Welcome to Moody Monday, where I let my mood dictate what I write. This is the last Moody Monday for awhile before I delve into other planned topics. Tonight, my mood dictated a short poem, entitled Villain.
Go ahead, paint my picture dirty, make yourself feel more worthy. But your vision is blurry because you were in a hurry and forgot some details of the actual story. You are the villain, that was chillin’ waiting for your chance to spread distorted tales about me. You were evil and wicked with your intentions to destroy me but that was your first fallacy, you are just projecting, and that is clearly affecting how you feel about me. Let me serve you some tea, the first cup, I will gladly give for free. You can’t destroy what doesn’t belong to you, and that’s on everything.
Welcome to Heart-Throbbing Thursday. Where I share creepy stories. This next story is a gem that I created in my pretty little head.
The nightmares slowly started to subside and I was starting to have restful sleep. Everything was starting to go back to normal, or so I thought. In the backyard was where I usually played with my dog, Beauty. I knew the backyard like the back of my hand. I would joyfully play out there for hours by myself and love every minute of it. I would make up games just to make my backyard experience even better. One day, I made up a game called the blind game ( original I know), is where I would test my memory on how well I know my way around the backyard with my eyes closed. The backyard consisted of a bunch of cars that no longer functioned and an old decrepit garage, in the back of the garage was a walk space between the garage and fence, that’s where I wanted to test my abilities the most, I successfully made my way back there until I tripped and fell over a stump and hit my head. As I awakened from brief slumber, I started to notice everything was gray. As I walked towards the house I realized my dog wasn’t in the backyard. I heard no cars pass by or people talking,just dead silence. I made my way to the basement, when I opened the door, I noticed that all of our storage was gone. I ran upstairs to see what happened when I was playing outside, I discovered there wasn’t anyone in the house, all of our things were missing. I sat there alone on the cold, hard floor with my racing thoughts. I couldn’t understand what happened, what could have gone wrong? As I sat there puzzled, I suddenly was parched, I looked in the refrigerator to see if there was anything drinkable left, after the happening . To my surprise, there was one gold bottle. I was perplexed, because I knew my mom has never purchased water that looked like this. Desperate to quench my thirst, I grabbed the fancy bottle of water anyway and drink it all within seconds. After I drank the water, I started to feel nauseous and dizzy. I laid on the floor hoping to soon recuperate, but I became so fatigued, I fell asleep. Suddenly I woke up, to my dog licking me in the backyard…..
Tune in next Thursday for the final story before Halloween!
Welcome to Moody Monday where I allow my mood to dictate what I write. Tonight, I will be sharing what happens to empathic women who are in relationship with toxic, narcissistic men..
Have you ever met a man that had “potential” but rough around the edges? A man that you began to fall in love with what he could be so you attempt to fix and save him? A man that has revealed to you glimpses of disrespect but you simply brush it off because you realize that he is still in repair from all of the “wrong” the world has done to him? I have and it feels like a spiraling rollercoaster. At first, it’s exciting that you are helping someone that really needs it but then you experience the repercussions of a narcissist who only cares about how they are affected by a situation but completely disregards your emotional health. How being the empath you are, you simply don’t want to give up on someone that you are trying to love but are yet conflicted with how much emotional games you have to endure. He says sorry for being disrespectful and calling you out your name but continues to do it days later. The awful feeling you experience when he punishes you for having emotions and feelings that don’t align with his agenda. Then the isolation begins. He starts to slowly disconnect you from your family and friends to have more power over you until you feel weak and hopeless. You are the villain if you try to leave and he is the victim trying to convince you that you are always wrong and can never do anything right and no one could ever love you like him. You slowly lose yourself. One day you don’t even recognize yourself and your whole world has deteriorated in front of your eyes. Let me tell you something, when you start to feel you don’t know yourself while being in a toxic relationship, run. A gaslighting gangster is not someone you should try to fix but a person you should disengage from immediately to avoid any baggage, unnecessary hurt and trauma from it. Run girl, and never look back…..
Welcome to Heart-Throbbing Thursday when I share creepy stories that actually happened to me or the gems that I create in my head. Tonight, I will share an actual experience during my childhood that will give you chills and make your heart-throb.
