Picture Imperfect...

Posted by Tedd V 0 comments



Every time I see you, you are little miss picture perfect.

Nice hair, nice smile - smell good & feel good threaded eye-brows & polished nails.

White Guess Purse, Tight Guess Jeans, Gucci shoes hair in a perfect little pony-tail.

I mean nothing is out of place, not even the way your lips taste when we kiss;

Somehow I think it’s too good to be true, and I'm not one to wallow in ignorant bliss

In order for me to truly love you, I need to truly know you.

You want to know what love is, so step a little closer, let me show you

I want to know you like Adam knew Eve. So let’s get naked

There's no trick up my sleeve, I just want to see you see you tainted.

And not this picture that you've painted, somehow I think it's too good to be you.

So just for a day, I want to have my way. Maybe then I'll have a clue

I want to see you how you see you when you wake up with no make up.

I want to feel you how you feel you when you're soaking wet in your own sweat.

I want to touch you how you touch you're feeling crappy instead of happy.

I want to know you how you know you, when you forfeit the lies and the disguise.

When you stand before the mirror, and look past your exterior,

And see yourself as inferior to what society thinks of you.

I want to look at your interior and see you as superior to what you think of you.

So get out of those tight guess jeans, out of those Victoria’s secrets

I want to be honest with me today, so let out all your glorious secrets.

Let me see the real you. What you look like on Sunday night.

When there's no party to go to, no shopping to do, no friends to hang out with - just you,

your cat, a bag of potato chips, and a remote and an episode of desperate housewives,

sitting on an old couch, wearing baggy sweatpants, a tank-top and coke-bottle glasses.

And when I lean over to embrace you I hope you’ll realise

that I’m not in it for how you look but for who you are.

See, I love you from the crown of your head to the sole of your feet.

In fact I will love you my dear until lemons taste sweet.

I will kiss you here there & everywhere -

From your toes, to your calves, your hips, your thighs

From your waist to your neck, your lips your eyes.

And believe me; if I could, I would kiss you where your mind lies

Because just one look at you, had me thinking of your ring size.

I want to hold you so tight that you forget what its like to be free.

I want you to lose yourself in love, and always find yourself in me

I want you to feel as free and unbound as an un-tethered cloud,

To always have a smile on your face and no room for a frown.

I want you know that I love you enough to die for you,

And I you will see that in the way I live for you.

abstract by Tedd V.

Beautiful (excerpt)

Posted by Tedd V 0 comments

"Tell me again, how beautiful I am" she whispered in my ear. She'd say this whenever she was feeling down, and I'd always been eloquent enough to lift her spirits higher that the wind lifts the eagle. It always amazed me how such a wonderful young lady, full of cheer and good spirit, humour and joy could ever have a moment in her life when she felt unworthy of anything. Maybe I didn't really understand the depths of the hardships she had come face to face with, or how her struggles were harder than a slave’s palm. Maybe I looked at the way she smiled and failed to comprehend how, from those bright brown eyes that were so captivating, cold tears could flow like the like endless salt-water streams of melted snow. It's hard to imagine that under that beautiful even toned skin, she had emotional scars and bruises that band-aids couldn't hold together.

As these thoughts raced through my mind, I felt her gently nudging me with her elbow. "Tell me again, how beautiful I am." This time she came closer, and snuggled up against me, laying her head on my chest and putting her arm around me, as though to assure herself that I wasn't going to leave her. Her voice sounded like that of a mother singing a lullaby to a dying child. I could hear how she so desperately wanted to sound strong, but the trembling in her heart she couldn’t contain. Fear is an ugly thing, even in beautiful people. So I took advantage of her proximity, and gave her a gentle squeeze. Just to let her know that I’m here, and I have nowhere to go. Even if I did, she’d be my designated driver because I am stoned-drunk with the wine of her love.

