Mental Trauma

They argued with such vitriol that they didn’t notice the children standing between them, until the unforeseen happened.

When I think back that’s all I remember. Being a little boy deathly afraid of my father because that’s what he wanted. He spoke loudly on a daily bases to remind my brother and I we were inferior to his being. His size that stood 6’0  high and over 200 pounds, mostly muscle from his high school years of being a star football player.

His eyes were blank when him and my mother viciously argued. My mothers voice powerful for a black woman was unmatched to my fathers. Friday nights were not the glory days  adults and kids awaited for. While Fridays marked the day of freedom for others, Fridays marked the day of trauma and distraught, as it foreshadowed the hell stricken weekend. Paranoia was my best friend that manifested into a deep soulful hate that lived inside of me.

I had thoughts of killing my father for the drunk nights he would come on the weekends. I would stand only a little over 5 feet staring at him with my lips curled in, eyes pinched together, and little fist balled thinking of that steak knife. The enemy would lay passed out on the couch with his sliva peaking out from his lips while snoring.

He would wake me up and my brother up and speak to us from 11 at night till 3 in the morning about nothing. He forced us to stay up while he condemned us for being kids. He would tell us we don’t need any friends and we don’t need family. No one will care for us as his family never cared for him.

My brother and I both less then age of ten and three years apart never knew what a quiet home was between my mom and dad. Deplorable slurs of words clashed between the two giants  violently every weekend for all of my childhood.

 Nights of him sending us in our room crying behind a door while our ears were pressed against it was normal. Unbreakable nervousness rode the thick red water in our veins when he would threaten to break my mothers ankles. Tears of silent prayers ran on our cheeks.

I can’t seem to forget a history that was part of me as I remained isolated disabling the need to express my grief in what I went through at home. As it was “no ones business,” as my father would say, “what happens at home”.

So I developed the ability to compartmentalize the terror for weekends only. This was my only coping strategy although I was unaware at the time. I gained victory in my dreams as a kid when I would beat my father off my mother. Or when I do grave harm on to him falsely giving me courage I never had growing up.

For being so afraid to die in his arms.

Daily Prompt – For Posterity

I Want To Be Understood.

I want to be understood. Like how one understand the calculation of the seasons, like how the Egyptians knew the precise location of Sirus A.

I want to be understood.

That “ah ha!” moment.

The feeling when someone says “I get what your saying.”

The moment when someone agrees with you. The moment you convinced someone who you are on an emotional level.

I want to be understood. Like how one understands to smile when they feel joy.  Like how you understand a child.

I want to be understood that I am a human.

I am Dontae.

I am who I am.

I am all that is.

But I have to really learn and not fight that idea everybody will understand me. I am not asking to agree. I am asking to hear me out.

Know why I do what I do.

Why I am they way I am.
Why I read certain things.
Why I give.
Why I expect.
Why I believe.

Why things interest me.
Why I am seeking.
Why I am joking.
Why I am hiding.

Why something may anger me.
Why I may pass judgement.
Why I have an opinion.
Why I am emotional

Why I am happy.
Why I am rebellious.
Why this scares me.
Why I have hope.

There is power in knowing why? Its what leads to discovery. The discovery of one another, the discovery of true understanding. Why is what pulls the layers of one apart reaching into the depths unexplored, unexplained, while bridging gaps that connects to everything. The conflict is accepting not everybody cares to know why? That the only thing that matters is the action inflicted not the understand the reason. I have to rid the feeling to convince people of who I am. I have to rid the feeling to be understood. How can one come form a place of compassion without understanding, without knowing why what is-is?

We may not like or agree with the unfair laws placed against us, but there’s a reason.
You may not like the high price in gas, but there’s a reason.
You may not like that you got cheated on, but there’s a reason.
A serial killer killed hundreds, but he has a reason.
She selling her body on the street, but she has a reason.
He stole him from his dad, but he has a reason.
Terrorist had reason.
Countries don’t like American, for a more than agreeable reasons.