I was about 9 or 10 years old when I received this brown hair pale-faced porcelain doll. It was at church, when this doll came to live with me. A lady who thought kindly of me gifted me this porcelain creepy doll being the respectful Christian girl that I was, I quietly thanked her and went about my holy day. When my family and I finally arrived home for the day it was still daytime and the doll didn’t look as scary as I initially thought. As the day slowly went into the evening, it was mandatory to get ready for bed to prepare for Monday morning. The doll, that was placed on my sister’s and I dresser when we arrived home, was carefully placed by the foot of my bed on the bookshelf safely hiding her creepy glass eyes. I climbed into bed anticipating a restful sleep. All tucked in I used to put my feet out at the edge of the bed to better sleep. It wasn’t until the middle of the night when I started to feel strange, I sluggishly got up and went to the bathroom came back and positioned myself to sleep the same way I always have, as I was about to enter the REM sleep cycle I felt a slight tug on my foot, I quickly jolted out of my blankets. Confused, I thought it could have been my sister but she was sleeping on the opposite wall. Trying to take deep breaths to calm myself down, I decided I was just imagining things and decided to position myself back in my comfortable spot. It couldn’t have been 5 minutes later my feet were jerked to the foot of my bed. Frightened, I clammed up and curled into a ball, tightened the blankets over my head and patiently waited to fall asleep. Morning came, and I carefully looked over the foot of my bed to examine the area where my doll rested. I found nothing strange so I moved on forgetting about the previous night until nighttime arrived and I became more scared when it was time to go to sleep. Over the course of a week, I experienced creepy events like my feet being tickled, being pulled again, struggling to be free from the hands at the edge of my bed. Finally, I was tired of the restless nights and I decided to rid myself of this doll. Within my house, I found a pillowcase I shoved the creepy doll in it and smashed it against the wall. I didn’t want anyone to know what I experienced, so I threw the doll in the back right corner of the top shelf in the closet and closed the door. After that, I never had those horrific experiences ever again, well, with that doll. I truly believe that there was a spirit of a child trapped or an evil spirit trying to bring fear in my life, within the porcelain doll. The moral of the story, don’t accept “gifts” from strangers when you don’t the history or the spirits that are attached.
Welcome to Heart-Throbbing Thursday where I share a creepy story in the spirit of Halloween. Tonight, I will be sharing a story based on true events. A story that will leave you with goosebumps..
After the horrifying experience I witnessed the night before, paranormal activity was starting to occur every night for a month straight with only me witnessing it. I anxiously asked my whole family that resided in the same house as me, if they experienced anything peculiar at night and they all declined. I crept through each day in fear of what nightfall may bring. Each night, I experienced something unusual and creepy. I would feel fingers crawling on me, or my leg being pulled, creepy noises or horrifying figures in the corner of my shared room. Every morning, I would wake up exhausted and absolutely petrified of what occurred the nights prior. I felt like a zombie dragging through the day to only meet my doom at night. I persistently asked God to protect me, but apparently I was meant to experience these happenings because God didn’t grant my wish. I felt cursed, haunted and set apart from reality. Nothing or no one could save me from having this constant nightmare. I was miserable and felt the need to isolate myself from everyone because I was different. I was the secret witch of the family. I was officially alone in this, and frightened. I question during the day how long will this last? When will I be rescued from this dark hell that I am living when the sun goes down? I thought I found redemption when I didn’t experience anything paranormal for a week, until the 8th night, when I witnessed the most malevolent, wicked and corrupt being that I have ever seen…..
Welcome to Moody Monday, where my mood dictates what I write. Today, I am sharing a think piece that I wrote about my natural hair. For a big chunk of my life, I hated how I looked, especially my mane. It took me years to actually practice self-love and to accept all aspects of myself, including my hair.
Growing up black in the 90s, you were conditioned to succumb to the European social standards and almost forced to believe that having straight relaxed hair was the way to be fully accepted by all society. Yet, with this insatiable compromise came another form of ridicule, coming in close contact with water. If your hair was relaxed, it’s almost impossible to be near pools, rain or even sprinklers freely without the restraint of relaxed hair. White friends wouldn’t fully understand this dreaded dilemma and would often ridicule black friends and label them high maintenance because the relaxed hair would become ruined if drenched with water. Grease! Having relaxed hair caused the scalp to become dry which required hair grease (preferably blue magic) and if not managed properly it could stain everything. In order to support this relaxed hair, a bonnet at night was mandatory to wear, if not worn, negative consequences would be revealed in the morning. Ultimately, there has been this silent shame to having relaxed hair because of restrictions, not having the “good” hair that white people or other ethnic groups possess. To keep a good job “acceptable” hairstyles were mandatory within the black community. There were even examples presented at job sites displaying white hairstyles like blonde straight hair and banning black hairstyles such as braids or Afros. Present day, it has still been a struggle for the black community to become comfortable in their skin and accept their identity. Having natural hair for a black person is deemed in society as ugly, nappy and unkempt. But why? Why is the natural hair that grows out of a black person’s head not acceptable and other ethnic groups are? Why does this hair texture bring shame? In Africa, before slavery even took place, a black person’s hair represented the tribe they came from and who they truly were. It gave them purpose and identity. In Africa, warriors and kings had cornrows. During slavery, cornrows and braids was the fashion as a map to finally escape their masters’ property. Black natural hairstyles have such a rich deep culture that it should no longer be held hostage in the shadows, but rather embraced and celebrated. Black natural hair is unique and versatile, the texture has such variety. By understanding the history behind black natural hair, I, as a black woman, am no longer ashamed to wear my kinky curly hair. I embrace, love and take care of it. The rain is no longer my enemy but my loving, close friend. I refuse to succumb to European social standards, but will fully welcome the standards of my sacrificing ancestors, which is natural, free and proud. Oppression and ridicule is no longer a lingering fear of mine but rather a breakthrough. My natural hair, my mane, my glory is my true identity and sets me apart and makes me recognized and my beauty revealed. I am free and invincible with my natural hair, as my identity, my culture.
