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Meeting God Where He Is…

MeCryingMy soul is heavy with the burden of mistrust.  How can I possibly trust myself again when I have failed myself so many times before?  I often sit in prayer, as I have this morning, in wonder of why I was given this capacity to love, to hurt, to feel…

Why have I chosen the broken, becoming only successful in breaking myself.


This is your grief.  Your depression, your disappointing childhood.  I have no right to it.  Someone dug a hole in you and you’re no longer whole.  Take back your nasty, dirty imperfections so that I can live my life without the remnants of you on my soul.  I placed my desires into the wrong baskets.  I didn’t see the holes along the bottom…or maybe I fooled myself into believing I was enough to fill them.  My spirit woke me this morning with an undeniable desire to purge.  I had successfully avoided this for so long…avoided this overflow, this pain.  I knew that I was off kilter, but considering all you two put me through, I truly believed myself unscathed…until my world came crashing down this morning.  Every nasty little thing you’d done to me resurfaced.  Every little stupid decision I made trying to get our love to return to its former glory…but then I realized something…you both had sent your representatives.  You were never the men you pretended to be.  You just knew how to keep it up until I was utterly fooled into believing that that’s who you were.

Today I am taking responsibility for allowing my desire to be loved drown out the warning signs.  The tell-tale signs that I ignored in the name of love.  The proof of your aggression…the truth of your lies…the boldness of your bully…the fact that your violence was domestic.Hear My Call

Jill has done it again.  She is singing my soul.  She has no idea that she has ushered me back to God.  My heart is singing without use of my mouth, beating steadily inside of my chest.  I allowed you to feed on me.   To the point where I was no longer me.  I just want to return to the me I use to be.  I have missed her.

I have risen at 5:01 am, beating the sun.  My spirit is still walking in the night before.  My weeping has put in overtime, joy has called in sick this morning.  My life has had snippets of sun and endless midnight.  I have grown very tired of trying to handle this on my own…in the words of Jill Scott…GOD, PLEASE HEAR MY CALL…

I have met someone.  He feels like that life love every little girl longs for.  He seems like that man for me.  This morning, I cried at the thought.  Could I be wrong?  I remember feeling that for both husbands.  My 1st husband when I was 25 and anxious to begin the fairy tale of HMC2a life I knew I deserved.  My second husband when I was 36 and racing the clock to be a mother again…now at 41, here I am again…in love.  But I do not trust me.  To make a sound decision.  To love and be loved fully.  Because I’d been eating loves scraps, I am unsure of love’s full meal.  Is he what I prayed for?  Is he joy disguised in night-time morning?  I am afraid for me.  For the 1st time ever, afraid of love.  Bruised and broken…Lord, I need your healing…





What an experience…I made it through.  The HARLEM BOOK FAIR was everything and nothing I expected.  I was out there from 9am until a quarter to 6 and I was exhausted by days end.  Due to the conservative nature of my books, I only sold 5 copies all day.  On a lighter note (and it definately was a lighter note) My son Elijah sold over $225.00 in water, Gatorade and Sobe!!!!  YEAH ELIJAH!!!!

What I found out was that there are thousands upon thousands of people writing and reading.  The most powerful thing happening on Saturday was the networking.  There were people from all over who would not ordinarily have the platform or the opportunity to meet one another.  Aside from the heat, it was truly phenomenal.  The networking was off the chain.

 Here are a few of the people I ran into, as well as information for upcoming events that were handed out at the fair:  THE WOMEN’S HEALTH SYMPOSIUM is Celebrating Harlem Week for Women 18 & up at Columbia University Faculty House located at 64 Morningside Drive, NY, NY 10027.  The event will be held on Saturday, July 31st, 2010 from 8am-1pm.  There will be celebrity appearances by Sherri Sheppard & Bern Nadette Stanis (Thelma of Good Times).  Registration is required, so be sure to register at  or by calling 866-356-7348.

 Power Walking: A Journey to Wholeness by Maxine Bigby Cunningham deals with walking, wellness and healing through the Bible.  Find out more by going to or by going to


REVOLUTION BOOKS/LIBROS REVOLUCIÓN is a book store at 146 West 26th Street(near 7th Avenue) is a book store that deals with what they term “scientific and poetic, wrangling and visionary”  Just their description of the store was enough to pull me in and is well worth looking into.  You can do just that by going to


For her debut novel, L. Marie Culbreath releases MOMMA AELIANA’S GIRLS a compelling story about a Portuguese Cape Verdean Migrant woman who’s husband, ‘Romando’ a Central American Indian  from Honduras walked out leaving her with six girls to raise alone in the United States in the early 1970s.  Momma vowed she and her daughters would be survivors.  Amidst tragedies, her girls would grow up to be six of the most respectable, well-educated and beautifully groomed women.  Her book, a different look into African American literature is available on


There were some phenomenal children’s books/authors as well.      The one that struck me the most was Angelot Ndongmo author of Loving Me and Boy! Am I Loving Me!  This wonderful author wrote children’s books for children of color instilling in them early the importance of self love.  She reaffirms this love by celebrating their melanin and their hair.  Great read for your children and an opportunity for you to teach them to embrace the difference in them and their counterparts.


