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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It seems like love is the only thing I ever talk about. As if I know nothing else. As IF, my mind isn’t filled with growing storms, and flooding problems of hurt anger and disappointment. As if at the very moment I try to solidify my presence in this world, the floors beneath my feet aren’t crumbling. I have so much more to do than worry about you. Nevertheless it is always there, knocking. Finding new ways to introduce itself; finding new names to call itself. Silly me. I reciprocate by doing my best to hold it somehow; in my mind and heart, and if I could, in my hands. I fear my fingers to this keyboard is the closest I will ever get to it.

I don’t know why I talk about it so much. Is it because it is so hard for me to come by? Am I repellant of love? True joy–without love. Will I ever really know it? How it looks. Like the sun and the moon, it comes, and it goes, but it never stays. It never lingers long around me. I wonder why that is. So, i’ve finally stopped counting the number of time I have asked why? Why is it that some people get to experience a lifetime of love and others linger in solace. I heard somewhere just recently––I think it was a commercial––that we as people are not meant to be alone. For years I have dwelled in silence, alone, and untouched on a continuos basis. You know who else is untouched in this world? Prisoners.

Love is an anomaly. The act, the people, the feeling…that is probably the reason it intrigues me so. We are at war love and I. I think it started when I was around 16 years old. Not sure which of us started it…that is just what it is, and what it has always been, and looks like gonna be. An incessant battle I continue to lose. The fact that we are fighting doesn’t stop me from admiring its qualities.

I pray that either I find it, or my heart gives up and gives out. In a case like this, aspirin, or cough syrup won’t relieve the aching heart trapped in my chest. I never want to feel again. I lie in this bed, surrounded by an air of pain, and hopelessness pleading a heart vasectomy. I have grown weak and tired from asking, and wondering. Rip the tubes of emotions from me. Find me a new purpose. A new matter to obsess over. I am sick of talking about it, yet and still, it is the only thing that feeds me joy and pain in the same stream.

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Posted by on October 14, 2014 in Creative Writing


Month 2



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Posted by on October 13, 2014 in Memoirs


Silly me

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Posted by on September 16, 2014 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


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