I don’t think you understood how much I loved you, and how much of myself I gave to you. I don’t think you will ever be able to perceive how effortlessly you threw me away. 

In order for me to recover from you, I had to reinvent myself. The love I have to give now is much more valuable than what I gave to you. This new found love I have for myself you have no right to flourish in, but only witness from afar. 

As you view from afar, I hope you remember your actions or lack thereof, that ripped our budding family apart. I hope you recall all of the painful things I told you I was feeling, and finally place yourself in my shoes.

Lastly, from afar, I hope you see how happy I am without you and how miserable you are without me, and realize that you have no one to blame but yourself. 

Praying for your recovery 🙏🏾

Night Demons

I can’t sleep.

Night demons scratching at my back once again; Taunting me.

Even when I close my eyes, they don’t get the message that they’re not welcome.

Unwanted, uninvited pests, lurking through my thoughts, flipping through my conscious, reading aloud the crumbled up and tossed out pages of my life.

annunciating each and EVERY single word .

I can feel them digging deeper. My skin breaks, liquified heartbreak, anxiety and pain begins to bleed through.

I try applying pressure but it soaks through. Its everywhere, I can feel it pooling throughout my entirety. I’m drenched, on the brink of panic.

How do I make them go away?

What am I doing to make them stay?

What is Freedom?

Pascagoula Beach Blvd. Pascagoula, MS/ Video: Corinne Coleman

There is something about water. The ocean, the waves, the sound, the sway, the ebb, and flow.

It goes every which way because it can and there’s nothing anybody can do about it either.

Its freedom.

Water is Freedom.


He was exposed; already naked.

He told me it was my turn to strip.

I hesitated, then loosened my shoulders, removing the weight of the world.

He told me to keep going.

So, I slowly turned around as my insecurities fell to the floor.

He told me to keep going.

So, I walked toward him, our eyes locked on each others souls.

He gripped my waist, crept his hand up my spine, and embraced me.

He told me to stop.

Then everything else that prevented him from seeing me disappeared.

He sees me now and we are naked to our world, and nobody elses.

Aging: Is it a Look or a Feeling?

I had a weird moment while looking at myself in the mirror. I have been looking at the same face for as long as I can remember. I have the same smile, the same light in my eyes; it’s a little bizarre. You see, I thought when we age, or at least when a decade has passed in our adult years, we would see some significant difference in the way we look. This is not the experience for everyone, but for me, I grew up thinking getting older was such a horrible occurrence. I grew up listening to the “elders” around me telling me to watch what I eat, take care of my body, do this, and do that because it’s all going to catch up to me, and everything is going to slow down and that I won’t be able to recognize myself once I hit thirty; I’m 32.  What I’m starting to understand and accept is that their fears were not mine to own. Of course, I spent a significant chunk of my twenties infusing my body with burgers, funnel cakes, alcohol, and the occasional partaking of  Mary Jane, but I never abused anything I consumed. In a way, I think their pessimistic projections made that possible. Sometimes the most excellent teachers are those who you never want to emulate.

Aging is a blessing; It’s a blessing to be able to see ourselves evolve, and I mean that in every aspect. However, it’s also a blessing to know and understand that we have control over certain parts of our aging process. The most critical part is how we age mentally. What our mind consumes is what will physically manifest. So, if someone has negative thoughts about aging ruminating in their minds, eventually it will physically show. How else do you explain a 102-year-old woman running a marathon and, more recently, an 89-year-old woman climbing the highest mountain in Africa? Your body will respond to what you tell it to do.  

I do not look my age, nor do I feel it. But, what does that even mean? What does a 32-year-old look like, how are they suppose to feel? I don’t think there is a definitive answer to those questions; it just depends on the person. At this point, I’m just grateful for all of my rotations around the sun and hope I have the stamina to run marathons and climb mountains in 50+ years.

The Fury Beneath the Sane Surface

I don’t know how to be open anymore. I would like to be, but spiritually, it’s exhausting. I’ve done it already, and it turned out to be a waste of my time. The thought of tapping into the parts of me that made me who I am and explaining its relevancy appears to be redundantly pointless.  Moreover, it’s unfortunate that the blame lies with the person who broke my heart.  I can’t even tell who is worth it anymore; honestly, I don’t even feel like I am at times.  Though, it would be beautiful to find someone who will leave me breathless and look at me with their eyes screaming “ I would never hurt you, I’ve been hurt too, we can help to heal one another finally, but you have to trust me.” I remember what love was like, but I was also in love with a lie. I want to put my guard down; I want to be vulnerable because damnit I’m tired of maintaining this icy, brick wall around my heart, but I am terrified.

Honestly, deep down, like really deep down, I am still pissed the fuck off. The life I have now is not what I had imagined. I didn’t want to be a single mother, and I still don’t want to be. This shit is hard. Trying to raise a young black queen on my own after being left so broken and disrespected makes me want to ignite from the fury I have inside, but for her, I have to maintain a sane surface.  I gave away my heart, mind, soul, and body; emphasis on the body because I carried a child. I’m raging on the inside, but I don’t let it show. I can feel it right now, but I ignore it because I’m not sure how that rage would manifest itself if I release that energy into the universe.