I finally understood why an answer to this question was of such importance to her. Imagine, all your life having nothing beautiful to call your own, nothing good to look forward to. Imagine how it feels to know that goodness exists only through seeing someone else's smile. Everything she ever owned, everything she ever attached her name to, had been stolen from her. Her clothes, parents, home, friends, joy and her innocence, all that was stripped away from her. All she had left was her health and her beauty – and she felt like that too was lost. Fighting was all she knew how to do. With a past like hers, she just had to be strong. It’s saddened me when I saw her strength become her weakness.

Due to all the stress she had to deal with, her immune system had become too strong and started attacking her own body. She’d been fighting lupus and though she was winning by physical standards, it was heavily taxing her psychologically. Though she had it under control, she still felt like she wasn’t pretty enough on the outside. Like her her struggle was written on her face. Like all those silent screams were finally given volume. As if the deep hidden, emotional scars were starting to penetrate to the surface of her skin.

Sometimes I Hurt

Posted by Tedd V 2 comments


I woke up to a loud bang that morning. I'd heard gunfire so many times before but something was different about that shot. Something left my spirit unsettled and I just couldn't go back to sleep. Normally there would be multiple gunshots, one after the other as rivals exchange fire trying to knock each other down, but this time it was just one shot. It sounded as though it was premeditated, calculated, decided and fatal. That's what made me restless. Joey was out that from the night before; it was 4 am and he hadn't come home. Being troublesome as he was, I couldn't help but fear that he was on the receiving end of that gunfire. I got up, put my clothes and shoes on then went outside to see what was happening. Since dad walked out on us, mom had been working 3 jobs to put food on the table and put us through school. Joey being the big brother felt that he should be able to help, so he started selling weed to make a little money to help with the expenses in the house. Mom didn't know about it, she thought he was working odd-jobs after school. For some reason I suspected that Joey had crossed the line and started selling crack, and that would have been the wrong move. Especially because the crack dealers had established territories and guarded them fiercely. I told my sisters to stay put and left them in their room as I went out to investigate.

As I walked through this valley of the shadow of death, I stumbled upon some stumbling blocks that were designed to keep young inner-city kids like me down. I stumbled upon weed, upon alcohol and upon some crack rock and I saw how an unguided child would do anything to belong to the flock. They say its hard out hear for a pimp, but who's going to tell my story, who's going to say its hard out here for me. I wish I could live in an area where yellow school buses abound, running the streets, picking up little kids and taking them to school. Instead, I live in the inner city, in the streets, where yellow police tape is constantly unwound, and police cruisers pick up kids and take them to the school of hard knocks.

As I tried to step over the crack pipe my foot landed on the used syringe. Luckily the sole on my shoe is thick, so the needle did not harm me. I had to walk past Mr Woo's candy store, right next door to Singh's Liquor store with the bullet proof glass. I took a turn into the alley for a short-cut, and half way down after passing the stench of urine at he entrance, I had to walk carefully so as to not step on the used condoms. I had to cover my eyes so I wouldn't see Mr Jacob's cheating on his wife with the prostitute from down the block. When I got to the other end of the alley I started jogging. My heart was racing; I could see Joey's corner but I couldn't see Joey. I started to run faster and I got there at the same time as the police cruiser. There he was, lying face down in his own blood. My brother who'd been taking care of my sisters and I since the day daddy left.

That crack pipe I stepped over looked real good to me at that moment. I could have used a line cocaine, that would have done the trick. Or maybe a nice fat blunt to take away the blunt-force trauma on my spirit. I'd felt pain before, but none of it compared to the harrowing I felt on my soul that day. Sometimes I hurt. No matter what I try to ease the pain with, nothing is strong enough to take the hurt away. No amount of beer will ever be able to drown these sorrows. I felt like I had just woken up in a cold sweat on a hot night, with nothing but blinding darkness surrounding me and nothing but silent cries to scream out into the depth of this ear-less space that tries tirelessly to sooth my shivering soul. The police officer knew Joey and he knew me too. At the very moment I felt myself getting weak, he walked up to me and said, "Hold on son, be strong. You'll pull through."

