These are my Confessions....(no Usher Raymond)

1) I usually say what I mean and, often, to a fault. Just know that when this happens, a) I am not sorry and b) you're welcome. Honesty is hard to come by.

2) My intuition is ridiculously strong. Often, before I am told something, especially as it concerns me, I've already had some dream or sign that makes some things downright unsurprising. This is weird and it also kind of takes the spice out of life for me. I can honestly admit to being absolutely surprised and sideswiped at one point in my entire life, and that took almost 27 years (kudos to Alex and Shardonay...*slow clap* lol)

3) I have honestly loved (in the heart-sense, not "biblically" lol) only three men in my entire life; I've only been in love with one.

4) I hate cliques and mob mentality. Needless to say, this has troubled some of my aspirations and relations as I've moved through some very small professional and social circles. Just keep having to tell myself, "It be like that sometimes," and keep the movement fluid.

5) I truly value my friends, but sometimes I don't know if they know it. When my attention has been set to something, I am usually unreachable or out of touch for a long period...at least until the chosen mission has been accomplished. My heart and mind are often at odds about this. Those who really know me (which a few of you do :) ) know that I'm only a phone call away, whether the news is of a festival or a funeral. Believe that I am trying to get better at this...

6) I don't trust too many people. Outside of immediate family, maybe one or two people. Total. To go into any further detail here would be more than I'm willing to confess today. :)

7) My biggest fear at this point of my life is never having my own family (specifically, kids). Maybe I was conditioned to be this way, having observed my parents in action, but I just feel this as necessary to my life. I'm in no rush, at all; I'm broke, single and a grad student. It'll be a while, lol... But I know exactly what I want in this area of my life, and I can't say that for any other part of my life at this point.

8) As of Spring, I decided to trust the Lord with my romantic life, lol. This goes against who I've trained myself to be in my adult life: Picking a target, making a move, and then (if the situation requires) moving from the scene unscathed. The whole idea of courting just missed me for a while because I thought a) men were lazy and didn't do that anymore (with good intent, anyway) and b) why wait on someone else when you could have what you wanted right now? Needless to say it has been unpredictable, random, amazing at times, frustrating at others...but all the same, I've relinquished control of the situation. The few times I've tried to interject, He's convicted me. Harshly. When I'm faithful to Him, He rewards me...randomly. He directed me to Psalm 46:10 last winter, so I guess I should stick with that.

9) I'm single, broke, slowing down physically from my younger days (lol), don't trust many people, and I'm overworked, but I don't think I could be happier than I am now... given my circumstances anyway. I feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be, even though right now I'm bored and struggling with what I may need to change in order to feel more fulfilled. Only time will tell...

10) I just typed "I" 37 times--in various contractions and singular usages--in the above statements. This is a record. And it will never happen again. LOL

Falling back...

I have a love-hate relationship with daylight savings time, especially that BS in the spring when Mother Nature (more aptly, corporate America) snatches an hour back from me. When we "fall back" an hour, like some other Americans, I'm conditioned to be a bit excited, feeling like I've gained something (back) or got over somehow. The truth is that time is time and, no matter how you shake it or spend it, it will fly by, nonetheless. No matter who is counting or taking note of the time, it is all running down on one watch. His watch.

One thing I've noticed in my own life is that this period of falling back has been more than a gifted hour of sleep; it has been a time of transition, a watershed moment of truth and emotions...for no reason. I don't even know if there's a connection, but since I've been here, that extra hour has never been as enjoyable as it was when I was young because I haven't been able to sleep through it (lol).

Try having an extra hour to wonder why (from your own deduction) why someone you fell hard into something like love with cheated on you (again, deduced) and stranded you on your best friend's couch until dawn. Dawn is a long time to wonder and cry when you have to see 1 AM twice...

Try setting back your clock only to sit reading by lamp light, half wondering how you're going to write three 20-page papers by the end of November and wondering why a relationship based on years of knowing and loving somehow lacks reciprocity...

Try being able to sleep through an "extra" hour while wondering brokenhearted why a friend that you shared so much with could shut down on you at a proximity too close to ignore...