You think the wise one knew what they were up against without knowing the reason?
You think Gandhi faced his battles without knowing why the oppressors are what they are?
You think MLK, Malcolm X and more,  didn’t know why they wanted to oppress Blacks?
You think terrorist have a reason?

I want to be understood.
I want to be looked at as all the parts of me in one.
Look at me holistically.
The merge of all reasoning.




First and foremost I would like to thank all that have followed me and gave wonderful feedback about my writing. You guys are influencing my ever-changing career goal. I just may have solidified  my “calling” to writing. Just no academic writing. Or in other words, A nice way to put upper class words in chaotic sentence structures with Aristotle worded synonyms.


I am not here for THAT!
However, I figured I lighten up my blog with a more humorous side. I don’t want to appear like 1994 Mary J. Blige and depressed and shit.
ya’ know! 


So as a common Facebooker I decided to shed a few tips on how to use Facebook, in my opinion:


Fuck You keep writing dumb shit for?

Fuck You keep writing dumb shit for?

is the necessary notion to poorly detail your incomplete thoughts that will not generate a single like. What does one saying, ” I see an ant on the ground” do to anything to better humanity! Better yet, do anything period well, you gave the ant a shout out hooray! Like it really honestly annoys me. Most of the time it be disgusting blunt posts like…”Watching Porn” or “sniffing coke”…yeah, It get’s very real out in cyber land. I know Facebook is technically another blog and makes them bloggers…right? What they post is considered “published” You can’t then say, It’s too person, to be too personal, cause we do strive for that as bloggers right? …but bitch, still..NO! F.B. IS NOT FOR THAT! its social media…BE SOCIAL NOT PERSONAL!



STOP LYING ON FACEBOOK. No dead seriously, Tom you cannot lie to Dick and Harry when you are taking a selfie in the bathroom that is not yours. Not when Dick and Harry been to your house, pissed in your toilet, washed their hands (this very uncommon nowadays) to look up at your dirty mirror above the sink. They know that marble sink in the bottom of your selfie is NOT yours, nor that crystal clean mirror reflecting the hotel bed.



Oh yeah bro, you are not low!

91fca4c72f12552f50fe55e0e6d01335BE PUBLICLY PRIVATE ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP. “Publicly Private” is my own phrase I will soon copyright meaning to be publicly open about your relationship but what goes in your relationship is private. Or for that matter any involvement of you. Have some damn privacy!  You are doing nothing but embarrassing yourself arguing on a Facebook post when y’all can simply text or call each other. You trying to embarrass your longest relationship of two weeks by exploiting your partner of all the hoes he slept with…Well darling, you should’ve thought about this before asking a hand in marriage. Deep down we all know most of the Facebook relationship die faster than your Iphone. Give the relationship the chance to fertilization and germinate before you abort it on Facebook. Learn from Jay-z and Beyoncé or all of your 2,000 friends will shake their heads like at you! Like, “wasn’t yesterday they were so in love, wow! Hollywood much?”

WHY BE SO NEGATIVE?  I cannot stress this so much. Why be so negative, Why? These videos showing missing legs, dead



people, dis formed babies and dogs…this is not Saw 6! These graphic images do nothing but desensitize you making you even more of a colder human being. Why like the photo knowing the everybody on the timeline is going to see that. whether you believe so or not doing that is adding negativity to the loads of it that we deal basically. Especially when you scroll down seeing nothing but several people “Hating” something! I hate this, I hate that, I don’t like this, she said that. It depressing.  I honestly think it shows the state of mind of an individual of they doing point #1 of this list and it all negative…We start saying nice things like how green the grass is or the nice weather. Even a new sale going on at Popeye’s I CAN GO FOR THAT AT LEAST!


