Write me a letter, will ya?

Sometimes I know. Sometimes I don’t. This time I don’t. But the word choice is not accidental. Just let it happen.

​Dear Mrs. -,

If you were to write a letter, what would you say? What story would you share? What color-filled portrait would you paint?

If you were to sing a tune, would it be a happy piece? Or would you sing a verse so raw that you connect the souls of your listener and takes him on the journey?

What if I wrote a heart on your arm? What would you think it means?

What if I said you were wrong?

Cause you are.

Because it means nothing.

Because if it meant something, then this would be heavy. It would burden your heart, plague your mind. Make you question every interaction. Consume your body, envelop your soul.

Like it has mine.

Like snippets of a song without a connecting rhythm or building a harmony without melody. Memories accessed like the second verse of a tune but you’ve forgotten the chorus. So you make up your own. And it fits! But it’s not right.

Because it means nothing.

So I’ll draw you a letter. Fill it with fictions of my journey. Tales with no moral. Filmy paintings muting vibrant landscapes.

Because you mean everything to me.

– x



I don’t know. There was just something about him. 

He was cute.

He had that air of “street smart” about him, which isn’t bad, per se.

He was confident; that’s for sure.

True, he made me feel comfortable, but I just didn’t know him like that.

Heck, he was even into baseball! (See, Chamomile, black people DO like baseball.)

But when he leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, I flinched. Jumped back en garde, really, but same concept. We weren’t there yet; my instincts kicked in.

Although, for once, I think I wanted to be there. 

And he knew. He could see it. Maybe he huffed a little, but mostly he laughed.

“I don’t know you.”

He huffed a little, but mostly he laughed.

“I’ll see you at the game?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Mississippi State, LSU. It will be a good game.”

“Ugh, baseball,” chimed my sister.

Bags were shuffled as we prepared to part ways. For now. 

Somehow he ended up in front of me again. No real reason. No real distance. We’re eye level. Before then, I never realized he was my height. Sorry, future kids. Eyes locked, he leaned in again, slowly, this time not aiming for cheek. Daring, confident. Cause he knew. For once, I wanted to. Almost there.

That hand popped up just in time. Instinct. Maybe he huffed a little, but mostly he laughed. 

“Friday,” he said then walked away.

Cause he knew.

**And then I woke up. Have you ever tried to restart a dream? It doesn’t work. Anyways, leave comments, questions, feedback, recipes below.**

I am from…

Okay, I am giddily excited about this here poem; I love it so!

One time, I snuck out of the lab to attend a Creativity Boot Camp sponsored by some portion of Vanderbilt (Peabody?). I attended a session on writing, where we were introduced to techniques to help our writing flow. Our final prompt was to create a poem on “I Am From”, in the vein of Minton Sparks (who got it from George Ella Lyons). This was my creation; I love it so!

I am from laughter around the dining table,

silenced by Pader.

I am from tucking-ins by my Seester til I’m snugasabuginarug

I am from climbing on my momma’s back while she squats in the kitchen

I am from playing on that upright piano to my one audience member

I am from sticking out in class

for my skin

THEN my brain

I am from sticking out in church for much of the same

I am Dr. Adebiyi’s daughter and Mrs. Iyabo’s;

“Oh, we love her!”

I am a baby sister,

the brains of my smart family

I am playing alone

cause everyone is busy

I am from

where does that go” and

what does this button do

I am from faraway lands like New York and LA,

tucked in my bed with a cover over my head

I am from lands where witches and vampires roam with werewolves, chimera, rat men, so on…

I am from computers and bookshelves, cartoons and music

I am from small town Mississippi,

Starkville and Pheba

I am from big cities,

Atlanta, Huntsville, and Houston

I am from mother’s side,

head in her lap

I am from being sent to bed for Sunday afternoon nap

I am from a world of numbers and xs and rs

I am from bubble letters and lines and pencils and bricks

I am from spelling bees and academic contests

I am from that one Jr. Miss pageant

I am from MSMS,

that fortress of knowledge

I am from Mississippi State,

my own local college

I am from Mississippi,

both black and white

I am from the South, and I’ll say it with pride.