...And this is just through 2009.

This year, in keeping with tradition, all emotional hell broke loose. But I did something different this year: I was able to enjoy my extra hour.

Not because I wasn't hurt.
Not because attempted to brush the "dirt off".
Not because I ran off into something else to spare myself.

I didn't have anyone or anything to fall back on but Jesus. After so much pain and so much openness in my past, he showed me over the past 11 months (I recommitted my life to Christ on Dec. 2, 2009 in "someone's" kitchen. I can share that story later...lol) to be vulnerable only to him. Men and women can only be as human as God made us, and to be human is to be broken, sinful, and selfish.

I have been hurt and I have done hurtful things to others--knowingly and unknowingly--during this time so I know that I'm neither bulletproof nor perfect. But the Lord, with prayer, apt attention, and faith in Him, helped me prepare myself for the storm this fall. I will admit that nothing that happened this time around was anything I DIDN'T pray for or about. The Lord has a funny way letting you know that your will is not His; your wants and plans are not His plans for you.

I definitely got a bit more than I bargained for this time around, but the truths that the Lord revealed to me were more than enough for me to recognize His love for me in place of devastation and confusion. At 1AM this year, perhaps both hours, I was on my knees in prayer, literally laughing, thanking Him for His mercy and the ability to be merciful. Forgiveness is powerful, especially when the person you need to have mercy on the most is yourself...

I would appreciate no comments on this blog. Just thought I'd share. Thank you. And be merciful...

Markeysha Dawn Davis
Doctoral Candidate
W. E. B. Du Bois Department of Afro-American Studies
University of Massachusetts Amherst
(313) 318-1831
mddavis@afroam.umass.edu

Riesling. And me.

It's a nasty habit.
Seeing visions of
what could be in
clouds of smoke,
only to be dispersed in
ashes...
a signal of
the death
of dreams and
calamity
or the rise of the new
--a phoenix
in the horizon.
Imagined.

Each whirl of grey
a reminder that
I'm not conjuring
the uncertain
But they too are
temporary,
as I am.

It's complicated
to consider the
uncertain
under a dangerous cloud
that houses the dreams
of a believer.
I wish I knew
of a way to
relinquish
feelings,
to extinguish
the smoke that
hazes my mind,
but it's necessary to stay
ahead
of you.

It's a nasty
habit.
Wondering why you go down
better with spirits,
while I'm right here.
But the fear is
too much.
I don't want you to be
everything,
but there you are,
in the wind when I
exhale.
I close my eyes to
forget
but the Riesling...
and me
recall this haze
of uncertainty,
half of which
I desire,
part of which I
admire,
and sometimes
loathe to my core.

But another aspirin to
numb the waking pain
of sitting in solitude,
wondering why
your piece
no longer moves
though the board is clear....
It's a nasty habit,
this game.

Poetic circumstances

[#NP "All Blues" - Miles Davis]

I'm sitting in double-seat alone on an Amtrak, if you don't count my fuzzy companion/neck pillow, Mr. Bear, as a living being. OK...he isn't, but the point I'm trying to get to is that though I'm alone on this journey, something about it is speaking to me.

It's beautiful, watching the world literally roll by your window. Watching the sun set, rise within a day's travel. Watching people stroll by, feigning solitude with the false barriers of iPods and cell phones, having the realization here and there that there are more than 300 people between the four cars that they could be socializing with. This is why I take the train home. Sure it costs me a day and a half of travel time, but I see time as expendable anyway, especially when you're enjoying yourself.

Even still, though I am enjoying myself, a large part of me wonders how long I'll have to do this alone. Explore. Discover. Realize. Learn. Love the world. Love me....

I have no shortage of interested men, but I do have standards lol (please see previous postings to see what those might be). For some time, I thought I'd found someone (often against my better judgment) who could replace "Mr. Bear " (and then some), but the one thing I've learned over the past few years was that you can't control the way people feel about you without manipulating the situation in one way or another. Long story short, as far as love goes, I've definitely gone organic; if it doesn't come naturally, I'm on to the next pick.

