Daddy Frank

Valerie had long brown hair that flowed down her back and landed just above the plump of her bubble butt. A butt that in middle school got her made fun of by the boys in gym only for the same boys that are now scruffy, dirty red neck men to cat call her when she leaves the bar. Her lips are plump and juicy and the shade of an October Georgia peach and just as sweet. She has thunder in her thighs and lightening in her eyes and all the men watch her closely with anything she does, even taking a deposit to the bank. Which is her favorite thing to do.

Valerie got her hustle from her best friend Ben Frank. That of course wasn’t his real name. His street name because he loved MONEY. And Valerie loved Frank. She loved his smooth deep south dark skin and his accent. She loved how the gold he draped himself with would gleam and the contrast of the gold on his dark skin turned her on. She knew that he set a standard for any man she would ever chose to be with. Not because she loved money, because no, Valerie was a strong praying woman and believed the love of money was the root of all evil. But Valerie knew what it meant to have gold and jewelry and nice clothes. She knew it meant a man worked HARD. And nobody worked as hard as B Frank. And that was her BABY. She loved him like a mother loves a son. Like a lover loves her beau. Like the sun loves the moon and knows she can rest while he’s around. B Frank was the kind of man that would take care of business and he reminded her so much of her own father. But they were on different sides of the law. Her daddy was Captain of the Police department in Melbourne County, Alabama. Everyone in the county obeyed him, everybody except for Valerie. You could always find her in a bar, three sheets to the wind, rolled blunt in her ear, with all the men in the place just bowing to her every whim. She loved the outlaws. She loved the rebels. It was in her blood. See her daddy transferred from Chicago on a drug unit before he was a career boss to Huntsville Alabama where there was a serious heroine issue. He was a fresh 22 and he ran into Valerie’s mother Jonnie Faye at Alabama A & M football game. Jonnie was the head cheerleader for the Bulldogs. She had long blonde hair, straight as a bone just like Valerie and she was a southern bell if there every was one. They fell in love instantly and Captain decided to make his home in the south with his trophy wife and their suppose to be perfect, G fearing children.

All six of the kids turned out to be degenerates. All of the pressure put on them while growing made their egos to be deformed like hunch backs, elephant men, bearded ladies. Freaks of nature. Only to be accepted by the dregs of society. The kings and queens of the outcasts. Because they associate more with the losers and no the winners. Because they only got to see themselves from the eyes of their perfectionist and overbearing father and selfish and self absorbed mother. So they never realized they were actual kings and queens. Too smart for most of society so they were ostracized because of course the ignorant expel what they cannot understand. Try to exterminate what they cannot comprehend. So they all enjoyed putting on a show. Brilliant minds often left unstimulated turn to lives of crime. The excitement is most of the time what gets them. And that’s what it was for Valerie. She did not care about the money. But she loved the thrill.

She breathes in the fall air. She can hear the beating trap music in the distance and the purr of Frank’s hemi engine turning down her block. Here comes the thrill blossoming in a place below her stomach making her feel a warm rush south. It’s the excitement of a run, a hit, a lick. Doing what she’s not suppose to do. It use to be to get back at her father for not giving her enough attention. Now she was just addicted to the thrill of it. Nothing could compare. Not even sex.

Frank pulls up and reaches across the passenger seat of his black Bentley with peanut butter leather seats and pops the door open for her. She gets in the seat, clicks her seatbelt and looks at him. He’s wearing a coke white T, his huge muscles bulging, some black dress shorts, gold watch, three gold chains, gold grill, and gold pinky ring and black Salvatore Ferragamo’s on his feet. “You ready?” He asks Valerie as cigar smoke billows out of the open door. She she grabs the door and pulls it close, grabs the cigar from his lips and takes a slow pull. “yeah.”

They zoom off to the west side. She knows it could be one hour or a week before she will return home. She doesn’t mind. Nothing is waiting for her in that tiny apartment. But the world is waiting for her on the passenger side of his car.