I am from sweet tea and pulled pork and catfish on Fridays

I am from iyan with obe ila ati chicken and rice

I am from bootcut jeans and t-shirt and hoodies in May

I am from geles and iros ati bubas the same

I am from blue passport to green

all on the same flight

I am from thick coats to thin shirts cause it’s too hot at night

I’m a mix, not a mutt cause I know where I’m from!

I can show you my roots with a slip of muh tongue.

Marriage Relationships in Heaven

DISCLAIMER: I am not a theologian or a preacher. My experience is limited to 12 years in a Christian grade school, 26 years in church, and roughly 4 years of individual study. 

SECOND DISCLAIMER: This is not addressing friend relationships and God’s purposes there. I am expressing my revelation regarding marriage and un-marriage. Here goes nothing!

This wordy word addresses those, like me, who are frustrated with singleness and wonder “when will my life begin”. Let’s not miss life while waiting for life.

Today’s text is from Matthew 22:23-33, where Jesus is questioned by some Sadducees (sect of Jews that adhered strictly and solely to the Torah/Pentateuch and did not believe in resurrection) using a story about a woman married (one at a time) to brothers because they kept dying on her.

When questioned by the Sadducees (cause they were sad, you see) about marriage in the resurrection, Jesus answers, “In the resurrection, [people] neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven” (v. 30).

To be honest, I woke up thinking of a certain friend, for whom I thought I had already stopped holding a candle. Specifically, I thought of what I would do if he finally expressed interest in me.


When I read this passage, it occurred to me that my twenty-six years of singleness is nothing but a twinkle in the eye of eternity. Even if I live to 105, like my great great grandmother, and have a good 60+ years boo-ed up, it is still not even a blink of eternity’s eye. As a child of God facing an eternity with Him, this reality should shift our focus and emphasis on the marriage relationship, namely as follows:

(1) Marriage is a gift. Straight up. God gifts His creation as suits Him. Yes, it benefits us, but it is for His glory in the end. If God has gifted you with marriage, lavish in it, take care of it, keep God in the center, nourish it well, use it to bring God glory. Enjoy honoring God with the help mate that He has provided you.

(2) If God has not yet gifted you with marriage (or you know it is not in His plan for you to be), know that you are getting a glimpse into eternity. You are seeing what it will be like to have our one God as your sole target of devotion, one God to entrust your heart. Use your time wisely to develop a deep level of intimacy where you know the Father’s heart as well as He knows yours.

“There is a season for everything, a time for every matter under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). When we see our lives in light of eternity, may we find peace and hope as we strive to put God first and live TODAY for Him.



Confessions of a Job Seeker

Part one?

My favorite thing about the job hunt (shhh…we’re hunting wabbits) is facing the dread question:


This is, indeed, a million dollar question.

You see, the last time I remember running into me was in undergrad. It was then last that I was around a group of people that knew me and expected me to be me. For five years, we all figured ourself out and each other as well, so the bars we set were the right height, suits custom-tailored to us. To me.

Then I stepped into pseudo real world, and suddenly, there are so many other things to figure out! So to figure out how to maneuver this big girl thing, I had to look through your eyes…Mottled

To figure out how to respond, I had to listen through your ears…

To figure out how to do what you wanted me to need to do, I had to think through your mind

And all the while, I’m expected to just smile and act like it is all alright, like it is what I want because it is what you say.

So now we have reached the point where I’m supposed to be ready to fly on my own and I realize…

I am not me.

I’m not some beautiful butterfly, either. Have I been so coaxed into doing what you want that I have missed on the friction necessary for me to grow
wings? Or maybe I was too busy trying to stay afloat, to keep from being dragged under the current you didn’t even realize you were stirring, that I missed the lessons I needed…

Worse yet, I no longer even remember me or who I wanted me to be.

Now I am on the ground, trying to piece me back together so that I can go…here. No, here. Ugh. (Hashtag: the worst.)

Time to undo the damage and find the me underneath. First, I’ll do my hair however I please, thank you. I’m shedding you and your fashions.

Next, I reclaim my ears. How I hear, how I interpret, let me hone them myself.

Next, I reclaim my eyes. I’m no longer looking through your dusty lenses only where you suggest.

