Tag Archives: Literature

A Body that’s Too #@&% Full!

A body that’s so full, the energy spills out in every direction and reaches the furthest points in the galaxy. A body, rife with such emotion, such movement it can barely contain it all, so she has to be bigger and more vigorous. A body that pushes words out and tries to convey, weigh, catalog, and identify, but feels lasting frustration with the endeavor because words can never capture what’s really happening inside. Words are mere nuances, shadows, ghosts of the depth and intensity that this body and consciousness experience.

How to tell you how it feels for me here, now, in this body, on this planet, in this life, in this moment? It’s nearly impossible. I have no proper conveyance system to help you understand, but for the expression in my eyes. If you want to know, you have to look into my face. Then, you will see it. You will get it. You will come away with a piece of the truth.

Sigh. I’ve been writing my novel again. Mostly because the emotional pressure has built up so much inside of me that I must write. I must get it out. I sit here and climb the purple walls in my office for a few days and then, I can’t take it anymore. My body is so #@&% full of feelings that I have to tap in, drain it off, release. Such is the anguish and the exaltation of the writer.

Some more of my crazy artwork

More of my tangle artwork

My protag is a fierce woman. She is a depressive. She is intense, strong, deep-feeling, ballsy. She merges with other people in a culture that stringently dictates how and when that should happen. She’s not unlike me. And, while I don’t want to write about myself (because I’m pretty sick of myself most of the time), I can’t help it. I’m all that I know.

The challenge for any novelist is to create a character so different from one’s self that that character lives outside of, eclipses the psyche that created it. I’m not there yet. All I can do for now is plumb the depths of my own being and spill it all out in the hopes that this character will someday emerge from my shadow and stand in her own light. I want her to be other than me. I want her to live.

So, lately, I’ve managed to write (on her behalf) some snippets that might almost be good. Tell me what you think.

“The depths that I swim frighten me. I go so, so deep. I live in that murky half-light, that blue-to-black space, that world between worlds. I live in a place without light. I breathe the sea.”

“His silence is either bad or worse. It almost never means goodness. It’s a cold stare, a closed hand. A dark room. It means consternation, tension, guilt. When he’s silent, I have no choice but to make up stories about his feelings (or lack thereof). I have no handhold, no beam of energy on which travel, no connection. His silence is a knife in my neck.”

“If only I were enough for myself. How different might my life be? Today, I can describe my life only in terms of what’s missing. So much is missing. What’s not here is what I carry into each strangled moment. The ache of loss. The dim blood-beat of loneliness. What’s not here smothers me. I feel like I’m drowning.”

“He lives and breathes from inside of me and while I don’t know exactly what it all means, if anything, I can say that to feel him so close, so immediate, so deeply but not be able to touch him is torture. It’s a yearning that never ceases. A gnawing, steady drag of feeling through me that never relents.”

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Holy Poetry! I Won a Prize, Peeps!

Hi, BigBodyBeautiful friends!

Just a quick post to tell you some cool news. I, along with some other incredible poets, won a poetry prize. The contest, hosted by the amazing poetry site, The Poet’s Billow, held a Bermuda Triangle Poetry contest on the theme of disappearance.

My poem, Invisible Woman was selected as one of the prize winners. The poem is an observation (not a lament, mind you) of how when one becomes fat, one actually disappears. Check it out, be sure to read the other winning poets, and feel free to share your thoughts here. Oh, and the contributor’s page is pretty cool, too, because you can get biographical information on all of the writers.

Thank you so much, The Poet’s Billow. I’ve loved working with you cool, creative, and nurturing peeps. Please support these guys, readers. They do so much for the poetry community. ❤

Opening You Inside of Me

When we love another, part of what we’re after is unification, acceptance, and connection with the self. We want to feel our fullest essence, the core of us that is untouched and unfettered by life in a body; we want to feel that sacred self by way of another’s attention and adoration. We want to feel our soul, its longevity, its total, encompassing, deathless, and seductive permanence. We also want to feel the ageless soul and being of another, but in my belief system, what we really want is ourselves: whole, happy, deserving, trusting, radiant, and fulfilled, which is how we all feel when we are out of bodies and on the Other Side.