That morning I became a man; I wanted to cry but sometimes crying doesn't help. I let out silent screams that were amplified and echoed by the walls of oppression that pressed tight against me. That silence, to me sounded louder than the bang you hear when you finally hit the floor of a bottomless pit. I asked myself, "Why me? Why does it rain when I have no umbrella? Why does it get cold when I have no sweater? Why does the power always go out when I have no candles?
Why am I the motherless child that I am? She has to work 3 jobs just so she can make up for whats lacking at home. A father. As she tries to make up for that she deprives me from what's needed at home. A mother.

Just then Joey's friend Leroy walked up to me, put his hand on my back and said, "It's a hard knock life kiddo. Just let me know if there's anything I can do for you." He looked me in the eye as he said that, and walked away. Just like daddy did when he walked away from us. I felt an anger overcoming me. I'd never wished bad on anyone, but that morning I wished it on my own father. I wished he'd wake up one day with his tear ducts sealed shut, with nothing but time on his hands and onions to cut. I wished he'd have migraines every time he'd think, I wished he'd have nightmares every time he blinked. I wished he'd choke on 40oz of his children's tears, I wished his tongue would bleed every time he'd drink a beer. I wish his life turns out to be somebody else's dream, and they wake up the moment he wins the lottery. I wish the earth would fall from beneath his feet, and no one would be there to hear him but me. And on that day I would have smoked the biggest blunt just to ease away the pain he caused me because sometimes I hurt.
abstract by Tedd V.
Last paragraph inspired by Lizz Straight

Still a Negro...Part I

Posted by Tedd V 3 comments

I remember a time when I walked down chemin de Chambly or rue Conefroy in Longueuil & down rue Ste Catherine or rue de Maisonneuve in Montreal, Quebec, seemingly surrounded by every nationality but African, feeling doubly out of place because it was not my land I trekked on, nor was it my language i heard being spoken. Then, from across the street, I spotted him; Jean-Francois, a young Haitian boy, a few years my junior and it happened. Not rehearsed, not taught, an instinctively induced motion; a slow raising and lowering of the head while making eye contact. In my language, this would be something like saying, "sawubona" - loosely translated this means "I see you." This was a form of greeting among many black people across the world, especially in places where the black are the minority. It basically says to the other person, "I see you, I know what it's like, hang in there, I got your back" - At least that's how I saw it; especially coming from the motherland and having had an opportunity to explore the difference in backgrounds between Africa; where black is majority, and North America; where black is a hand-me-down slave with earning privileges, a second class citizen. One would think that the ongoing liberation struggles in Africa, the civil-rights movements in America, the various affirmative action groups as well as the truth & reconciliation commissions among other organisations that are active globally, would influence justice and fair treatment among all people. This is not so.

There is another social monster that has reared it's ugly head, it's been quietly working behind the scenes and is causing a greater divide among the people. It's no secret that in African countries, the colonials used a divide and conquer strategy. They separated the masses and once they had them in the smaller groups they were able to rule with an iron fist - effectively dominating and overpowering the smaller numbers. This division was both tribal & geographical among other criteria. To drive the nail home they had to make the division more than just physical. They also made it a mental condition by stirring up contention between the separated groups hence the continuing tribalism experiencing today. Parallel to this happening in Africa, it happened in Europe and America. Slaves were separated and segregated from one another, and ranks were unofficially given. You may have heard the term "casta" or "caste" referring to this social-hierarchy implemented in Spain during slavery. Today we face this same type of intraracial separation among our own people. Colorism. I couldn't believe how many responses I hit when I searched this term word on google guess what I found; about 1,020,000 results for colorism were found in 0.34 seconds.

