An Open Letter to My Brothers

black women

Keisha, Alexandria and Natasha

Dear Black Men,

Donald Trump created an entire fake University just to rip people off and he’s one of two people in America that are vying to become our President. A white college male in California raped an unconscious woman behind a dumpster and is basically getting 3 months. As I’m tying this a black man is probably getting sentenced to years over weed when it’s legal in several states and most cities don’t even arrest you for small amounts anymore. These are all facts and these are all things that need to be addressed. I am not addressing them in this letter. In this letter I want to talk about the three woman that were murdered this week by men that look like you and I. Not because of gang violence, not because of police but because of domestic violence and this idea that, “If I can’t have you, no one can.”

Earlier this week I talked about how there has never been a race of women that existed that love black men more than black women. They will literally sacrifice their last for us, our mothers, our sisters, our aunts but more than anything; the women that love us in a romantic way. When a woman loves you, it’s with her entire being. She feels your pain and love in her soul and what’s hers is yours. The thing is though, if you don’t appreciate it, you’ll lose it and once you lose it, you have to her go.

Someone is going to read this and think that I’m saying all black men are woman beaters or all black men look the other way when it comes to domestic violence. Someone will read this and say, “What about white men?” “What about police?” Let me be clear. I speak to black men when it comes to protecting black women because no one else will. This week, three black women were shot and killed by men that should have been protecting them whether they were together or not. If a woman is the mother of your children, you should always want to make sure she’s good. We are spending too much time and energy fighting each other when we need to be looking out for each other.

If my friend or my brother or a co-worker tell me they are having problems at home or problems getting over a breakup. It’s my job as a man to talk to them, to see where their head is at. It’s my job and responsibility to let them know, “Bro, let shorty go, it’s going to be alright. You weren’t good to her when you had her and now that she’s finally happy you want to terrorize her even more?”

Black women used to give themselves to slave owners just so black men wouldn’t get beat or sold. When black men were getting lynched and locked up in the 50’s and 60’s, black women bailed us out and picked up the picket signs. When drugs hit the community and entire neighborhoods and cities lost black men to prison; our women held our sons and daughters together. Even now, with every other rap lyric and social media debate attacking black women, they’ve never let our side. So it’s up to us as men to stop looking the other way when we see domestic violence. When we see our brother, our friend, is about to lose it. We can’t laugh it off or belittle him. We have to make him understand, let her go.

I get sick to my stomach having to prove I’m not a criminal every time I get pulled over. Having to prove I’m qualified every time I work on a new project at work. Having to wait just a tad bit longer for my meal at a nice restaurant because, “He’s probably not going to tip well.” But what really kills me is watching little black boys and girls be raised without a mother. We have to fight the world everyday, we can’t fight each other.

I’m aware all three of these women weren’t murdered by ex’s in their lives. But they are still black women that were taken too soon. Domestic violence and domestic terrorism are the same to me. 

It’s All Love,

Demez

The Beauty Is In the Imperfections

20140623-125738.jpg The Beauty Is In the Imperfections

Attraction is one of the most raw qualities we have. You can’t control it, there’s no internal debates, you just see a person and know you want them.

Attraction is natural and understandable. What’s not natural nor understandable is degrading or insulting others. We throw around words like ugly, dumb, fat, gay, stupid and no matter if they’re said out of hate, sarcasm, humor or anger they leave mental and emotional scars.

Everyone is beautiful to someone even if that someone isn’t you. What I don’t understand is why people focus so much on who they aren’t attracted to? What’s the value in that? In telling a person they’re ugly or fat or stupid. Focus on what does attract you to someone, on what does make you happy.

It took me a long time to find out who I was.

I was born with a misshaped head, the doctors screwed up. It was literally crooked, warped, whatever word you want to use. For years kids mocked me, made fun of me. There were days I didn’t even want to go to school. I literally had to have my gallbladder removed from anxiety and eating problems. Ugly, weirdo, whop head. Kids are relentless and some adults. It got better over the years but that changed me. It made me appreciate nice people. It’s why I despise bullies and the cowards that ignore them. I fought back by learning to hide the hurt, by learning to be the smartest guy in the room, self deprecating. It’s why I started writing, an outlet.

Life is a gift and for years I felt sorry for myself. Oral surgery for better teeth, cologne, watches, clothes. Anything to cover what I thought were imperfections. My entire life I’ve been called smart, funny, manner-able and none of that compared to the first time a woman called me handsome. I didn’t even believe her. I’m confident now, secure but that are a lot of people that aren’t.