Healing – first steps

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I recently read a meme that said “I could not heal because I kept pretending I wasn’t hurt”

I allow myself so many distractions, my cell phone,

I literally just clicked out of writing this to scroll thru Facebook. Social media is SUCH a distraction. But I will even distract myself by doing daily tasks. I am the kind of person that I do not want to SIT in my pain. I hate being sick I feel like I am a prisoner. But there have been very pivotal moments in my life where I have been ignoring something for so long that the universe really SITS ME ON MY ASS so that I can pay attention to the things I have been ignoring. Makes me conscious to my own toxicity. I believe dealing with these heart issues, that now is really one of those times. I will consume and consume without giving much thought what goes into my body AS LONG AS IT TASTES good. That’s like drinking watermelon flavored poison. I really have been thinking about my decisions and my future. I was doing so well for so long being conscious of every little thing that I was doing, financially, spiritually, eating, sleeping, but it just became all so overwhelming trying to track and trace every little decision so I kind of just gave up on everything because I allowed myself to be distracted BY A MAN. And the universe knows this is my greatest weakness is men. I become so obsessive. Trying to find validation in men, trying to seek love from men. Trying to MEAN SOMETHING to a man. My existence cannot be validated from anyone other than myself. I recently have been reflecting on so many things I have not forgiven my father for, all of this pent up resentment inside of myself because of mean and hurtful things he has said to me. BUT EVEN THAT is just a distraction. See, the shadows try to trip you up with old things you thought you laid to rest, especially when you become stronger, and you’ve already overcome those things. I want to blame all of these negative feelings on my past, on my father, my mother, past lovers, past hurts, past offenses. BUT I AM THE ONE ALLOWING THE FEELINGS. I must resist. I must not ignore though. I think That you can’t just say “oh yeah, I am over it” and just keep saying that to yourself until you convince yourself you believe it but the problem is still riding on your back. You have to acknowledge. Acknowledging is YOU taking back that power. So, here I am dissecting the issues. Was I given enough love and attention when I was a child? Absolutely not. Do I have a healthy relationship with my parents? Absolutely not. But I can sit here and cry about it until the day they die and then be devastated I never got the chance. But I recently told my father, “hey, I need consistency from you. I need to know you want a relationship with me and that you care about me.” That was a HUGE step for me. And realizing that I have to release all of this anger that I have towards him BECAUSE HE HAS HIS OWN BATTLES. He has his own broken relationships. He has his own past hurts and past offenses. We so often ignore our own pain so we also ignore the pain of others. We are walking around with our bloody guts in our hands because we are so wounded that when we pass by others that are falling, we cannot even catch them. So, this is going to be a new part of my routine, recognizing and acknowledging my pain so that I can heal. And Also becoming more emboldened to let others know how they inflicted pain on me. So that maybe in return they can have the courage to share with me how I may have inflicted pain on them so that we can both grow together as oppose to going to war with each other to see who can inflict the most pain. So that we can forgive each other and learn our own toxicities and clean our own messes before we infect others.

about generational curses

I have been thinking a lot lately about generational curses. I allow the shadow to get me so distracted from the light. I will have every single intention to write but I will get on my phone, check all my social media, remember to text someone, get a call, think of chores I need to get done. I swear, I can never remember more vividly what I need to accomplish more than when I am trying to write! And I keep thinking about generational curses. And how do we break generational curses if we cannot figure out what they are specifically? But I believe that the more we study ourselves, the more we will be able to identify those curses within ourselves. I have been so reluctant to write about this for so long because I believed that these were stories that were not my own so I had no right to tell them; this is my story though. This is the makeup of me, my history. The things that were accomplished, the origin of what makes me who I am. My grandfather had an immigrant mother. She did not speak English. She would read the newspaper and pick out words to learn, she would translate them and that is how she taught herself English. They were poor. Like real life poor, homeless. My grandfather vowed to himself that he would never allow his children to see the things he saw or have the experiences he had. He strove for a greater life, and he accomplished it. His experiences hardened him like a warrior. He had three soldiers as sons. The eldest being my father. I don’t know what it is about a girl and her daddy but I swear that man can do NO wrong. And because I felt like this, I overlooked a lot of very toxic behaviors that I considered “normal” because they were my experience. And when you are a child, you know nothing else of the world except your own experience. I really did not understand that it was not a common experience until I was older. My father was incredibly controlling. I grew up in the middle of a corn field. My father is from the city. My grandmother use to joke that we were the “children of the corn.” Hahaha I will never forget that. My father had his own experiences with witnessing the worst of people’s shadow self in the city so he wanted to make sure that his children were protected. But I was not socialized until about the age of 13. I was homeschooled with a Christian curriculum so I literally knew nothing about anything except the Bible. I LOVED TO READ tho… my mother would take us to the library a few times a week and I would get 3-5 books every time and finish them within hours. My brain could not get enough words. I could travel all over the world from the corner of my living room. We use to have this coffee table and I would put a blanket over it and lay under it or lay under the dining room table and read my books. I had no other place to be alone in my house. I had 5 siblings so it wasn’t exactly peace and quiet. It’s crazy how your tribe has such understanding for you because of all your shared experiences. I don’t believe anyone in this world understands me more than my siblings. I was the only fire sign, so I got left out a lot. My father was an earth sign, along with my best friend/sister that was directly under me in age, and also my baby brother. My mother, my oldest brother and my younger sister are air signs. And my baby sister, the funniest of us all is a water sign. When I was younger I never understood how she was the only one who could calm me when I was in a complete rage like she did until when She was about 15 and I about 24 started getting into astrology and figured out our elements and how they respond to one another.