I was three months pregnant when the father of my child cheated on me. I was eight months pregnant when someone else told me the truth and that the woman was five months pregnant.

We had plans for our life together, how we would raise the kids, where we would live. It’s been three years, and until this day, I can’t understand how someone could purposely hurt and betray another human being this way.

The Countdown

By: Corinne Coleman Photo: Franck V. on Unsplash

In 2004, the beginning of my senior year at San Lorenzo High School, a new fascination emerged and spread quickly amongst the student body. I never considered myself one to follow the latest and greatest of anything, but this one stimulated my curiosity, “Tom is one of my top 5 friends”, I’d hear as I walked through the halls. Who the hell is Tom, how does everyone know him and why? “Myspace…Duh!” was the most common response I’d received. Eventually, like the other lemmings, I became a registered user on Myspace. I learned it was this social networking thingy that enabled users to become friends with people they knew personally and with complete strangers.  It quickly and unnaturally bridged the gap between strangers, allowing them to bypass the awkward and sometimes unnecessary introductions used to establish a friendship.

Myspace allowed people to become friends simply with the click of the mouse, and it set the stage for social networking hierarchies. The individual’s people chose to represent their top 5 friends carried a lot of weight and elevated social statuses among groups. Tom was number one on everyone’s page until one day, one fateful day, users were allowed to remove Tom, and three additional friend spaces were added. That’s when the world, or at least the world of San Lorenzo High, went crazy. Top 8 friends! With Tom removed, who will become the number one friend? I bailed after witnessing the bizarre life decisions being made left and right in regards to Myspace. Angry couples yelling at each other, asking why they’re not number one on their significant others top friends. Lifelong friends turned to enemies because of a comment on the page of an individual the other doesn’t get along with. Beyond the world of San Lorenzo High, internet bullying and stalking were born, and to some extent, all Myspace users were guilty of it, but very few took it to the extreme resulting in multiple assaults and even death. Things were getting out of control, it was wildfire. The flames had risen so high, and so fast, the only way for the madness to stop was for people to come back to the real world and disconnect. But they couldn’t nor did they want to. The social networking community of Myspace was real and evolved beyond everyone’s imagination.  It got to a point where not having a Myspace page meant something was wrong with you, though, there may have been something wrong with them.

Technology has advanced much further and faster than many have anticipated.  This may be due to the number of people who have the means and access to participate in its advancement even if it’s not for scientific or technological research. Human to technology interaction is the new norm, we are all connected and dependent upon technology. The concern about this dependency ignited the science fiction notion of the singularity:

“The singularity is the moment…when machine intelligence crosses a tipping point. Past this point…artificial intelligence will go beyond anything we can currently conceive…At the singularity, everything will become technically possible, including robots that love…We may merge with through robotic and achieve immortality.  The singularity is technological rapture.” (Turkle 25)

Sherry Turkle, the author of Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other, has done mountains of research to observe and understand human interaction with various forms of advanced technology. Her results revealed many controversial and ethical implications we may face as the advancement progresses. The emotional attachment and dependency her subjects had on electronic devices, interactive toys, or even social media could be viewed as both ridiculous and scary. We are using technology, or more specifically robots, to fill a void and mimic our naturally desired human interactions. This forced me to question my own dependency, and I learned I was in denial. Many of us are, but why? Are we trying to avoid the criticism, or is it possible many of us cannot see the consequences of our technological interaction? The future of human to human emotional interaction and communication is in jeopardy because the lines between human life and artificial life have blurred and some us have become so dependent upon technology we can’t tell the difference.

Social Media and social networking have formed an infinite amount of communities. As already mentioned, there’s Myspace, as well as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat; honestly, I could probably go on for days.   The purpose of each community is to stay connected with one other. But who or what are people connecting to? “There is the possibility that chatting with anonymous humans can make online bots and agents look like good company…there is a possibility that the company of online bots makes anonymous humans look good” (Turkle 231). Trying to stay connected can be dangerous mentally, physically, and emotionally based on who or what, as Turkle pointed out, people are talking to. These connections were made for a specific purpose, and they inevitably changed how people interact. The social life of people and their social networking life became separate worlds. Interactions that are played out or discussed online are not addressed outside of that realm. When this does happen, it is known as the “spill-over effect” (Turkle, 195). This is where one has to own up to his or her actions that took place online face to face with an actual human being. Confrontations can erupt, emotions run wild, and people could potentially get hurt.

As a child, I remember having Barbie dolls and baby dolls, as well as action figures to play with. If and when I was bored with those I played outside. Today’s youth now have technology to play and interact with. When I had Myspace, anyone under the age of 15 was considered too young to have one, and anyone over the age of 25 was considered too old.  Now, it’s free for all. It pains me to see and hear ten year old glued to their phones, talking about their “Facebook drama.”   Turkle makes an excellent point, “Young people grow up with an expectation of continuous connection, always on and always on them” (Turkle 17). This constant need to stay connected has warped human interaction through all age ranges. Children today will grow up with the notion that technology has always been around because it was the first interactions they made other than their parents. I am guilty of giving my little cousin my tablet to occupy his time so that I may constructively occupy mine. But to watch how he interacts, his sense of curiosity and how he’s able to navigate (better than me) through the tablet so effortlessly, scares me. He is only 3 years old. I can only imagine what his navigation skills will be like when he is 10. That’s only 7 years away, and the rate of technological advancements increases every day.

