Lost & Found

It was too long ago to even remember what I had done, that caused me to have to stare aimlessly at the dried noodles stuck to the multi-colored construction paper hanging from the ceiling. Left with only the thoughts of what I was going to do after I was released from the classroom turned timeout corner, I sat there. I sat there until the class came back—until the last kid got nice and comfortable in his seat. I sat there until the teacher started to resume the lesson she had probably prepared the night or a week before. I waited until everyone had forgotten that they had went to recess with out me, and thats when I made my exit to the playground. I had somehow decided that since I was robbed of my recess, I would rob them of my presence during class. Without giving it a second thought, I swung on the monkey bars, and the swings. I played on the merry-go-round. I ran, and jumped in dead silence. This was new to me. I had never been on a playground where the presence of other kids didn’t exist. But still, it wasn’t about the play. It was about the fact that my teacher thought she could rob me, Teneisha Ta’shae Franklin, of having fun! Yes, my father was in the military, and yes my mother was as meanest mama I knew. Frankly, she scared the shit out of me. There was no doubt in my mind that I was going to receive an ass whoppin’. I gladly accepted it, and continued to play in silence.

With the exception of my mother and father, I was the master of my universe. Despite the fact that when I was born my legs bowed so badly, I was prescribed braces to straighten them. It never deterred me. As a nine year old girl, I was fearless. I ran fast, jumped high and spoke loudly. I was confident, bold and daring. I danced, and I laughed with ease. I loved who I was, and never gave a second thought to who I would become.

Somewhere down the line—through the transition of puberty, adolescence, self-esteem, boyfriends, and womanhood—I lost myself. I was no longer that daring child I used to be. The once loud voice had been turned down almost to the point of silence. My speed had crept to a saunter and my confidence had dissipated. What had happened to me, is what I would assume happens to most people—life. But instead of moving on, it scared me enough to run, hide, and barricade myself, inside of myself. Leaving the potency of who I was trapped and unable to escape. I lost myself and lost sight of my own value. Essentially, my fight was gone, and I had died.

My state of being rested far from that which I had grown up with. I come from a family of women—at the top of the family tree were grand aunts, the HNIC’s—who had an abounding love for themselves. Dark skin, big-boned women flourished in our family—the anti-commercialism of the black woman—Gaps, gold teeth, flashy clothes, long, sharp colorful nails, coupled with slick tongues and foul language. And when they all came together they laughed with such guffaw. Ask any seven of them and they would proudly tell you, with their eyes lowered and their necks wound ready to roll, that they were the finest, sexiest beings on the planet earth. Looking at the shell of the person that I was, It was hard to believe that I somehow descended from this group of women.

Once I had lost sight of who I was, it took me too many years to get that sense of self worth back. To do that, I had to pull out boxes and boxes of shit I just didn’t need. I dug through boxes that still had grudges in them. I had a box that had that bad relationship straight out of high school, and that horrifically depressing pregnancy that lead me to have to fight single parenthood as if it were the cancer of my life. That box with anger, unforgiveness, and brick walls…that shit had to go. The sadder I became, the more these things were like anchors to my soul and in my life. So, what did I do? I followed Jay-Z’s advice. I built a bridge and I got over it. It was only after I had done so, was I able to begin to travel the road that would eventually lead me to reclaim what I had lost.

Looking for yourself is no easy feat—battles must take place inside the mind for sure. It’s like that old philosophical question: How does something as small as the mind control something as big as the body? Shit, I still don’t know the answer to that question—It’s kind of like putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. Sometimes you only have to walk a couple of feet to find the next piece, sometime you have to walk several miles, and sometimes you may never find it again. Its just gone. Thankfully, so far, I’ve found the laughter and joy she used to give me.


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Posted by on August 7, 2012 in Memoirs


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Posted by on September 15, 2014 in Memoirs


Locking week 2 (selfie)

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Posted by on September 9, 2014 in Memoirs


Superwomans’s Tears

I watch him as he studies the boy who handles the ball with such ease. The boy with the ball, watches the older man’s moves, expectant of his next command. He switches positions.

I almost can’t handle watching the three. The interaction between the boy and his father, and my son–The fatherless boy–watches the two. My heart breaks in uncountable pieces. I am powerless. His face writes a novel. I know because i read it. I walked a little closer hoping to embrace him and let his face rest in my bosom but I had to finally acknowledge what I had been ignoring oh so long.

The open letter written in his eyes read “I want what they have. As a baby I wanted you to hold me when i cried. When you fed me i wanted you to look into my brown eyes and do nothing but smile and be happy because i was yours and you were mine. Two peas in a pod one would never let the other go. where did you go? i dont know, and mama doesn’t either. Are you ever coming back? Theres still time. Until you do I guess I’ll just sit here on the bench and watch these two because I don’t know how to move, like that dad taught that little boy to do.

He is misses a love that he’s never known. Guilt rises from my stomach and dwells in my heart. I can’t fix it. I can’t make a man who is or isnt his father love him. My heart wont let me fall for the first guy who fancies me without him. No matter how much I cry, or what I try the situation stays broken. I am woman,teacher, nurturer,confidant,and provider. I have the power to touch hearts and inspire by the millions. I am a queen who descended from the loins of monarchs rulers for over 3000 years. I am powerful beyond belief. everything I need i arrived here with… But I am no man. In this lies an I can’t.

How can a woman teach someone who has the potential of a man how to live up to every drop of his potential when I myself lack that potential? With the rise of his age, are also the rise in challenges. With each challenge, he leaves the arena of motherhood and ventures into a territory I am in no way familiar with. more questions, mean more blame simply because I stayed. I will endure. I am ready


Posted by on August 24, 2014 in Memoirs


Conversation Lost

So, Tonight it hit me. I wanted to talk. I wanted 2 my feelings to someone other than me. My excitement and failures poured into him. I wanted an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry and friends to rely. He was nowhere to be found. My lover and my friend above all my friend. I miss our conversations every day. I write, but I can not live. I Express only to myself. It saddens me that these words won’t go beyond this page, this note.

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Posted by on August 24, 2014 in Memoirs


I Won’t Ask Again

I have grown so tired of asking.
Asking, begging, pleading, wishing
Hoping, waiting, wondering,and even arguing,
No matter how much I ask. No matter how long the begging takes place, the answer…your answer will probably always be no.
What could I have possibly done in my past life, or lives to deserve a sentence of solitude. Happiness gets to run a muck, and you make me watch.
I feel the pain and bitterness grows into anger. Creeping in the dark parts of the night to meet me. Anger. I have held you so close for so long.
You are my friend. More tears. Empty tears.

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Posted by on August 12, 2014 in Memoirs



My heart stays on weaping mode. I miss him, and I don’t know how to stop.

I almost told him too. If it wasn’t for pride–also known as my sanity holding on to my tailcoat–I would have.

Instead, I tell you. I place my tears in this small, empty, unknow space where my cares come to die. All my Aches bruises and pains I place in your hands.

What we had is gone. I desparately need you to take that too.

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Posted by on July 5, 2014 in Memoirs


It is a little baffling. How happiness tends to cling to some like small dogs, loyal to their master. And like magnets of the same charge, repel from others.

It is a little …

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Posted by on June 30, 2014 in Memoirs


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