Short Story for Class


Just a short story for class… 🙂

Imperfect Writer: My Journey to Finding Myself

A Small Bouquet of Roses

He came through the door with small a bouquet of roses, a card and a brown paper bag of breakfast. When I was younger I often heard truth between the lines of every black romance movie that “Black women are destined for black successful men or doomed to be unhappy and single for the rest of their lives or unhappy with children for the rest of their lives.” I did not think much of about romance when I was younger, in fact, love in my mind seemed quite complicated. My parents often spoke of it as a fling for most of my life. Until I reached the age of twenty when I grew closer to the age of drinking alcohol and partying. I was always molded, prepared, and told to go through life without thinking about romance. My father often spoke of it as if…

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Short Story for Class


A Small Bouquet of Roses

He came through the door with small a bouquet of roses, a card and a brown paper bag of breakfast. When I was younger I often heard truth between the lines of every black romance movie that “Black women are destined for black successful men or doomed to be unhappy and single for the rest of their lives or unhappy with children for the rest of their lives.” I did not think much of about romance when I was younger, in fact, love in my mind seemed quite complicated. My parents often spoke of it as a fling for most of my life. Until I reached the age of twenty when I grew closer to the age of drinking alcohol and partying. I was always molded, prepared, and told to go through life without thinking about romance. My father often spoke of it as if it was something grownups could only attain at the age of 30; my mother rarely even talked about it as if it was some mythical feeling of primitive beings no longer needed. Moreover, for most of my life; I had often found myself seeking the company of myself rather than others.

Now that is not to say I did not have a few boyfriends in the past. It’s true I had my once in a while average Joes, a few I believed would make it over the long haul with me. However, they certainly were nothing like “him” in any way.

The sweet smell ketchup filled the air, as he neared closer towards me. Slight shock had filled my toes as I became unable to move. My eyes stared almost glaringly at the three simple roses that stood from the plastic. Their young petals still just budding from their clutches. With each step he took, the brilliant crimson of their skin bleeds ever more brilliantly upon their lips in the dusted morning sunlight.

“Hey, I Ummm… Well, this is for you” Tamir stumbles over his words slightly before the last part spews from his lips and flops onto the dark floorboards before our feet. His tall frame hid beneath his dark and tired hoodie and super new green sweatpants that loosely hangs over his new red Nike sneakers. Placing the small bouquet into my arms. His hands last just seconds upon the bouquet before he slowly, hesitantly them pulls away. As if he were afraid I might drop them from my arms. Feeling the cold flower lips touch my skin, I stare at the little present that now rested on my bosom. The yellow card hanging from the plastic wrap just beneath the red ribbon. Utterly lost of words.

*             *             *

I knew he was running later than usual. Often times after our nightly embraces, he would get up early in the morning and bring me breakfast. Whether that meant cooking it or purchasing it from the local bagel store a few blocks from his house. I would wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs and a cold glass of orange juice just inches from my grasp. He would then leave a trail of gentle kisses over my mahogany skin just between my shoulder-blades. Before whispering my name into my dream. Like always I would wake up whispering:

“Good morning bubble butt” pressing the palm of my hand into his bearded cheek. As I stare into his brown eyes.

“Morning chocolate bunny” before he would kiss my lips. Pulling my tired body into his chest. As he holds me there against his warm mass.

*             *             *

My heart suddenly goes silent within my chest; as I stare at the roses in my arms. This had never happened to me. I have gone on numerous dates, some who paid for dinner, others who let me watch a movie on their game station and the one guy who took me to the zoo. However, never once had any of the guys I have dated ever gave me roses. I mean not that giving me roses was the first thing this “guy” has ever done for me that was romantic or made me feel special. For days when we chilled at his place or if we sat in a restaurant or went grocery shopping. I found myself finding something in his eyes. I found an endless list of words that seemed too fresh for our lovely wounds, a sensation that echoed to the very fibers of my soul. Lov…

‘No’ that’s impossible I would shake my head. I knew what love meant, and it wasn’t as happy those Disney Movies would display. So he couldn’t have fallen for me. He couldn’t find me attractive. For years, I was taught by society what was beautiful and charming. It wasn’t kinky curls, dark brown eyes, acne prone skin, thick messy eyebrows and a girl who actually cared about graduating near the top 30% to 10% of the class. No beauty was straight hair, blue eyes, light hair or thick dark straight hair and small tiny waist and legs that men supposed goes gaga over. And these traits, were nothing like me. So I had always questioned the relationships I was in. Now I cannot say that I would be won over by roses surely. However, for years of going through relationships, where men and boys gander at my breast more than they listen to my words. I have come to discover that Tamir was a bit odd.