Moving on from that situation, both mentally and now physically (literally), I don't feel freedom or excitement. It's rather bittersweet. Sometimes the potential for love can be more intriguing than actually obtaining or pursuing it. For one, that phase of potentiality is like no other moment in love, other than what I assume is the moment when you discover you could be with that one person for the rest of your life. Losing that is almost as bad as a break up (almost...) but at the expense of more important things, the loss is well worth it.

Coming back to the present--the train--aloneness is something most of us are born into, just as many of us will die alone. I acknowledge my aloneness, but I refuse to accept loneliness as a condition. I realize that I have too much to offer the world to be lonely and, as a result, selfish with my joy --and my pain. While for now the journey of life for me has been alone (for the most part), I have a feeling that someone out there is waiting for me to come around the bend. Saving a seat for me...and Mr. Bear.

Markeysha Dawn Davis
Doctoral Candidate
W. E. B. Du Bois Department of Afro-American Studies
University of Massachusetts Amherst
(313) 318-1831
mddavis@afroam.umass.edu

Pursuer

He said
"I want to be in you."
Pause.
I grabbed my bags
and retreated slowly
in polite decline.
I'd known of him for years but
never knew him to be so
forthright.
And he was so
Light:
His presence could be
but an essence
in any room
and still be overwhelming.
For me.
I'd always felt him,
even when others occupied my time,
my mind,
but I had no idea that the feeling
was mutual,
that someone so wonderful
had enough love left
just for me.

He said,
"I want to be in you"
Not selfishly or temporarily but eternally.
I ran (bags and all),
this kind of love
too much for me.
If I let him in,
where would I go?
Who would be able to
love me,
with a pursuer so
jealous?
I mean,
he sent his people
he closed in walls
he isolated me and said
"Love me."
As I loved myself
as I loved others
as I elevated everything in my heart
but him,
he said that he needed a place there:
"Set me as a seal upon your heart
As a seal upon your arm
For is love is strong as death
Jealousy as fierce as the grave..."

I kept running, afraid.
He kept coming, lovingly,
scroll,
in pursuit.
I feared him,
but I knew I loved him
in spite of everything I
thought I wanted or
knew I needed.
He had come to me
unsummoned
so many times.
He was more than a friend
by then.
He had taken the weight of
my bags as
his burden.
He comforted me in the cover of
the night and even shamelessly in the light of day.
Loving me.
He died loving me.
So I let him in.
Markeysha Dawn Davis
Doctoral Candidate
W. E. B. Du Bois Department of Afro-American Studies
University of Massachusetts Amherst
(313) 318-1831
mddavis@afroam.umass.edu

A Pre-Position

Me myself I
Us ourselves we
What could become
with no
conjunctions?
"I" functioning
without "U,"
and we're short
a few,
just to get technical.
Vows aren't
vows without
vowels.
Symbols are
unreal.
But signs indicate
how we feel.
Still,
I hold pen in hand
while you
grasp pride
fear...
Fate ain't enough
for some,
but understand
that it's not up for
consideration.
Billie was blue enough
for all of us;
I'm trying to live
in the green,
so I guess I'll
go and keep it
moving.
No refrain.
No repeat.
No coda.
My mode is
progressive,
ever-building,
like Trane,
my existence in the breaks of your melody:
Not what you're used to
but profoundly comforting.
I don't want to write you a love song
unless it's Supreme,
centered in Creation.
You can't realize
the new
while stationed,
so move.
Don't make a
pass
if I throw.
Go.

In search of Francois Dillinger?