I am NOT LIKING SHIT YOU TELL ME!  To simply point. You saying LMS (Like My Status) for whatever reason is dumb and just there to add to your ego that I refuse to stroke! Even these LMS about Jesus shit. IT’S PROPAGANDA!  You are not going to mentally make me feel guilty and bad when the person who probably post it is sucking dick in the alley! … DO NOT tell me to like a mutherfucking thing with these threats saying i’m going to hell.



That is all folks.

I hope we all everyday strive for a for a better Facebook because it is very important in our lives. Where would we would be we without Facebook? …probably higher in life


You’ll Never Know !

The DJ tried one last time to make the club enjoyable or maybe to make me enjoyable. I came to the club to release the heavy burden of my mother’s death two weeks ago. Nothing honestly is working its magic during these mourning stages. I figured I just have to let it pass and run its course, how long is that going to take? I went to the bar to order me my last drink,” Can I get an Ameretta Sour,” i said placing twenty dollars on counter. “That’s going to be eleven dollars,” the bartender said. The bartender wiped fresh a new glass for me to mix the combinations of the armeretta mix and vodka together. “Don’t make it to strong!” I said watching him pour a little too much vodka in my drink. “I would like to remember tonight, damn!” I laughed. The bartender giggled and collected the twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” I said. Hopefully he doesn’t mistaken my nice tip as flirting.

I took my drink still sitting on the chair sipping away watching everybody become another self in the dark room. The song unknown to me waved through the air controlling the sways of the people creatively moving to the beat. They created their own perception of the beat as some were in rhythm and some, like the red-head on my left side, was just slight off beat. I laughed and nodded my head at how confident he was with the song. He married the song with such vows of certainty. His face was zoned out with is eyes closed almost in a moving meditative state. You can tell he was comfortable in his skin probably more than he has ever been before.

You know, actually I think I’m going to show him how to dance. This should be very fun yet, bold of me to do. I got my from  my seat and placed my empty drink on the counter. “The was fast,” said the bartender. “Yeah, I know, I had a rough two weeks,” I said screaming over the loud music. “You should have let me make the drink stronger,” he laughed. “No, no that’s okay!” I swam through the bouncing bodies to the red-head dancing off cue. Hopefully, their were an understanding of me pushing and stepping on their shoes. I just don’t have the time to be screaming excuse me.

When I reached him his eyes were still closed. “Hey excuse me,” I said tapping on his shoulder. He stopped moving opened his eyes then closed them back. He continued in his unmatched sways to the beat. “Hey, excuse me, you are a little bit off. I want show you how to do it.” I scream. The guy opened his eyes waiting to see what I had to offer. Very simple I just move side to side meeting my feet together from the left to the right.
“See it’s very simple just ride the beat, pick a part of the song and just groove accordingly” I demonstrated. Finally speaking he said, “And what am I doing wrong?”
“let’s just say instead of picking one beat you are mixing all the beats and it looks crazy, no shade”
Together we worked on him trying to move to the beat until he was able to not need my guidance.
“I’m David, what brings you to the club today,” I said still swaying side to side letting my body move freely.
“My mother passed away recently, it’s Friday, I’m single, but I don’t feel social so i’m by myself. I’m Steven,” the red-head said while occasionally moving out of rhythm.
“My mother passed away too, that’s ironic. I am here for the same exact reason.”
“Is this your pick up line, if so that’s not funny.” Steven said.
“No, I’m serious my mother passed away of stomach cancer, and plus I don’t do red heads.”
“My mother did too!” Steven said “Rihanna did it so I’m allowed to do it also!” . He did share the same complexion as her, so I guess he can get a pass.
“That’s so ironic. Was you close to you mother, me and mother was very close so it’s really hard for me going through this alone,” I said

“No, we lost contact after I came out to her, but she is still my one and only mother, I missed the funeral and everything too, I’m not good with death”
“What is you mothers name?” I asked.

“Stephanie Bright,” He replied.