We truly do live forever. We never die. Oh, our sweet, hardworking bodies die, but our souls do not. We simply change shape. We merely change structure. So, when we love, we get to feel the “forever” of our own self by way of another person’s being; and, it’s glorious and enchanting.

Some of my "tangle" artwork. :)

Some of my “tangle” artwork. 🙂

There is simply no better feeling in the world than love. We LOVE love. We love how it feels inside of us. We love when we are appreciative, connected, dialed-in, and glowing with pleasure. We love our heart and soul connections with others. Sure, what we do with our bodies is important. Sex is delicious and fun. But, it’s what happens in our spirits while loving another or sexing another that truly entices us. We know that physical is only a part of the entire equation. And, I argue that the spiritual elements have to be there for the love to be truly healthy, beneficial, and complete.

I’ve written about this before, but when I love someone, whether carnal or not, it’s a crazy ride, man. My energy is nuclear. I love as vociferously as I live. I love so hard that it scares people. Not in a grasping, dependent, and unhealthy way, but in an energetic, all-encompassing, vigorous, and extremely intense way. I love deep, hard, and fast. I fall in love quickly and it stays with me. If I love you, get ready for some big emotion and big fun. Get ready to play in a river of feeling because my love is a totally physical and spiritual orgy of fast-moving, strong current. When I love you, you know it. There is no question because I’m erupting energy all over the room. If you form the question, the answer is always “yes”. I’m all in. Love for me is intensely physical and achingly spiritual all at the same time; it takes a big person to handle me.

More of my tangle art.

More of my tangle art.

So, on this idea, I’ve been back to writing poetry recently and wanted to float a few pieces your way. Oh, and I’m not sure if I ever told you guys, but I had a 60-page poetry book published in 1998 (back in the dark ages before I was this happy). 🙂 Anyway, I was a working poet for quite a number of years and was published alot. But, after 15 years, I gave it up, walked away, and literally stopped writing poetry. I was sick of poetry. Sick of myself and my psychology. Sick of the conversation and narcissism and depression. My poetry was largely a convenient therapist from whom I had to walk away, because I was not advancing, just wallowing. Anyway, that’s my poetry back-story.

Hope you like my new poetry. See if you can get the “theme” of all of these poems or the general chord of connection here.

The Day We Met

the moment opened up in front of us
all eyes and breath
no one else felt it
but we did

you did

later, in my dark room
sifting through the words
we spoke and how the
light
poured out of you

and lit me up

I knew everything was going to be
different

and it is

(Note: This poem was first published, in a slightly different form, on Jackie P’s awesome blog: To Breath is to Write.)

**********************

And Then, He Touched Me

my mind spilled, spine curled, and hand tingled
for days
and days and days.
still, even now, it moves through me and
blossoms inside of me,
the warmest warm, the strongest tug
up and down my length
the light crossing in front
then rising inside
like the image of you
filling me up
and rocking the curve of my bones
open.

**********************

Him

Rising
inside of me,
him
my body
aching
holding
the sun
asking
him in
asking
again
the drag of him
through me
the pulse
of him
in
everything

**********************

The Stone of Love

pressing my hands against it
the cool rock pressing back
its slow breath
climbing up my arms
its ridges in my skin;
its language decoded
thinking about how you
first grabbed my wrist
one quick movement
that set the world
on end
opened the sun
inside of me
decoded my language
as I slide across the cool
old rock and lay open
to the sky
the stone now
pressing at my back
entering me there
then, you, swimming up and
laughing as you grab
my wrist (again) and pull me
in on top of you.

(Note: This poem was first published on Jackie P’s awesome blog: To Breath is to Write.)

Feel free to share your thoughts. Open yourselves here with me and get ready for the connection. I’m ready. ❤ I LOVE you, friends. 🙂

Breaststrokes: “Natural”; A Guest Post by Claudia Moss

Editor’s note: This is installment #3 in a series of guest posts by the wonderful, prolific, and talented Claudia Moss. In this series, Claudia artfully explores the voice, opinions, and reality of women’s breasts and what they experience. Enjoy! And, please, please show Claudia some love by commenting here.

