Please excuse my lack of updates. I’m working on a new layout. I need something different.

New Poem. I also submitted it to Poetry.com but since you are limited on text entry, that version is edited. The following is the full poem:

Me. Me. Me.
Black. Woman. Intelligent. Inquisitive.

Independent. Beautiful. Seductive. Sensual. Emotional. Spoiled. Blunt. Sarcastic.

Open-Minded.

Humble.

Daughter.

Niece.

Best friend.

Sister. Grand Daughter. Great-Grand Daughter.

Teacher. Counselor. Student. Negotiator.

Lover.

Love. Sex. Hugs. Spring. Flowers. Clouds. Blue. Brown. Music. Books. Pictures.

Laundry Attendant. Secretary. Student Assistant. Cashier. Sales Associate.

Student.

Officer. Agent. Diplomat. Ambassador. Secretary of State. Leader.

Best friend. Lover. Wife. Mother. Grand Mother.

Me.

Me.

Me.

What’s the deal with bill collectors? I know it’s their job and all, but why do 98% of them have to be so damn rude. They call your house (understandable) but if they can’t reach you there, they call you at work (unacceptable). Bad enough that I have to be at work in the first place; even worse when a bill collector bothers the hell out of you in your workplace.  Don’t call me at work and if you don’t understand that don’t call me at all. You get your money when you get it.  Clear?  Get it, got it, good.  And for that rare two percent, thank your for negotiating and understanding rough times and predicaments.  Hell, you’re probably in the same situation as me.  Venting feels oh so good. *sigh*