*             *             *

“Tell me about your story” was the first conversation me and Tamir ever had.

“My novel?”

“Yeah, I saw on your profile that you are writing a novel. Tell me about it?” Tamir sat just inches from me. His eyes hanging hazily just inches from closing gave me the idea that he was clearly on some kind of drug. His slightly crooked teeth made me feel inferior to him in looks. I couldn’t help judging him the first moment I saw him. He wasn’t the kind of person I would call “The Goods” or the “Right Material.” In fact, if I may boast a bit, most my boyfriends before were quite handsome and trimmed. Causing me to feel inferior to them and feel insecure about my looks. “What kind is it? Horror, Sci-Fi, Non-Fiction?” he named a few genres.

Okay, so he’s a bit more learned than my last ‘encounters’.

“It’s a young adult fiction, with a bit of fantasy. I guess somewhat of an urban fantasy though not so focused on the older tales” I smiled warmly hoping to hide the dirty judging thoughts that filled my skull. I had been working on this novel for six-year and with no avail to writing all of its content on paper.

“Oh cool, young adult. So are there like strange creatures in your world? What are they? What do they do?” question after question he interviewed me. And with each question his eyes light up as he drew closer. Until I found myself staring into his brown eyes. Though his face was quite literally blocking most of my vision; I could feel the piercing stares of every black person walking the park that day.

Tamir is six feet tall, and 7 inches, not only is he tall. He is mixed with polish and African American blood. His warm slightly tanned peach skin glistened in the light that morning as his curly locks majestically waved about his head. Tamir is not only six-seven but also a great hero of weight loss. His trimmed figure still held some semblance of the four hundred rings of fat that once clutched to his body. His chest was not as flat as most guys his age and his stomach though slightly toned had a slight over-indulged bikini line. Moreover, to top it all off, Tamir was known as a goofy man. In comparison to me a mere five foot five, slightly dull looking girl in comparison to her classmates and soft spoken. We were complete opposites. We were quite an oddity it seemed no matter where we went. Moreover, to top it all off, we were of different skin color. I could remember the faces people made as Tamir walked me over to the park. Of the older black men who stared at my back as I walked away. As if I had stepped over some boundary with a clearly marked sign that said “No interracial dating.”

I was afraid of being with Tamir. Afraid that he would think of black girls as sexual objects, unable to think on their own. Or alternatively, as crazed buffoons who scream at the top of their lungs every second.

*             *             *

Feeling the warm water trickle over my body and warm my skin. I gaze at Tamir’s back. At spray of small pimples that showed across his skin like stars. I watched as the water rolled over his skin, as it dipped into beautiful valley just over his spine. And painted his skin in a judliant gleam of life. My fingers itched to touch his skin. Wishing I could press my forehead into his back. When he turned around.

“You want to shower off some?” he smiled some as he stepped aside allowing the water to hit more of me. Quickly hiding my flushed cheeks, I nod my head as I quickly move forward towards the front of the tub. Not thinking of the walls just at my toes and new found slippery surface covered over in soap waiting for me. Just as my foot took a step I slipped and began to fall outside the tub. My brain went on overdrive, as I began to map out the room. I began to think up of a million ways I would get hurt or possibly die in here. Of my head hitting the toilet seat, my legs crashing against the tub surface before I met the porcelain floor. As blood spills from my wound. I thought of how embarrassing it would be for the ambulance workers who would have to pick up and move my fat ass. Imaging how their eyes would trail over my body, finding every fat flabby fold and stretch line. I knew then, Tamir would wake up from his trance. That then and only then would he realize he made a terrible mistake to go out with a fat chick like me.

When suddenly I feel an arm wrap around my stomach and harshly pull up from my fatal fall. Before smacking against a warm chest. Looking up, I see Tamir’s eyes filled with a particular fear as he stares down at me. I found a child like a look within those dark manly eyes. That I believed was long gone from him. His arm twitched and fluttered tightly against me as I felt the veins in his arms throb profusely.

“Your okay?” his voice commandingly and yet questionably stumbled from his lips. Turning around in his arms, I felt his heart beat against my hand. As his chest returned to its normal pace.

He was worried…. For me…..

“Yeah I’m… I’m okay” I muttered in return.

*             *             *

Many times I had tried to date out of my race only to be met with racial stigmas and disappointments of people who believed I would be more open to the idea of anal sex. I could not help myself for how I was raised. I could not help that I was born with mahogany skin but do not inhabit the so-called black women character or personality many men desired of over sexualized African. Moreover, I could not help feeling rather distant to men who believed me to be dumb or naïve.