Natural

It’s the catchphrase on everybody’s lips. Natural this and natural that. We honestly cannot go more than three days without bumping into the word in some way, form or fashion. Yes, we understand that a considerable percentage of the population wants to be natural today more than ever, but, goodness, why we hypocritical about it?

Educate yourself, for Heaven’s sake.

Think about it. Consumers want natural foods with as few preservatives as possible. Over half the FDA-approved additives in our processed food will no doubt leave us six feet under, given enough years of eating it. What’s natural about macaroni and cheese bright enough to tie-dye five white T’s? Give us naturally brown eggs, with unbleached shells; brown rice or maybe even black rice, which is new to us, in place of white rice. And, let’s not forget the catchphrase whole-wheat flour instead of bleached, lily-white flour.

That word natural is a stream, flowing over into grooming and hair care. It’s unnatural for mothers, black or white, at least the white ones with biracial children, don’t need to be combing creamed lye into their children’s nappy hair, burning the daylights out of them while instilling the premise: “Something is inherently wrong with the way your hair is right now, in its natural form. And, in order for you to presentable in my eyes and yours and the world’s at large, please sit still while we bring order to these unruly naps!”

Then, you have the fashionista, natural, hair-care divas with YouTube on lockdown. Sisters talking self love for others with naps and curls and waves and kinks. Sisters who are not only bringing the natural, hair-care tips, but sisters who always demonstrate right there in their bathrooms and bedrooms how to be thankful for and glorify the beauty of nappy hair.

The power of the video is a wonderful thing.

Let’s not forget the natural-oriented fitness community. One of our favorite fitness queens on Instagram, that awesome Mankofit, just plugged eating right, with the right servings of vegetables and protein and drinking water, works better for her than drinking the whey protein-powdered drinks. They’re the new fitness craze, another way, we say, to bank dollars. If you have enough funds to purchase a $34 plastic bag or $62 canister of the powder, then why not put those dollars into fresh produce? It’s got to be better than continuously drinking something that you don’t actually know the ingredients of. The tiny print in its contents section looks like Greek or Malaysian.
I’m just saying.

Now, if you care to follow me in other directions, consider the natural fabrics that allow the body to breathe. Or, the shoe that is engineered to fit the natural curvatures of your feet. What of using natural gas to power the energy-needing sources in your house? And, the natural resources we need to be honoring and preserving?

So, with all this talk of us living in a world going more natural every day, somebody please tell us why we are so “unnatural” that she can’t ever put us in her baby’s mouth without the family going into battle about it, simply lining up and taking all sorts of stabs, above and below the belt, about it.
It gets so crazy, so unnaturally insane, until we want to scream, “Where else on a woman’s body can milk be secreted to nourish an infant? Can somebody please answer this for us?”

And if you can’t find any other place on a woman’s body to do that, please don’t edit and proofread and revise what the Divine has preordained for a baby’s first meal. I mean, folks, it’s not even relegated to homo sapiens. Animals under the umbrella of mammals have teats and suckle their young, people!

You would think that people forget that everyone has a chest—if they are living, and some men have literal breasts, when they are overweight. Dressed, people forget this bit of minutia, until a woman pulls out one of us to do what thus made the Lord, okay?

The problem is the world’s mind is wrongfully thinking.

If all people can see when they see us or bump into us or feel us or read about us is sex and dirty sex (for why else would they think we are so nasty and need to be bound and lifted and smothered and covered, like hash browns,) then scientists and spiritual leaders have got it wrong. We are not advancing, getting better with each generation. In truth, we are heading backward…or maybe we are standing still, locked in stasis, considering cavemen and women knew to put a baby to a woman’s breast, we’re thinking.

Why can’t the family see that we are magical?

When the baby cries out in hunger, we download a stream of milk in response—we are that attuned to Mother Nature’s call. And, even when she thinks about the baby when she is away from the baby, we will discharge sustenance, reminding her to return to the little one. How can knowing how to do what we were made to do be wrong?

