can see grow and live out there dreams, one who I can only hope will meet someone as special as I did. Thank you.