GENERATIONAL BLESSINGS I HAVE INHERITED:
Intelligence
Creativity
Discernment of spirits
My grandmother and my mother would call them “visionettes” which was basically being able to see something that is going to happen before it happens to warn those in need. Or like seeing the outcome of a certain situation to be able to prepare the family. Or being able to see something thats wrong that people don’t know about yet. Like, they had “visionettes” about my sister having a girl before we did the gender reveal for my niece. That’s just a small example.
Perseverance through excruciating circumstances
Faith
Abundant love
Generosity
A heart to help others
A colossal love for music
Selflessness
Humility
Determination
Decisiveness
The ability to think quickly on my feet
The ability to stay calm in a state of crisis
Leadership
The gift of story telling
I will add to this list as I think of more

GENERATIONAL CURSES I HAVE INHERITED:
The demanding need for control
Easily angered
Easily distracted
Manipulation to seek for my own will
Sharp tongue
Emotionally distant or unavailable
Hold a grudge (for literally forever)
Not tell people my true feelings about them to protect my own heart/ feeling like I am giving them control if I let them know how much they mean to me.

So, as you can see the good wayyyyy outweighs the bad. BUT the bad is still bad. These are things I seek to remedy inside of my soul. So, embarking on this journey to rectify the things I want to break with this generation. But I will stand up and say NO MORE. I want to be very honest with myself in admitting these faults and even bad characteristics I have picked up that started with MY generation that I do not want to pass down to the following generations. I think that identifying the problems are definitely the first step. So, maybe you could create a list like this too. And of course as you think of more things you can add it. But the things that come first to your mind are probably the biggest things you can start to slowly work on. At least, that’s what I am going to do.

12.6

I think I am avoiding writing because I honestly don’t want to think about you. It’s been days since I walked away and I do not even know if I will ever see or hear from you again. 18 months meant a lot to Ty Dolla $ign but I am afraid it doesn’t mean shit to you. “Although my heart can’t take no more, I keep on running back to you.” 
I can never tell who has the bigger right to be mad. All the ways you betrayed my trust and left me out in the cold to fend for myself. But yet you always thought you were protecting me. I am so furious at you. You have done and said things that I would have never thought would come from you. But I know I drive you crazy. I know you don’t understand me because sometimes I do not even understand myself. But when I look at you, I can’t help but love you. I keep expecting you to peek around the corner and do something to annoy the shit out of me. But you’re not going to. And how am I just suppose to forget about all of this? You say you don’t care. How could you just not care? Love is not suppose to keep a record of wrong, but after I saw all the things you said about me… you’re a coward. You were writing about how horrible I was when I was writing love letters and poems. Why must I continually go through this cycle? I have elevated. I have ascended beyond this behavior. Why is it still a struggle to find a man to be equally yoked with? Does he exist? It’s like either a man child, a cheating whore, a mama’s boy, an asshole, or a closeted homosexual. Where are the men of valor? Where are the gladiators? Why do they all trick me into thinking they are then they just turn at the first sight of war? Sometimes I can’t help but think it’s my fault? I am suppose to be the queen that speaks to the king in him. I find myself losing patience and engaging in the childish games. Practice what you preach, girl. How do I break these generational curses if I am too afraid to identify them? I look at my parents relationship and how they were CONSTANTLY fighting. Never any peace. That’s not the life I want to live. 18 months literally drained the life out of me. I do not want to blame the heart issues I am having solely on this but I know if has to be a huge contributing factor. The stress, the resentment, the unforgiveness. What is the Author’s purpose? Do I learn to love and forgive him? Or do I love and forgive myself by walking away from the toxicity? It’s not my job to change him. It’s not my responsibility to heal him. He has to heal himself. But my heart misses him so much. I need more answers and I just keep getting more questions. I am trying to seek first the kingdom, but I feel like I have been on community service duty picking up all the trash in the ditches around the kingdom. LET ME IN!!!! You can show up to this party anytime you wish, Universe, we’d appreciate the help.