She has gone to taking a lightweight drape to toss over her shoulder as she nurses the baby if she is going into the public. That keeps harsh eyes from glaring at us and the baby, which isn’t good, to say the least, for either of us. The cold way some people stare would make you think we’d committed a capital offence and should expect to be arrested at any moment.

“That’s right,” Cedric blares, when she sat on the long sofa one evening and peeled the lap back on her nursing bra and placed one of our nipples in the baby’s ravenous mouth. “Why don’t you listen to your mother and go upstairs or in another room when you do that?”

“Do what?” she asks, drawing him out. We knew she was tired of his rude, self-righteous tone.
He smirked and clicked the television remote. “You know. What you are doing.”
“Feeding our child is what I’m doing.”
“Don’t be cute, Jadira. You know what I mean.”
“Honey, I told you. In my day, I nursed you children in private. Some things are only for your husband to see.” Her mother is in the rocking chair across the room, barely able to stay in the room. She’ll be fleeing soon.
“What is it with you? My nipple? I don’t even have my whole breast exposed. Is it my opened blouse? Or, is it a tiny sucking mouth doing what comes naturally, instead of what is perceived as sexual?”
Cedric’s back stiffens. “Why do you have to go there? Nobody mentioned that nonsense, woman. We just want you to cover up and go somewhere else to do that is all. Damn.” He huffs loudly. “Do you have to make everything dirty?”
Her sister laughs softly with her legs pulled up in the armchair near the kitchen. “No. I’d say you guys do that exceptionally well already.”
“Sophie.” This from her mother, to keep Cedric from commenting, but it doesn’t work.
“Stay out of grown-folks conversation, girl. I done told you about that, but you just like your sister.”
Sophie’s different. We love her.
She giggles and answers, “Oh, forgive me. You’re right. All grown-folks’ conversations aren’t equal and worthy entering to share truth, light and love.”
“SOPHIE.”
“Excuse me, Mama. But what’s right is right, and he’s right on another account. I’m ‘just like Jadira,’ except I wouldn’t have made some of her choices.” She looks over at us, nursing. “Not that you’re my favorite person, Jadira.”
She and Jadira share soft, musical laughter.
“No need to explain, Baby Sis. We speak the same language,” Jadira agrees.
“And, that is precisely why she will be an old maid and you,” he says, waving the remote at his wife, “maybe an older maid with her, you keep that talk up.”
“Aaaaw, that sounds delightful!” Jadira sighs and looks at Sophie, who adds, “Yes. Sounds like the glory of liberation!”
The baby releases a nipple, palms our white nursing bra and glances up at his mama and smiles, full and satisfied. He coos his gratitude.
“And, I see Junior is in agreement,” Jadira says.
Before lifting the flap back over one of our nipples, she lifts the baby to her right shoulder and gently massages a burp from his middle.
Sophie leans over the side of her chair. “Good boy,” she coos. “That’s Auntie Sophie’s fav nephew.”
Cedric hurls his disgust into a nearby chair with the remote before stalking out of the family room.
“See, both of you are, plain and simple, unnatural,” their mother affirms. “Haven’t I taught you anything? Women do not goad men. Now stop it. PLEASE.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This is post number three, in a series of guest posts provided by the incomparable Claudia Moss, author, radio personality, speaker, dancer, and all-around AMAZING WOMAN! Please share your thoughts here, BigBodyBeautiful peeps; better yet, visit Claudia’s links below, tell her how you feel about her writings, and connect with this Goddess of self-esteem.

claudia_moss_sunshine

https://www.Amazon.com/author/claudiamoss
www.theGolden-Goddess.blogspot.com
https://www.facebook.com/claudia.moss.35
www.Twitter.com/theLadySiren
www.BlogTalkRadio.com/ClaudiaMossShow
www.YouTube.com/theLadyBestseller
http://about.me/claudiamoss
www.Talkshoe.com/tc/125101
www.claudiamoss.wordpress.com
www.Twitter.com/WandaBWonders
http://www.tumblr.com/blog/thegoldengoddess