I didn't know that this was such a widespread cancer in our society, I have received the short end onf the stick on this a few times but when i saw this becoming a little more prevalent in my circles than just the odd comment here and there I decided to do some research and thats when I came across the word. Colorism is not a dictionary defined term so naturally I decided to search google. I couldn't believe how many hits I got; about 1,020,000 results for colorism were found in 0.34 seconds. So this thing has been going on for ages. Wikipedia's link on this gave a definition as "discrimination in which human beings are accorded differing social and treatment based on skin color. The preference often gets translated into economic status because of opportunities for work. Colorism can be found across the world. The term is generally used for the phenomenon of people discriminating within their own ethnic groups."

Some comedian once cracked a joke on this, he took it back to the slavery days, saying that slave masters gave out jobs and privileges based on tone of skin. The lighter skin slaves had house duties, and depending on how light their complexion was, they might even be allowed to clean master's bedroom. The darker slaves had outdoor duties, the darker you were, the farther away from the house you were. The comedian (a fairly dark gentleman) said that if he were a slave, he'd be so far away from master's house, he'd be two steps from freedom. Funny as this statement may be in a comical setting, I see how certain people still have that kind of thinking, and how the intraracial segregation could have been initiated by this type of treatment. It would have been easy for the lighter skinned people to get a 'nose-up' attitude towards their darker counterparts. How it would be easy for them to forget that they are still negro.

On the flip side, there is the same type of arrogance exhibited by the darker skinned brothers and sisters towards the light skinned fellas. Those of you that know me would say that I am light-skinned. Personally I don't see that in myself but what ever; it was brought to my attention by a young lady when I expressed interest in her. She had the audacity to say I'm not 'black' enough. I asked if she meant tone-wise or culturally, and she said both. You see, once a bother gets educated, people think he loses his culture, and if he is lightskinned, they say he's got white blood in him. There is nothing wrong with being mixed, I hate no man, discriminate against no man, but I can't tolerate ignorance. so I had to address this. I am born and raised African, I was exposed to, and experienced the culture first hand, not through television, not through magazines, not through friends or museums. I lived it. So, for a young lady, born and raised in Canada, to insinuate that she is more 'black' than I am. Trick please. I have probably seen more oppression in one year than you have in all your life. I am still negro. No matter how much you try to claim to be 'better than me' you are still dust.

...to be continued

The Mourning After

Posted by Tedd V 2 comments

Sitting here alone in my bed, my mind wandering and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened? She was right here next to me - her head was on my chest and my fingers navigating softly on her scalp. I was without a care as I felt the natural texture of her hair brushing softly on my chin. To say I can still smell her would be cutting it thin, but you have to understand the state that I’m in. It seems like it was just last night that everything was going so well, even the most perfect stranger looking at us could tell that we were in love. We enjoyed a candle-light dinner in the gazebo with the cool late spring evening breeze gently caressing our lightly dressed bodies. We sat there and enjoyed her brilliant cooking, and I spent the rest of the evening just looking, just watching, just gazing aimlessly into her amazing eyes and thinking of all the things I wanted to do to her.

From there we went inside the house and lay down on the floor, listened to some Barbara Johnson & Bessie Smith, while we had apple pie for dessert and played a game of chess. Have you ever felt like you were blessed? That’s me, that’s how I felt whenever I was with her. With all my hang-ups, my insecurities, my fears, my imperfections she looked at me and I felt wanted. I felt huggable, felt touchable & felt lovable. After the game of chess she led me upstairs to our room where we talked the night away, she told me about her fears, dreams and ambitions and I told her about mine as I gently massaged all her tension away. She sang some Jill Scott to me and remixed it with Anita Baker; and at that moment I just had to thank my maker for taking time to make her for me. You ever feel like you wanted a moment to last forever? Ever wish that you could take a feeling and just put it in a bottle so that every once in a while you could go back to that bottle, open it and re-live that moment? That’s what our 21st anniversary felt like. Kodak® couldn’t capture the brilliance of that moment. Imax® couldn’t produce anything to make you feel it the way I did. But as any other moment, you live it and it goes. Today would have been our 22nd – I had looked forward to it being better than last year, I woke up to an empty bed, and it feels weird. It’s been 2 months since breast cancer took her away, and every morning feels like the mourning after.

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