I fought a lot but it didn’t stop so I learned to use words. Really hateful words in an articulate way. Words that cut people at their core. I learned to hide the emotions that came from insults.

Let people be great. When you feel the urge to mock someone, compliment them. Love outweighs hate.

Demez F. White

A Letter to My Father

Dear Father,

A man isn’t a father because he gets a woman pregnant; he isn’t a father because he gives the child his last name. You have to earn the right to be called a father and you never earned that right, to be honest I don’t think you ever wanted it. When I was younger there were nights I would sit up and wonder if I would ever get to know you.

Even as an adult there are times where I imagine us having a beer and talking. Me learning about who you are, what made you the way you are? Maybe developing a friendship to make up for the father son relationship we never had. Then I think about who I am and who you are and I realize I’ve learned so much more by not having you in my life then I ever could by talking to you. Everything you’re not makes me everything I am.

I value my reputation. I work hard and I’m well spoken and dependable because I don’t ever want to be compared to you. When I’m drinking and I’m afraid I might be having one too many I think about you and I stop. When there’s a woman that looks amazing and all I want is her but I know I don’t need her, I stop.

I have 13, 14 brothers and sisters out there that I’ll probably never know because you couldn’t simply introduce us. Not pay child support or take us to the park but just introduce us? How hard would that have been? What type of man couldn’t do that for the children he brought into this world?

Do you know I wreck every relationship I have because I’m not ever sure if I have it in me to be a good father? I worry that I have your DNA inside of me. I worry that I’ll be too much like you and end up ruining some child’s life. I wish this was bullshit but it’s true, I have all these great qualities, all this love to give and every time I get close to someone I fall back because I don’t want to disappoint them like you’ve disappointed me. What if that’s genetic?

I’ll never hate you because you helped my mother give me life but I can never love you. I can never respect you or feel sympathy for you. All I can do is watch you exist, watch you kill yourself slowly. I’m 31 and I’ve never actually had a real conversation with you. I’m 31 and I’ve never been in a room with you while you were sober.

One day I’ll overcome these demons I have. I won’t let the blood of yours that’s in me allow me to be anything like you. I’m educated, I’ve never spent a night in prison, an hour. As I type this I’m at work running construction projects. I’m a published author. There isn’t a child on this earth that can say I’m his or her father because I wouldn’t do that to a child or a woman. I’ll be a great husband and I’m becoming a great man all because of what you taught me not to do. One day I’ll find someone and fall in love and my children will never know you exist. When you die, your legacy will die.

I said earlier I feel nothing for you but the truth is I feel sorry for you because you had an opportunity to be so much more and instead you settled for being nothing.

Sincerely Yours,

Your Son… Demez
me

That Awkward Moment I Realized My Friend May Hate Women

That Awkward Moment I Realized My Friend May Hate Women

I’m a fan of Law and Order SVU, I can watch that show every day, re-run after re-run. There’s just something really interesting about the criminal mind to me, how are you wired so differently from the rest of us? I see characters that are rapists, murders, molesters, serial cheaters and in most cases they genuinely hate women. There’s no hope for these men, the honest truth is either you lock them up or they’re going to hurt people again.

So when I write about my friend “hating” women I’m not talking to the extent of Ted Bundy or one of those weirdo’s that sleeps with women to give them HIV. I’m talking on a level I can’t quite understand but I’m starting to see more and more.

Women are talkative by nature. You put a group of women at a girl’s night or in a beauty shop and they’ll gossip. I’ve always felt like there’s nothing the matter with it, it’s just what they do. Men should be different though. Don’t get me wrong, we talk to each other, we share things that we probably shouldn’t be sharing but it’s usually with guys we’re cool with. Our brothers, best friends, guy’s we work with everyday. When I see men start to develop the same habits women have I have to question why? There’s this anger, this resentment that’s bubbling and I just don’t get it.

This is what every guy understands from the 2nd grade on; when the pretty girl with the two perfect ponytails doesn’t get you a lollipop for Valentines. All women aren’t going to like you, they all aren’t going to find you attractive or funny or charming. They’ll be some that just don’t like you period, they may not even know why they don’t like you. What you can’t do is take it personal. What you can’t do is take it out on “all” women. Don’t be that guy that throws around generalizations and bitterness and is just angry. For every woman that doesn’t return your call or that calls too much there’s several that will get it just right. I’m willing to give my friend or any man the benefit of the doubt after they’ve been betrayed or hurt or lied to or lied on but at some point you can’t be that guy that hates women.