I love Michael Cera. I mean, really. He's perhaps the most lovable, young loser in Hollywood at this point--on film at least. But above all, in each character he takes on there is a steadfastness that even the most macho or popular guy (generally pitted as his foil) cannot rival. Having admired his adorably unassuming edge in both "Arrested Development" as George Michael Bluth and in "Superbad" as Evan, I have to admit that I fell in love with him as Nick Twisp in "Youth in Revolt" just today. Or maybe it wasn't him as Nick...but as Francois Dillinger...the bad ass, suicidal French man he conjures as an alter-ego at the behest of his demanding crush, Sheeni. Twisp himself was incapable of little more than sideways snipes at his mother's lovers and a neat "self-session" undercovers before he "made" Francois. But as the movie reveals, Francois--seeing the desperation of his 16-year-old creator 1) not to be alone and more importantly, 2) not to die a virgin--seemingly reverses the roles on Twisp and recreates him....see video :)

Dillenger in Action

This movie, charming and hilarious as it is, has its obvious limitations...despite my love for Cera/Twisp/Dillinger. First and foremost, and probably the only point that need be made, there is no way in HELL that any of this could happen. To anyone. Ever. The shit that Nick Twisp goes through for Sheeni --from blowing up his mother's car and trailer and propelling his father's car off of a cliff with a rock to the gas pedal to having Sheeni drugged at school each morning to make her fail classes--is as useless and unrealistic as it is comical. But the point is that he does all of these things in order to solely catch her attention or because she's voiced her expectation for him to be a willing bad-ass (even acceptable to the point that it screws her over and gets her kicked out of French prep-school). Taken away from its context and the humor removed, we see a near universal story of boy-meets-girl/boy-likes-girl/girl-makes-expectations-known (or often plays/is hard to get)/ boy-gets-girl. If life was this formulaic, there would be no need for a Twisp to remind us of our own failures at love.

Where am I going with this? Well, there's been a slew of articles pitting black women, like myself (young, employed, educated, attractive, and supposedly "middle-class"), against black men (some with the same qualifications) and, for the overzealous blogger/columnist, against the very world in which we live and work. Black women are alone, according to these writers, because they are too smart, too demanding, too inaccessible, make too much money, work too many hours, and have too many needs. Unashamed, I admit to be one of this number of single black women over 25, but contrary to popular belief, my singleness is by choice. I can't link my choice to emotional scarring or even divine influence because neither would do justice to the freedom I feel. There is not the weight of performing femininity to the extent that I am lost in a man's expectations of me, in opposition to who I am allowed to be when he is not present-- a snort-laughing, Will Ferrell-loving gamer who prefers bare feet to stilettos and wedge heels and Blue Moons and Handi-Snacks to wine-and-cheese tastings. Nor is there the burden of dictating an impossible masculine identity to a man I am hardly allowed to know because of my stark expectations of him, a la Sheeni in "Youth in Revolt." However, it seems I'm alone in loving this freedom sometimes because people (not exclusively black men and women) get so caught up in performances of masculinity and femininity that they miss the chance to get to know the person they are interested in beyond gender.

It takes a long time for a lot of us to realize that we cannot create the man or woman we want and that this fact does not mean settling...nor does it mean to adhere to any kind of racial dating "anarchy" in revolt against a particular group of men or women who you "don't get". Love is a hell of a lot more than a list of demands and a swapping of bodily fluid, but for most, anything more seems uncomfortable...unfathomable even. While a Francois Dillinger appeals to me, it is not because I relate to the bratty, bumbling idiot that Sheeni was. It's because he was a bad-ass, pure and simple :)...and by all means not an expectation I'd place on other men. However, the point that Twisp, via Dillinger, was able to take risks on his own accord to demonstrate his affection and even vocalize his desire to be with Sheeni (regardless of how crazy he seemed to me and everyone watching the film with me) helped me visualize the way that I expect to be courted. Whoever chooses to love me should be unashamed to do so and, on his own accord, be willing to take selfless risks that will strengthen our bond. I can't define these things now of course because the ways we need to be loved change with our life experiences. And believe that I'm not asking a man to do the impossible, but more notedly to not be afraid to take a chance for fear of rejection. I just know I expect these things because this is the way that I love, which is why Cera's character(s), crazy as they were written, touched me so :).

Maybe someone will read this and completely miss the point (highly likely); others may say "me too" while laughing at my blog picturing me waiting for a Francois Dillinger ready to tell me the business. As a single black woman with both social history and "current trends" allied against me, why not dream of Francois?