Tonight I will be sharing a horribly true story of the time I heard those damned witches in my ear….
I was 13, and the paranormal happenings weren’t occurring as much and I was finally starting to feel some sort of normal. Well, until the day I saw a scary movie. I watched it with my sister in our room when it was dark. I don’t even remember what the movie was about or what it was called. I only remember how it made me feel, dreadful. I remember I didn’t want to turn off the tv to go to sleep. I was anxious for no reason. As I was falling asleep I felt dark energy surrounding my bed giving me the most unsettling feeling that I could ever have. The next morning I was surprised that I didn’t have any nightmares. The following night when I was about to go to sleep I felt the same unsettling feeling I felt the night before that disappeared as soon as I was completely asleep. I woke up the next day and still didn’t have any nightmares, shrugged it off and assumed I was spared. But the third night, the unsettling feeling became stronger, darker and heavier and this time I couldn’t fall asleep so easily. I tossed and turned, fell asleep briefly but woke up abruptly, in panic, until about 3 am, suddenly I felt terrified. I began to hear yelling in the streets at the back of my house and it became louder as each second passed. My body started to shake as the noise that eventually turned into to evil laughter like witches would have, in the streets at the back of my house. Laughter grew louder and louder until it became too freakishly close that it felt like they were right next to me. I quivered as my legs and body began to rise just slightly above my bed and was quickly dropped. I couldn’t even scream for help because of the fear that overcame me. Some how, I was able to fall asleep after that haunting experience, I woke up and was relieved that it was morning. I knew from then on that I was different and not like other girls my age.
Tune in next Thursday for your heart to be throbbed!
Welcome lovelies to Moody Monday where I allow my mood to dictate what I share. Today, I will be sharing another poem! This poem inspired me to not give up, regardless of the naysayers. I hope this brings inspiration to you as well.
I woke up broken. All that was left of me was stolen, chosen for someone else. Used and discreetly abused, nobody got the clue, no one supposedly knew that I wasn’t at my best. I stood out from the rest, they were jealous, jealous for the glow that was in my chest. They saw my beautiful mess and they were reluctantly impressed. I put them to the test with my dark, fear took over them and they became restless, and their tongue, sharp. However, I refuse to harp on the recent past. I am from the present. Here, I am sitting alone, cold and unknown with a fire raging from within. Who I am is apparently a sin and they mustn’t see me win. Bets were cast to see me give in. That could never happen. My soul is a warrior and fortress that can withstand anything, whatever life sends. I was born for this.
Tune in next Monday to find out what my mood instructs me to share!
Welcome to Moody Monday, mamas, where I let my mood dictate what I write. Today, I felt like sharing a poem that I have previously written. I wrote this a few months after I lost my dad.
Sitting here, waiting for my dad to appear to tell me everything’s alright and to not give up the fight, wishful thinking. Thinking back, about all of the things that I thought I lacked but just never knew I had, hard lessons. The hurt, my recent suffering is burning and wanting more of me, current events. The truth that I see right in front of me but I’m having difficulty embracing, growing pains. Being blind all this time and wanting something that was never really mine, full acceptance. Realizing that I am the hero of my story, and no longer need a male figure to save me, life -changing. Progressing even when progression was inevitable, to reach the next level to achieve the unbelievable, stubborn determination. The strength that was given to me from the pain and sweat of my ancestors’ brow, an epiphany, that I will hold onto and move in a way that will make them proud, somehow.
My favorite season has finally arrived! I thought the best way to appreciate it as well as the upcoming holiday is to share spooky stories (fictional/nonfictional) until Halloween. I have had a lot of creepy experiences and created a few more in my head. I figured I’d share some of those stories to help get you more in the mood for fall. Bring a blanket and some hot tea this coming Thursday, for a creepy story time, you will have chills and your heart will definitely throb after reading it. Stayed tuned for next Thursday!