What I’ve learned and of course it took me awhile is that the best thing you can do when you feel rejected or played or frustrated is be cool. Some woman lied on you, laugh about it. You ask two women out and they happen to be friends, apologize and keep it moving. You won’t win going back and forth, do you want to be that guy that’s arguing with women that you don’t even like?

Do I know for a fact my boy hates women, of course not but I do know something just isn’t right. I hope he finds his way in life and gets past whatever this is that makes him write stupid comments on Facebook or post tacky pictures on Instagram.

Until then we shall see.
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Hell on Earth: The Revolution II

Everyone else was sweating, quiet, but sweating. She could see their chest beating up and down, she knew their heart rates were probably through the roof. Some of them were in faded military uniforms, others were in old street clothes, there was no standard look. This was war and war wasn’t pretty. They all looked from the enemy to her, from the enemy to her, waiting on her command.

Hearts beating, palms sweating, she laughed. It was a quiet laugh but it was contagious. They all looked at her like she was crazy before they started to laugh. Her heart didn’t beat fast anymore when it was time to attack. She couldn’t remember the last time her palms sweated.

War

War

They took her world. They took her child, her mother, her life. For her killing them was peaceful, it was art derived from pain. Most of them were sleeping, they looked like children, teenagers but that was the enemy’s plan. Who would attack children? Their red eyes gave them away though.

Aliens weren’t little green men or big Godzilla like monsters; the aliens that took out half the population shared their DNA. It turns out there were two earths and theirs was older, more polluted and more vicious. For them this war wasn’t about land or resources it was about power. Attack us before we had the capability to attack them.

“Don’t waste bullets. Don’t fear death! If you get close enough use your claws! Rip their fuc%ing hearts out and make them regret they ever stepped foot here! I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, hungry for revenge and thirsty for their blood! Follow me and reclaim what is ours! Follow me and die a legend or live a REVOLUTIONARY!!!” Putting her guns in the should holster and putting on her claws she looked each of them in the eye and jumped into the enemy camp screaming, hoping more would come out so more would die!

The revolution is now!

Love and Lies: One Woman’s Story

Love hurts

Love hurts

She kept looking for it, she looked in her console, she pulled over and looked under the seat. Pulling down her visor, for the life of her she couldn’t remember where it was. Already running late the last thing she needed was no way to get into the parking garage or office. Tapping her heels on the brakes it hit her, the badge was in her jacket and her jacket was on the floor in his bedroom.

Calling him back to back to back his phone was going straight to voicemail and knowing she didn’t have a key she was hoping he was still home. It’d only been ten minutes since she left. Whipping into his driveway, banging on the door, looking at her watch and cell phone hoping they weren’t right. His car was there so she knew he was.

When he opened the door she tried to rush pass him to go get her badge, before she could even step in the house or explain she realized he was blocking the door, “What the hell are you doing here?! Why are you here without calling?!”

It all rushed out her mouth at once, a mix between confusion and a defensive mechanism. “I just left 10 minutes ago? I’ve been here the last two days and nights, I left my badge and I need it to get into work. I called you, your phone was off!”

As it was coming out her mouth it was like she was coming down the stairs in slow motion. She couldn’t see her face but she could see that all she was wearing was one of his t-shirts. All she was saw was bare feet and legs, at that moment nothing else mattered. Not being late for work, not her badge, not explaining herself.

“You have a bitch over here naked ten minutes after I leave! Was she waiting in the closet, on the street! You son of a bitch!” Before he knew it she’d caught him twice in the face and was past him rushing towards the girl running up the stairs before she felt herself lifted off the grown and practically thrown outside.

He slammed the door! Kicking the paneling, banging on the door, all she saw was red! “Really?! Really?! You can’t give me an answer! Be a man! Talk to me! Give me my badge! Give me my shit! Who is that bitch?!”

For five minutes she screamed and yelled and kicked until she saw the police pull up and some of her senses started to come back to her. He opened the door once the police stepped out the car and started to run her plates.

“I hate you, you’re crazy, you’re nothing to me. I hope they lock your ass under the jail! Coming over here trying to fuck up stuff with my woman, what’s the matter with you?” At that moment the tears started to fall and all the fight left her. She couldn’t understand the words that were coming from his mouth, an hour ago that same mouth was on hers, on her skin, on her lips and now he was tearing her down to a point where she wasn’t sure this was reality.

