Enough

Enough

I'm tired of being your pastime
Somebody to do until someone better comes along

The for right now girl
The one who isn't imagined in the future
My role as an adventure
A cool chick
But not someone for a commitment
The fun one, the raw one
The doncha wish your girlfriend was just like one
But not the girlfriend kinda one

And when I'm in the paper
And when you hear me on the radio
Or you see me on the TV
You can say to your friends

That used to be MY GYAL
or I know her
or I dated her
or I fucked her
or she was crazy about me
or she loved me

And when they ask you
“Why not anymore?”
What will you say?
She wasn't spontaneous enough
Underneath a building
In an alleyway
In the rain
Or she wasn't open enough
In high heels
Full body fishnet
Kama Sutra oil
Or she wasn't enough
Simultaneous orgasms
Good, game, and giving
Pushing personal boundaries

Where will you find what's right here, in one woman?

'Cause only you won't see it
Heard it so many times, it's like a mantra
“He didn't know how good he had it”
But someday this woman will be enough for one man
And one good man is all I need.



4:05am 19 November 2009 on school trip to Dangriga, bus on Hummingbird Highway
Should have listened to my second thoughts then... a pre-exorcism poem...

God Is Not a Woman

She would not have permitted Her daughters to suffer so
She would not have made a tree of knowledge and forbade Her sister from partaking
She would not have punished Her women for expressing their sexuality
Permitted chastity belts, public stoning, and clitoral circumcision

She would not have created those in Her image to be tormented by unrealistic standards of beauty
To be ravaged by anorexia and bulimia
Disfigured by binding shoes and devices
Molded by girdles and push up bras
Mutilated by a plastic surgeon’s knife

She would not allow the companion She made for us
To impregnate us and then abandon
To make us feel shame
To dominate us
To brutalize us with his fist, his foot, his penis

She would not have made us the spoils of wars and the souvenirs of serial killers
She would not have allowed our fathers, and uncles, and cousins, and brothers, and neighbors, and priests to destroy our innocence

And She would not have allowed us to pick up where our men left off
Abusing our sons and daughters
Rejecting our mothers
Scratching the eyes out of our sisters

No, God, is most definitely NOT a woman

6:02am bus to Dangriga – Garifuna Settlement Day (19 Nov 2009) school trip

Me and My Two Dorothys
Dorothy of my father to the left
Dorothy of my mother to the right
Me age 11, day of Catholic confirmation

One of my first poems that I kept....

Dorothy à Deux


I had two Dorothys growing up
How could one girl be so lucky?

I surpassed them both in height when I was 10 years old
The similarities end there

The Dorothy of my father was short, round, feminine
Rarely saw her out of a dress – she looked funny feeding the cats in Grandpa’s pants and rubber boots
Her cookie jar was always full of homemade goodies
She didn’t raise her voice
She didn’t raise a fuss
She spoiled us terribly
She said the rosary every day of her life; she carried a beautiful one in her purse
She relied on the kindness of others for transportation
She didn’t like to make waves

The Dorothy of my mother was short, not quite round, not necessarily feminine
Rarely saw her in a dress – she looked different at weddings and funerals and such
Her cookie jar was always full of store-bought goodies
She’d raise her voice
She’d raise a fuss
She didn’t spoil anyone
She might have said the rosary privately; she didn’t advertise
She drove all over the godforsaken country going where she wanted, when she wanted
And please, don’t criticize her driving, just hold the hell on!
She didn’t care about making waves

I said goodbye to the Dorothy of my father when I was 13, the weekend of my primary school graduation

But I wasn’t alone, the Dorothy of my mother was right there
She was with me, tanning in the backyard, talking about hot men to find at the mall
She took my mind off the pain of the first Dorothy’s passing

Who will take my mind off today?

My father’s Dorothy was the Dorothy of my childhood
My mother’s Dorothy was the Dorothy of my adolescence, adulthood
I needed them both
I still do

One taught me unconditional love, caring for family and animals, kindness, gentleness, Godliness

One taught me self-reliance, confidence, strength, independence, unconditional love, Humanness

Both made me, Me

Dorothy, Dottie,
Dottie, Dorothy,
Me


April 2005
This poem was written when the Dorothy of my mother was dying. I still miss them very much.

My Poetry

Like most people, I began writing poetry in the midst of adolescence. After some years as a "grow up", I threw out all those angsty little tidbits and decided that poetry was the thing of drama queens and literary giants, one of which I not longer wanted to be and the other that I never believed I could attain. Some years back, while teaching English at Muffles Junior College, I was complaining about how much I despised proctoring final examinations because of the boredom of walking around, saying nothing, for 2 consecutive hours. A co-worker of mine suggested I write a poem, so then I began writing only during final examinations and joked that I would produce an anthology when I retired called, "The Final Poem". Then something magical happened in August 2008, really magical because I can't identify the trigger. I began writing poetry in earnest. And some of it wasn't half bad. For a brief time, I was nearly obsessed with poetry, even thinking poetically. It was a bit disturbing, but I seem to have found a balance between working, living, and poetry. I will start sharing them here. All poems posted on this blog are created by me unless otherwise cited. Any comments would be appreciated.