soliloque came to me in a dream — it will be a space for my thoughts; both personal and private. After closing A Cornered Gurl to future submissions, I realized, I too . . . had outgrown the space I created in January of 2017. I dreamed of another — one that would speak to my growth over the years and would also be a space with more vulnerable writing — raw details; whether it be fiction, nonfiction, or through verse.
I am a person who speaks to herself often. I have brief conversations when trying to figure out something…
I want to tell him that the days of us
growing together sneak up on me
at times — unexpected. I still love him.
I find myself searching through
old arguments to see where we
missed the point of clarity.
How did we not understand what
was right in front of us?
I have gray hair in places unthinkable —
everything is aging and I’ve lost
my way from him. I thought,
I couldn’t catch up to him —
he wasn’t my speed. …
Although soliloque is a space for my thoughts, I have always been in favor of a community and strengthening it. The “soliloque spotlight” will highlight writers, artists, and all-around creatives who have inspired me in some way, and also have voices more powerful than some of the heavy-hitters we see published on a daily basis here on this writing home of ours we know as Medium. You may ask . . . Why do this, Tre? My response. Why not?
If we do not lift each other up, flash some light in the direction of those sparking up something poignant…
When Mama hands me my plate of food, it takes everything in me not to shovel it down my throat quickly. The waffles are perfect; nice and fluffy. I eat my cheesy scrambled eggs eagerly the entire time. Mama looks at me, smiles slyly, and nods in approval. A happy belly makes a happy Clover. She knows this. Daddy knows this. Soon, my classmates will too. I have two more days before school starts and I want to be prepared.
We, women . . . we cling to our bodies
our sense of self wrapped up in them
and warped to nothingness by the
White men who use their minds to
belittle and belie our truths at every
corner — at every junction.
How are we to live in a nation
full of vultures?
How are we to cope?
A balking group of people has
made it their life’s work to
strip the woman of the one
thing we had total control over — the body.
And what next? …
Sold into flames, fiery pits sing of the determination of willful souls who know only the battles of their homeland.
Dead then alive, then dead again, human resurrection; phoenixes rising up, resisting the shackles weighing them down. We move to get away from ourselves. We seek peace in other lands — eager to take over other worlds. Will our legs carry us to places unknown?
Temptation comes in two forms; young or old. We crave them both. Is this life’s crown? Are we waiting to be brought back to life while we struggle to live?
©2021 Tremaine L. Loadholt
Going to the store now for me is like . . . like playing tug of war or escaping the fiery keep of a dragon. I flit around the store, flailing my body about the square footage as quickly as possible. All the while, in my head, I sing, “Get in. Get out. Get in. Get out.” It is a test of my stamina. How fast can I retrieve the seven items I came in here for, hmm?
I am friendly, but from a distance. I watch the people around me — looking at what they’ve touched — avoiding it…
Bonnie Barton recently dedicated one of her exquisite mixtapes to me — hoping she’d hit the mark, she absolutely tap-danced all over the mark. I love every selection in her post! The women she shared with us are not only exceptionally talented and were definitely unique in several ways both lyrically and vocally, but they also had style — exceptional style. Bonnie began her post with the fantastic foursome, The Pointer Sisters and I almost fell out of my chair. She also included Janet Jackson, Nancy Wilson, and the Goddess, Annie Lennox. …
The world in which we live is crumbling — bursting at its seams. I can only speak for myself, but I know I am not alone in feeling this . . . in feeling the dark pain that lingers without relent. I believe it is common for human beings to want to flee the bad parts of life — to shut ourselves up and lock ourselves out of the realness of the world when it weighs heavily on our shoulders.
Shouldn’t we want relief? Shouldn’t we strive for it? And with our world spinning and crashing the way it has…
Jewel, the wandering girl . . . wonders about the world while she plays. Even ballerinas need a break from the fiery heaps outside their bubbles. The air cracks. The grass under her belly sticks to her tutu — a menace to the child prodigy. All around her is space — free space . . . space to do whatever she chooses, yet she finds herself glued to the ground, digging up dirt. Intrigued.
What can be beneath this earth? A place, so much better than this one, perhaps. Perhaps?
©2021 Tremaine L. Loadholt