“Please turn around and place your hands on your head maam.”

Part II Tonight

A Brothers Honor, A Fathers Heartbreak, A Sons Regret

imagesCAW3EQLOI was the youngest and the smallest and the quietest. My father was the life of any room he walked into, loud, funny, friendly. My brothers were just like him, they had his broad shoulders and quick temper. They all played football and boxed, stayed outside until our mom had to drag them in. I don’t think there was a day that went by that they didn’t stuff me in a closet or a trunk or spray me with a water hose.

No matter how much they roughed me up, it was always only them. Whenever someone tried to pick a fight with me because I was smaller, I had their height but not their size, they were in for a surprise. Years of getting tossed around by my siblings gave me the quickest hands in our house since that was the only way I could ever win a fight or finish my meals.

Thinking about it made me smile. The nights we worked on old cars since we couldn’t afford new ones. The boxing sessions in the garage where we were all trying to impress dad. Three years apart, always a grade behind each other in school.

John waited until Albert graduated so they could enlist in the Army together. My mom always joked that we were all brothers but I must have come from a stork because John and Albert were joined at the hip.

On May 12th 2012 Albert was taken out by a sniper in Afghanistan. We all took it hard, my mom didn’t get out of bed for a month, my dad was calm about it. “He died a good death, he died a soldiers death.” No one took it harder than John though. He was in Iraq when he got the news. A week after the funeral he went right back.

On July 12th 2012 John died in a fire fight outside of Baghdad. The commander gave the order to maintain cover until the F-16’s arrived but John went in head first. Taking out four extremist before he was gunned down. They said he could have survived all the shots but that day he didn’t wear his body armor.

Within a month both my brothers were dead, fighting for their country. My father never said anything to me but I knew he looked at them differently than he looked at me. He was a soldier, a fighter, a man’s man. All my brothers ever wanted to be was like him.
Everywhere we went people stepped aside. My father pulled two men out a burning tank, won a Purple Heart in Desert Storm.

He never said it but my decision to go to college and not serve our country hurt him. “It’s a man’s duty to serve his country, what good is an education if you don’t know what it means to fight for it.” Those words never made sense to me but they did to my brothers.

The house I grew up in wasn’t a home anymore. My mom spent most of her time putting together care packages and volunteering at the hospital for wounded Veterans. My father spent most of his time in the garage talking to neighbors or the different friends that came by to chat with him or have him look at their car.

I knew I shouldn’t feel this way but I hated him. My brothers were dead because they wanted to be like him. “The army made me a man!” “Women love a man in uniform!” Day after day, story after story he filled their heads up with this bullshit about honor and loyalty and truth! Bullshit that got them killed! Wars that weren’t being fought because we were enslaved or attacked but wars that were being fought for nothing. He didn’t talk to me much because he thought I was a coward, I didn’t talk to him because I thought he was a fool.

Swinging as hard as I could at the punching bag in our garage I could feel my hands burning, the sweat dripping into my eyes but I didn’t stop punching, I couldn’t stop swinging. With every clank of the dog tags around my neck the more anger that surged threw me! They were my brothers tags and I wore them because they were apart of me now.

“You always could throw a punch but you never wanted to come to the gym with us. John thought it was because you had a glass chin. Albert thought it was because you wanted to chase girls. I knew it was because you didn’t want to be like me.”

I didn’t hear him come in. Those were the first real words outside of hello and goodbye he’d spoken to me in a year. He was right, I didn’t want to be another clone of my fathers. Football, boxing, the military. I wanted more for my life, I wanted to be something other than a name scribbled on some stone. What does dying in a foreign place fighting people that never did anything to me even mean?

After Albert died… I almost beat a kid to death because he called my brother stupid for not having on his body armor. The newspaper made it some black hawk down, saving Private Ryan moment but the army saw it as negligence. Since I wasn’t 18 yet and I’d experienced the death of two brothers they dropped the charges. When my dad picked me up he almost looked proud. I’d been valedictorian, I’d gotten into the most expensive school in the State with a full scholarship and the one time he patted me on my back was when I beat the shit out of some kid. That was my father, always the soldier, always about honor and family reputation.

“I’m not them.” I said the words softly, maybe I didn’t want him to hear me but I know he did.

“I didn’t raise you to be a coward!” His voice rose and he slapped his hand on the hood of his car!

Now his real feelings were coming out.

To Be Continued…