I stopped in my tracks immediately,”Stephanie Bright? Are you sure? “
“Yeah, Why would I lie about that!” He said sternly.
“When was her funeral service?”

“Last sunday! Why are we talking about this in a club. Look I’m sorry for your lost but you are getting to personal. I don’t know you and I’m here trying to end my night right. Goodnight!” Steven said while grabbing his black jacket he had against the chair.
I went into my wallet and pulled out a picture of my mother dressed in all white maxi dress paired with white and red Christain Louboutins and grabbed him by his shoulders.
“Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone, what the fuck!” He screamed.
“Is this your mother?”

Write Now: Writing Prompt: The DJ tried one last time to make the club enjoyable

Expectations of My Imaginations

I want to fly across the United States unbound by the color of my skin, transfixed by wanderlust that will propel me into the woods of Georgia as I stand bare feet in the woods.  I want to marvel in a grandiose of visual perfection looking at the Great Plains covered

Freedom & Serenity

Freedom & Serenity

in the true color of love…green.  I want to see the stars, the original storytellers, to  befriend the moonlight parenting me with serenity.  I want to discover the  beauty of a land that is submissive under the partnership of ugly  mechanisms. The freedom to fly is the freedom to wander. To randomly pick up your bags and go across a land that can be oasis one day, and a party girl in New York City the next. I want to dip my toes in Florida,  bungee jump in California, drink the rain of Seattle. I want to feel the winds that birth tornadoes.

One day I will travel just because...

One day I will travel just because…

I want to understand with experience that  everything around me came from the same basic elements. Nothing outer worldly but everything inner worldly.

I want to bend my leg and touch my forehead with fluid and ease. To experience freedom in the grace of flexibility so I can discover the stillness in myself that leads to the realm of creativity when perform for hundreds.  The freedom to gyrate my body to the beats of house music late nights

You try this under 104 degree heat!

You try this under 104 degree heat!

on Mondays. The expression of my femininity in a world drench in hyper-masculinity. To be polished in every movement from the point of my toe to the tip of my fingers.  To finalize my talent and skill that can never be stripped from me. I want to be flexible to twist my body in yoga poses under 104 degree heat with ease.

I want to write a New York Times Bestseller explaining my hidden culture that

Be on the look out for my novel !

Be on the look out for my novel !

slowly rises from the ashes.  I want to demonstrate to people how Janet Mock taught me to be “unapologetic”. I want to tell my story.

I want to love more and better, reaching heights of emotions that rockets beyond my

For myself and to him.

For myself and to him.

physical senses. To love him, her, they, and it unconditionally. To most importantly to love my self and all of my me, my past, and my present.  To eventually discover my highest self that can benefit the world of the good.

I want me expectations that seems like imaginations to manifest out of the dream world into reality shape-shifting me into a better human experience.

PingBack: PostADay: Great Expectations

One Ear: The Diagnosis (Part II)

“Meningitis,” The young black doctor said to my mom.
My eyes were still closed and face still cringing from the pain.
“Oh, my God, are you serious?” I wailed. I couldn’t believe it! my mind flipped upside down even more. I couldn’t bring to thought how I contracted meningitis. I thought at the time it was only sexually transmitted and having my mother there with that thought was very awkward and embarrassing. I thought what she’d think of me a some loose cannon. I felt like I failed. Still to my conscious it didn’t make since if that was the case. I was in a stabled relationship even though at the moment we called it quits (we always go through that.)