We don’t know how to explain or define human existence. We consistently find ways to search for answers beyond who we are, to give our lives meaning. As children, the most curious minds among mankind, we try to find meaning on our own, and as we become adults, we continue to search. All we know for sure is that we are here, but what does that mean and why are we here? Technology is being used to answer these questions to fill in the blanks of human life. With technology, we’ve found many answers that stretch beyond our wildest dreams, and in return, we’ve only created more questions.  Because of this, it is feared that technology may decide it wants to mimic our existence; to be real, but real is essentially undefined. Technology exists because we have allowed it to thus far, but is it advancing at a rate beyond our control? And will there be a day when the blurred lines between man and machine become visibly apparent, forcing us to look to each other for survival without relying on the machines we’ve built?

The countdown to the singularity has begun.

PMDD: The Acronym that Saved my Life

I was sixteen years old when my body decided it was ready to complete its transition into womanhood. My face was slick and shiny with oil, uterus irritatingly contorting but I had a stockpile of pads; I was ready! Or so I thought. There is only so much they taught us during the awkwardness of Sexual Education class. The basics are important: ladies, you bleed and carry babies and fellas you get erections and impregnate the ladies. But knowing what I know now I wish they would’ve dug a little deeper and urged us, by us I mean young woman, to understand that our bodies are not only going to look different from one another during this transition but that things are happening internally that can negatively affect us mentally.

I was eighteen when I became a pro when it came to my monthly flow. My cycle was on time every month for a five-day visit, and I had upgraded to tampons, so life was good. I was also eighteen years old the first time I ever contemplated suicide. I remember being so confused as to why I no longer wanted to live this thing called life. The feeling came out of nowhere it seemed, but I just attributed it to whatever was going on in my life at the time. Deep down, I knew I didn’t want to end my life, but there was still a dark cloud hovering in the back of my mind telling me that it was what I wanted to do.

I was twenty-five when I started using birth control for the first time in my life. For years I refused to use birth control because I thought you had to be sexually active to be prescribed. Which I know is silly now because how would a physician honestly know your sexual activity, right? But not only was I taking preventative pregnancy measures, but I was also no longer experiencing the vulgar sensations in my uterus every month. What used to be a sometimes unbearable pain that would bring me to my knees had been diminished to what could be confused as a tiny bubble of gas. My monthly five-day visit had been reduced to 2 days of spotting. Once again, life was good!

I was twenty-six when I decided to stop using birth control. The migraines I started to get just wasn’t worth it anymore. I was also twenty-six when I had the scariest moment of my life. That voice in the back of my mind, the one that kept telling me to end my life had returned, and it was loud. It had made its way to the forefront of my existence so much so that I could see it. But like before, I knew for a fact that this was not what I wanted, but this dark cloud I’ve struggled with for years had manifested itself in a new and dangerous way, and I immediately sought out help.

The help and advice I received was a life changer, more like a life gainer for me. I learned of this unfortunate disorder some women experience before their cycle begins called Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder.  According to, PMDD is a condition similar to Pre-Menstrual Syndrome that also happens within the week or two before your period starts as hormone levels begin to fall after ovulation. PMDD causes more severe symptoms than PMS, including severe depression, irritability, and tension and affects up to 5% of women of childbearing age. When I learned this information, I saw all of my womanhood years flash before my eyes. It all made complete sense. Every time I was in such a massive depressive state was always a week before my period started. I began to read through all of the symptoms and checked off more boxes than I thought I would.

I was twenty-seven when I regained control of my body. Yes, those thoughts still taunted me a week before my period began, but I knew why they were there now and knew their time was short-lived. What once brought such confusion and uncertainty to my life, had a name. Since then, every time that dark cloud came rolling in, I knew PMDD was rolling in with it. It didn’t affect me the same way once I knew what it was. That voice in the back of my mind became a tiny blip. I’m thirty-one now, and the tiny blip is still there. I don’t think it will ever disappear. But at least I know I’m not crazy, and most of all, I DO NOT WANT TO KILL MYSELF!

If you or anyone you know suffers severe anxiety, tension, mood swings, sleeplessness, and depression a week or two before they start their period, I encourage you or them to seek help as soon as possible. Let it be known that I do not know of any statistical data or correlation between suicide and women with PMDD, diagnosed, or undiagnosed. I can only speak from my personal experience and how close I was to doing something I would’ve immediately regretted.

…And I’ll Show and Tell You Mine

I dont want perfection

Show me the scratches, bruises, and broken pieces of what use to be something whole

Show me the defects, faded scars, stitches, deep cuts; I want to see it all.

Tell me the pain below the surface, the things that haunt your soul, the demons that violently tap on your shoulder day and night

Tell me your failures, mistakes, and all the times you felt defeated

Show me!
Tell me!
I dont want perfection.
I want what’s real.
I want your truth.

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