Pedro’s Visit to the Aquarium by Rasheedah Saleem-Muhammad is a much needed book giving audience for children of Autism and teaching those with it that they’re understood and teaching those without it more tolerance and acceptance.  It focuses on Pedro’s erratic behavior and the decision his parents must make on whether they should send him on a trip to the aquarium.


The fair also gave major information in the way of other fairs, like the African American Business to Business Exchange for Westchester & Rockland Counties.  The event is next year, March 23rd & 24th, 2011.  For details/information: 914-699-6279 or

 As far as me, I will be returning to the radio on next Saturday, giving information, lesson plans and things much needed for protecting your intellectual property.  Tune in at

I am also working on my 1st work of urban literature called: CLASH OF THE DRUG TITANS.  I already have a following on Facebook for the story and I anticipate it being released by years end.  ENAMORED: THE LOVE LETTERS  is doing well as is LOCK, STOCK & SMOKING METAPHORS, but we still need one anothers support.  Stay in touch…I know I will…

and don’t fret; this is my first installment on the fair…I will update you later on more…


Legros Cultural Arts 10 Minute Play Series!!!!

My play

“Something Borrowed When You’re Blue”

is being performed at

Theatre 54 at Shetler Studios

244 West 54th Street (12th Floor), New York, New York

Tickets: $15, $20/ $30 – Sunday July 11, 2010 (includes reception following the performance)

For Ticket Information & Reservations:

(917) 741-2992 or email

My Play is being peformed at the following times:

Tuesday, July 6, 2010 – 8pm

Wednesday, July 7th, 2010 – 6:30pm & 8pm

Thursday, July 8th, 2010 – 6:30pm

Friday, July 9th, 2010 – 8pm

Saturday, July 10th, 2010 – 1pm & 8pm

Sunday, July 11th, 2010 – 1pm

Thanks so much for your support!


Renee Michele Breeden


Mother Metaphor


Vintage Pussy (29/30)


He blinked and she was there

He noticed her there
The slight grey in her hair
                                                                                      And laugh lines
Laying the path of her life
A map of her happy/ Even when she wasn’t smiling

She sighed softly
Her brow furrowed with dismay
Of long lines
And teenage clerks who couldn’t count
Beyond the broken register

Which couldn’t register the count

She feels his stare
And he wonders if she can feel his joy
Smell desire in his loins
The throbbing in his groin
The fact that
vintage pussy turns him on…

He is a man of 25
He comes alive at the prospect
Of learned lips
aged hips
As his heart pounds heavily
Thinking on the new wine in those aged skins
The detachment of older women
The assurance of their everything
The indifference
their younger counterparts lack
He loves that
And she radiates with an energy that screams
“take it or leave it…I’m thinking the same of you”

She is beautiful

Laying unknowingly in her regality
She speaks
“are you going to gawk all day?”

He stood against the column of the convenience store
Watching my annoyance dance across my brows
Standing in line for 20 minutes or so now
One clerk; 17 consumers
and I am number 3
I have a good mind to retreat
But my feet                                         seem the rational
Acknowledging there are things one cannot do without
He stood there
                                            Mouth gaping
As though he’d gone inside himself
Pinning me under his gaze
his mouth is filled

With adverbs


And nouns

And silent wishes, eating from the bounty of his thoughts

And I smell his fear

Faint compared to his desire to be

In places he could have been expressed from

Numb to the years that separate us




At my aged thighs

My slow walk, what he may deem my nonchalant way

but today, it is not indifference

I’m just tired…and he has finally gussied up the nerve to ask

“Do you need help?”




I never run out of ways to love you

To shove you out of the way of danger

To advance you in the right direction

                                                    Fight for your protection

Invest in you…


I never fell harder than the 1st day

My arms wrapped around you

My palm cradled your head

And you smiled…


I held you

In my arms

In my heart

Like the air would stop

More often than not

Lullabies rocked you

Even in the womb of me


You out grow things quickly…

Your fair skin

Your chubby frame

Your nickname

We can’t call you “Icky” anymore


You are a teenager

Too quickly

5 years to manhood

We are already at the girls

Calling your cell

Sending pictures of their pre-pubescence

On little camera phones

With high mega pixels

Competing for your attention

They dream of your ebon skin

Your almond shaped eyes


While I dream of your chubby cheeks

Your baby drool

And the 1st time I held your head in the palm of my hand

And learned the wisdom of old eyes

In my newborn son…




Your Mama


The Empty Womb…(3/30)

i remain empty

waiting to be filled

to knock the chill off of being so alone

i am older than my years suggest…


i detest

the civil unrest within myself

i wait for male companionship

hoping he will leave behind

something I can build upon

but there is nothing…


here comes the tears again

they are falling rapidly

as i cry

for 4-5 days straight

those tears are never late


they’re rapid and red

another month gone

and dreams of holding a child

lies dead…