So when I often found myself being stared down for standing next to Tamir, I often wondered why he choose me. Tamir was never pushy, in fact hanging out was all he wanted from me. We would play video games, watch movies, go to the grocery store even have tickle fights. However, never once did Tamir put a stigma on me for my skin color. Never once have I felt sex was all he wanted or that he was just dating me for my breast. When Tamir stared into my eyes, he saw me. I could talk the way I wanted to, I could ask him things without dumb-ing them down out of fear that he wouldn’t understand me or that he would feel offended. Tamir allowed me to be me. And that was all he asked of me.

*             *             *

“Just be honest with me. That’s all I ask of you” Tamir whispered before he laid me down on the bed. Staring into his eyes, I found a certain seriousness in his eyes, anger, fear, hope, and confusion. I didn’t know what I was asking. Suddenly asking him to be my boyfriend. I had found myself thinking about him none stop, when I was away from him I begged to be near him. When he smiled it filled me with glee, I couldn’t explain. When he felt angry, I felt terribly sorry and angry for him. When he was sad, I wanted to cry for him, to take his burdens away. So when I found these words slipping from my lips. I knew why they were there, I just didn’t know when they would appear.

Nodding my head, I agreed to his terms. I agreed to be myself, to saying my thoughts and feelings. With a gentle kiss, I showed my pledge to his agreement.

*             *             *

Opening the card, I found a small message within saying:

Christy, you mean a lot to me. So much so that I rushed buying this gift for you and misspelled your name!

I am glad we took a chance on each other.

So many more fun times and laughs ahead.


I knew then that Tami no matter how different he was, no matter how many people stared us down. I would be by his side for as long as I was allowed. True he was slightly overweight, not as educated and mentally handicapped somewhat (not high as I once believed, though not severely). Tamir was just perfect for me. Who would ever think, a small bouquet and simple card will help me to say the words I kept in my heart.

I love you, T.


[1] From a blog entry I wrote. I am Imperfect Writer on

Acting, Writing or Teaching….


For the last two days I have been contemplating between acting lessons and writing lessons. I don’t know which to choose out of the two. And lately I have been thinking about my future and where I want to go in the next five to ten years. My teacher suggested that I should get a MFA in English, my career adviser says I should get a degree in Creative Writing and go into film or go into editorial work, either as a writer, poet or editor. Musical Theater teacher says that I should take a chance, take a leap into the theater world, my friends says I should continue to sing and my cousin says that I be on the stage. And my family believes I should go the safe path and be a teacher.

Though I tell them that I would be horrible teacher. Constantly telling them how I rant, lose track of my thoughts, have a terrible way of explaining things and a lack of leadership abilities and traits. They believe that teaching is the only path I can take when majoring in English. I don’t know what’s the true path for me, but I know that there is something more within me. Than teaching. And though I love my teachers and I know that teaching is important. I know within me are novels yet to be published, are poems screaming to be heard are songs tickling the hairs of my tongue, scripts waiting for me to read, are TV shoes desiring to be viewed and words wishing to be written.

Maybe I’m going the wrong path, but I believe that I can only find the right path by trying out my dreams. Even if they sound impossible. I know that I will regret not taking the leap.

Love is a muscle.


I am beginning to understand that human love is not a naturally applied part of our nature. But rather a muscle that is within us waiting for us to exercise into totality.

Too many times we expect people to love us and we expect people to express love and to be love. But too many times we are also disappointed by how lacking humans can express this love. We are disappointed when the people who we believe should love us, actually hurt us. When humanity that should see everyone as equal, but only see themselves as useful and special puts down, enslave, murder and rape their fellow humans. As if, they see their own kind, their own race, their differentiated reflections as animals, dust, and nothings. Love is a muscle, its a capability that’s within us all but must be exercised in order to appear.

Nature according to Merriam-Webster when in accordance to humans means, the way that a person or animal behaves. But can people really be born with a loving nature. Can love be translated or made into a behavior.

Behavior in terms of Merriam Webster is a list of terms, but can simply be put into, the way in which something functions or operates. Meaning a list of behaviors can be something like laughter when you hear something funny, scratching when you itch, and being afraid of strangers when you feel uncomfortable. And of course a lot of people will say that Love is a response to our attraction to people. But wouldn’t kisses, hugs, sexual intercourse shows this as well if not more apparently than Love. For aggression, laughter, and fear is all emotions that can initiate action. Like Love correct. But it is only Love that can overcome the test of time when exercised correctly.

So then why is Aggression, Laughter and Fear seen more and understood more than Love?

It’s because I believe that when we are born. Humans immediately know, apply and understand necessity behaviors. Necessity behaviors is fear, anger, scratching, laughter, tiredness at night and sexual urges. All of these natures, these behaviors are necessary in order for us to live. Therefore, they are seen more, felt more and seen more among people.