And last? Well, the last step is…



Wet ‘n Wild

This is a story about closure. It is written in a First Person point of view (POV) in the form of a letter. Enjoy (or not). Comment (or not). Share (or nah).


-~-(@ @)-~-

Dear John,

I finally did it; I drove back to the spot where it all began.

Well, truth be told, I drove past the spot, then back to town, then bucked up and drove back to it.

To the lake, where it all began.

Do you remember? It was a group of us, late at night, sittin’ on the dock of the bay. Listen to you play that ol’ six string.

Wish you would hold me in your arms like that Spanish Guitar…

No, let’s not go down that road again. See, it started small. You know, everything starts small. But then it grew and spiraled and…

That’s not important now. No, what’s important is to know is that…well, I’m finally letting you go.

I mean, not for good or rather, not completely or…ugh, this is a mess.

Let me start over.

No, let me just summarize.

Heck, let me just explain.

Most people have a “friend zone” reserved for people with no chance. You have been in my “friend zone” except since I want to marry my best friend, my “friend zone” is not actually for people with no chance. That “no chance zone” is my “brother zone”, named such because (a) I have severe little sister tendencies and (b) marriage of your brother is illegal in ALL 50 states (including Arkansas).

Driving out to the lake tonight, I was honestly scared.

What would I meet?

What deep truths of that pivotal moment would be revealed?

Would I get shot for being an unknown black person dressed in dark clothing in the middle of the country? (That was the big one…let’s be honest.)

When I finally pulled up, though…

Well, there is an amusement park now. In fact, I’m pretty sure the dock is gone.

Like, completely.

Years of tortorous musings. Gone.

Semisweet memories. Gone.

Imagined exchanges. Gone.

Rather than feeling sadness, I was hit with such a giddy sense of release. It was as if I finally got the sign I needed to return to normal. To where we were before. To put you back in the “brother zone”.

Because I need you there.

I need you here.


This may not make sense to you. In fact, I know you won’t get it because I am not sending it. But it makes sense to me.

Finally, I am free.


Jane in Austin

-‘-<# #>-‘-


Once you crumple your flower, you cannot smooth it out again. In case you were curious about the before and after flowers. Thoughts? Questions? Concerns? If you’re going to send me to Willowbrook, please send me to the one in Houston, TX. Ciao.

Corner of Concord and Nolensville

This story is the first in the category of “shorty shorts”. Like a good short story, you will be dropped into the life of the main character. Unlike a good short story, you will not leave feeling any level of fulfillment. Or maybe you will…I don’t know. Anywho, enjoy!

She walks at a controlled pace, sweater held well above her head to catch the rain and keep the collecting water from her still-mostly-straight hair. She opens the paint-frosted door.

“Welcome to Starbucks,” drone the tired workers. It is 8:00 on a Saturday night. This is not the most exciting place to be.

She peaks behind the counter and then claims the spot in the corner, not completely hidden from the counter but certainly not in direct sight. She wants to test a theory – can he sense that she is there?

She pulls out her laptop and begins to boot it – finger swipe up, type in the password – she opens a document to type and pass some time. After fifteen minutes, her curiosity is piqued, nerves frayed, and thirst heightened. She caves and walks to the counter to place an order.

“What will it…“ he finally looks up. “Oh, it’s you,” he says in that warm baritone with a smile. “Great to see you. What brings you here?”

“Ya know, bummin’ the free wi-fi. Plus I’m slightly in love with the peach green tea lemonade…” (along with other things, she thinks to herself) “…but I’m curious if it will taste just as good without the added syrup.”

“Sure, would you like anything else with that?”


“Ok, that will be [insert unreasonably high price here. Stupid Starbucks.].”

She pulls out a Starbucks gift card to pay, the transaction is completed, and he starts on the cup of liquid Summer, “special-made” for her.

“How long are you staying in here?”

“Not sure yet. Probably until my computer starts freaking out and I get frustrated enough to call it quits.”

“Oh ok,” he says as he hands her the red cup. “See you later.”

“Yeah,” she softly closes, as she walks back to her spot in the corner, not completely hidden from the counter but certainly not in direct sight.

Thoughts? Questions comments concerns? Let me know in the comment section belooooowww…