The doctor explained how it wasn’t sexually transmitted because it wasn’t in a viral form but in a bacteria form. My mother elaborated  in my long history of ear infections.
At a very young age I had chronic ear infections. I was known through my childhood years for having these on going issues with my ear. Since I was little, my pediatrician didn’t think to deeply about the issue. We thought and he thought it was just a child thing I’m going through. Eventually I were to grow out of it. Which technically, I did…or so I thought. In summer 2010 just after my high school graduation I experience yet another ear infection. It was almost weird having to experience the pain all over again after a decade. I had undergo my first surgery which required a tube to drain liquid in my ear. That lead to another discovery that I had skin growing in the back of my hear. They call it Cholesteatoma. Few weeks later, I went under again so the doctor can clear out the mess. That lead to facial paralysis on my left side ( the chronic side). I was hard to eat, drink, talk, and blink. My whole left side was shut down like if I had a stroke. Going to work and school required human interaction which was no extremely difficult. formulating words…there was no such thing. I tried to isolate myself as much as I can from embarrassment. I recovered a three months later after I decided to go on a B-12 regime. I tried every alternative way I can to self medicate myself. I hate drug industries; they want you sick for money.

The nurse soon came with the morphine to calm down the pain. Finally, I was able to relax with a mild headache. My mother still with my had my vomit filled shoes and clothes as I switch in the gear that stole my identity. I took off my pants, slip into this light blue gown that exposed my backside. I lost the freedom to wear what I want. my right arm slip from beside and they clamped a white band around my arm. My identity changed into a barcode.The nurse held wires with a round sticker on the end that were placed all over my torso. I lost the freedom to walk. She took my temperature, that read 104 degrees, monitored my blood pressure and heart rate.

More doctors came in. I say about for of them, three males and one female. The all stood erect with white jackets and mask covering their mouths. They encourage my mother to get one immediately since what I have is contracted airborne. I’m registered unsafe to the public now. They ask for me name which no longer mattered.

“Hey dontae, I’m…” I forgot their names I’ve met to many doctors. “We are from the infectious disease department and we are here to tell you, you have meningitis which we believe could have been from you ear infections, can you tell us what happened?” And, so I did with grief. One doctor had a plastic shield covering his entire face. Like the ones police use to protect theirs…yeah! I couldn’t have felt so alienated from other as I had felt at that time. I was reduced to a new identity. A potentially harmful one. I hated it. Later, I was now being transported into another room. Solitary confinement.

It had to be already 3 hours into the early morning, I couldn’t tell because I had no phone for it died as soon I got home. my mother decided to leave because it was late. I wanted her to come back with my charger because I had not tell my friends or anybody that I am home. I couldn’t reach my dad; he’s another story, or my friends to tell them that I had made it home, but now unexpectedly in the hospital, or even tell my dear love “look I know we on bad terms right now however, I need you.”

As soon as my mother left me, the minute she closed the door behind here I was alone. The nurses didn’t help me as they should nor were they even attentive to me. The machine I was hooked up on produced a intensely loud ringing alarm indicating my rates were below average. In other words, I couldn’t tell whether it was saying my breathing was dying, heart racing, my life line is to low. I didn’t understand all I know was I needed help. They button to call the nurses over was broken. Now how can I reach someone when I’m locked in a room alone? I’m looking through a window seeing nurses after nurses moving about talking and not one of them see’s me waving? The noise grew even louder, my goodness It resembled an alarm clock that would not snooze! it felt like hours on end.

I never experienced the moment of now since until being that room. I had no time and I had lost the track of time since I got to the hospital. The loud alarm caused me to tear rapidly. I bawled out. My headache started to grew while I’m left strapped to a bed hooked with wires. I’m yelling help louder and louder but my voice is competing with a machine. I started waving aggressively at he small window at the door.
I managed to get three nurses and not one of them helped me. They all said, “I’ll get your nurses for you.” All I wanted was them to stop the noise and give an Advil or something for this headache. I was hungry too! That one nurse came in gleefully, I guess to brighten my spirits, explaining how someone else is really sick and much other redundant information. I could care any less! I could have caught a heart attack or something and no one would have noticed me. That how deserted I was. I am not exaggerating this either. . . .

Another doctor came in again asking the same dumb questions, “What happened?” “You have this…we’re going to do that.” He looked in the chronic ear and gave me a new discovery.
He said,”It looked like part of the brain fell behind your eardrum.”