Because they are things that not only appear naturally but are also more apparent when being shown. Our faces express these emotions with ease. But love… love has no face, it has no concrete definition. From person to person love can differ, love can change. And as time flows on, love can grow and disappear.

Love is like a muscle.

When a infant is born he doesn’t lack anything in physicality, yeah sure he is weaker and he will lose some teeth. But a baby in fact has more bones in him than a grown adult. Due to the birthing process. And as a infant grows, his muscles stretches and enlarge giving him more of ability to exercise them and use them better with function. And his bones fuse in his head to make a skull and grow longer and stronger with each passing day so that he/she may run, jump and walk one day. It is only until he grows curious of walking and learns how to walk, that he can being to discover how to use the muscles in his legs. It is only until he sees something that an infant can grow to reach out and clasp his interest. Like all these functions that we learn as we grow. Infants can learn how to love.

We learn how to love from our parents, they show us through their discipline, through their undying love for us even when we act up, and by pushing us to be better people. They do all of those things, that other people just wouldn’t do and say things that would normally cause us anger and to argue. But we quietly accept “silence” (not all the time), frustrated but not ready to kill (literally or figuratively), scheme to prank or even beat up later.

Not only is it an emotion that is presented to us at birth, but something that we can grow ourselves to giving to others. Love will cause us to stay in a relationship when hard times hit, it will overlook small and painless flaws to find the great things inside of people, it is not affected by age or sickness. True love lives, teaches, grows, strengthens and reveals.

So then why don’t we teach, how come couples divorce, why do we cheat, why do we hide. It’s because unlike fear, aggression and laughter that is strong and apparent in the beginning. Love is hidden, its there but unused.

Love is like the muscles in a infant, there but soft. One must teach a child to love, in order for them to have a loving nature. Unlike laughter, fear and aggression that appears naturally. Love is a natural thing that must be exercised in order to be used at its full capacity. This why I believe that Love is not naturally applied, it is taught, it is given and eventually it is grown.

If we do not learn how to exercise Love, then we will never be able to know what love is. You will never know the true limits of your body until you exercise and use it. If you lay down all day, do not expect a six pack, a toned body and spectacular butt. Love works exactly the same way. If you don’t use it, then you don’t know it.

Love is a muscle that I believe people often forget. They think its a natural occurrence, that it will fall out the sky and that its being used, applied and given to everyone constantly with no effort on their or other people part. But it isn’t. If you desire love, you must use it, you must spread it and you must grow it. Love takes sacrifice, it takes falling down, it takes getting hurt, it takes knowing flaws.

When you laugh, you don’t learn to laugh at certain things. You just find certain things amusing or funny. When your afraid, sure somethings you can teach your child to be afraid of. But fear doesn’t come teaching but from a fear of being uncomfortable, in pain, or close to death. Therefore when a child is taught something to fear, but later experiences this “fear” and is shown there is nothing fearful about it. They can put it aside and forget what they was once taught. Aggression is the same with the fear, it is something that we do in order to hide our insecurities. Infants naturally are possessive and aggressive with their possession because they are born with a natural me mentality. It is not something that is taught, but rather a part of us.

Love is a capability, a hidden nature. It is a muscle.

Teach people how to use it.

Alicia and Kasernage drafts.


These are simple drafts that I have created of my two main characters. I know there is nothing much to them now. But these are the final common looks for Alicia and Kasernage (though he is actually an alien). I think his picture better suits their personalities and relationship. Bringing these characters more to life.

Lovers...? Or just mere co-workers?

Alicia and Kasernage draft picture. The two main characters to my upcoming comic.

“If you carry y…


“If you carry yourself right, you will look right”

Glancing upon a picture today, I saw a beautiful heavy set girl with her boyfriend. Many was making fun of her, commenting on how big she was, or how her dress didn’t look right cause it was not meant for a curvy frame. A silent rage bubbled up in me when reading how these people concentrated so much on her looks, but they could not for the life of them see the gorgeous smiles that she shared with her boyfriend (who to some believed to be quite handsome). 

When has beauty ever been bound to a particular image, when I look at greek sculptures of beauty even these lovely women had back flab, even they had slightly thick legs and cheeks. When I look at the paintings, and even Popular icons like Marylin Monroe (who is not skinny as some believe) are they not beautiful. These people, paintings, and icons were not called beautiful because they held an image, but because they held a character, a trait, a wisdom. 

It doesn’t matter if your the most beautiful person in the world, if you have not done anything for people to remember your beauty. Beauty is not set to an image, but changes from person to person and culture to culture.