5:01am In Paris; Met Langston Hughes 

It’s 5:01am here in the City of Love and so far I’m not sure how Paris, France got that name. It would be like calling the United States the City of Tolerance. Thursday was filled with flight cancellations, sick guys on planes and an upset stomach. 

Friday wasn’t turning out much better. We arrived at around 9:00am and since then we’ve walked a dozen miles and had to change hotels. I was this close to hoping on a plane and taking my privileged American ass home but then Paris reminded me it was Paris. 

Wine in a cafe at midnight while I bored my date with details of Langston Hughes and the Paris Transfer written by Arnold Ramperstad. Walking back to the hotel and getting lost, turning a corner and seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time. Ordering steak tar tar and not realizing it was raw meat, being too prideful to admit my mistake but the waisteess realizing no one orders raw meat. This has been my first day in Paris. 

I miss Whataburger, regular sized restrooms and AC but for someone as serious as I am. Sometimes it’s okay to not have a plan. 

I wonder what day two holds in store. 

The Depth of A Sister’s Love: Excerpt One

img_2555A sneak peek into The Depth of A Sisters Love

He was no longer the first call she made when she had good news.

Kisses against the refrigerator door were replaced with arguments against the front door.

Naked bodies cuddling in the moonlight a distant memory, now simply two strangers sharing a bed ignoring the fact that neither could sleep.

What do you say to someone that you know loves you but you also know is no longer in love with you? People have written love songs for years about missing the love of their life or wanting their lover back, who has ever written a love song about the love fading away?

Standing at the door watching her place the last of her things in her car he felt the tears in his eyes. Tears not caused by a broken heart but tears of regret. What could have been, should have been, had their beginning been different, had he been more willing to be the man she deserved?

She took her time trying to make the bags fit in a car that wasn’t made for moving. Glancing back at him trying to be strong even though strength was the last thing on her mind. She’d yelled and screamed and made threats about how he would regret it but in the end, when all her energy was gone and the facade of a potentially great love was shattered. She knew the truth. Her heart was no longer in it and it would hurt her losing a friend more than it would hurt her to lose the man.

No tearful goodbyes asking her to stay.

No midnight text messages telling her he needed her to come home.

Love meant needing to see her happy. It meant needing to see her smile. Being with him brought a storm to her life that she was willing to brave no matter what. What he knew that she didn’t was that storms weren’t meant to last forever. Storms were beautiful nightmares.

Watching her speed down the street hear taillights fading as she turned the corner he knew he’d made the right decision. He knew she’d fine happiness in the world she could never find with a man like him.

Every corner in the house, every couch, every chair, every inch of his desk was a reminder of her smile, of her innocence, of their passion. Reminders that would burn deepest when the nights are the quietest. Looking in his phone there were dozens, hundreds pictures of her. Some innocent, some that only he would ever see, the memories too much to handle.

In the silence he closed his eyes wanting to hear her laughter, wanting to hear her car thump over the gate. In the silence he wanted to be selfish.

“I have nothing, you took it all and now you’ve taken my heart. You said you’d break me and you did, I’m too good for you.” Her words a constant reminder of his failures as a man.

He now knew the meaning of love songs and looking at the blood moon out his window he smiled as though he’d made the revelation of a lifetime.

“Why are they called love songs when the words that inspire them hurt like hell.”

Lying down on the floor he just listened to the music and stopped fighting the pain.


The sound of metal hitting metal jarred him awake! Jumping up and looking around he heard it again!


“I told you not to hurt me! You must be crazy to think I’m the only one that’s going to walk away from this devastated.” He looked out the window to see her and her younger sister standing on his front porch with baseball bats, her older sister was leaning against the car.

He laughed, “Now I see why they call them love songs. You have to be crazy in love to put up with this shit.”

You Can’t Appreciate What You Have If You Can’t Let Go of What You Had


Author Demez F. White

Memories are incredibly dope. You can be sitting at work watching a screen and a memory can flash before your eyes like a bolt of lightning. You didn’t ask for the memory, weren’t thinking about the memory but low and behold it happened. A brief moment in an otherwise uneventful day. You look up from your desk and ask yourself the question, “Where the hell did that come from?”

And just as soon as it was there, it’s now gone. After lunch and a phone call you don’t even think about it anymore. We’re all human and we all have thoughts we can’t control. Thoughts that could mean everything and thoughts that could mean nothing. That’s really up to you, it’s up to any of us what we give our time, effort and energy to.

This is the thing though, if you stay in the past, stay living in memories. It’s impossible to appreciate your present. Not fully. Not whole heartedly. How can you when stories and moments of times gone by are still playing like trailers on a movie screen in your head.

This week I made the decision to sell something that was a huge part of my past. I found myself holding on to it because it belonged to people that were very special to me. I’ve started a business, I need capital. I could hold on to something that gives me a good memory every now and again or I can let it go and use it to build on my present and future. Go into debt or make new memories with my old memories as a foundation. It’s an easy choice.

We can use a million different excuses as to why we want to live in the past but the simple truth is it’s an easy choice to make or not make. When you see someone making the decision to walk through old doors, to give time and attention to old memories. You have a choice to make. You talk to them and let them know or you give them room to embrace those old memories.

One Night Can Give Us A Thousand Memories



Sometimes I think I’m damaged, crazy maybe or just a coward. Are those words harsh? Yes they are but they’re the truth. What’s a coward? A coward is a man that awakens a woman’s love with no intentions of returning that love. A coward is a man that would rather have a thousand options than accept that one option that can change his life. I’d hit any man that called me a coward. Without hesitation. So should I slap myself?

I’m a good man. I work every day, I look after my family, I’m always here for there no matter what. I live next door to my grandmother because the thought of her being home alone scares me to death. I’m not sure I’m the most attractive guy but I don’t think I’m Sam Cassell. I have traits and qualities that will make me an amazing husband but I have flaws that I’m not sure I’m ready to put in a woman’s life. A can be moody, insecure, mean. I go into these moments where I don’t want to be bothered. You can’t be like that when you’re in a relationship. I can’t expect her to deal with that.

Or am I wrong? Isn’t part of being with someone making them better? Isn’t part of falling in love and giving your all allowing someone to be there for you when your shortcomings make you feel like you aren’t enough? This idea that we have to be a finished product to find love and happiness is something that I struggle with. I struggle with not having everything together. I struggle with being a man that can’t take care of everything. That’s doesn’t make sense though, we should be building the kingdom together. We should be able to talk about what I need to work on and I should open up and be honest with her in a way I’m not honest with anyone else. I haven’t done that before and it scares me. Does that make me weak? Foolish? Or does it make me a man.

I can be foolish but I have grown and I’ll continue to grow.

Demez F. White

Working Nights

20131012-024951.jpg I want to be successful.

I can’t tell you when it happened, when I started to come to work sick. When I started to work nights and weekends when I really didn’t have to. Writing articles about movies and cologne and political events just to network. At some point it clicked and I realized I like climbing to higher levels.

There’s a downside though. I wonder what’s going to happen when I get serious with someone. Is she going to accept eating dinner alone or sleeping alone or me needing to meet a writing deadline after I’ve been working all day?

Even now, I think about all the women I know. I wonder if any if them are thinking about me. If there’s someone I dated a month ago, a year ago, that masturbates to the moments we shared. If she’s leaving the club and is fighting the urge to text me. If she gets home and checks my Facebook or Instagram?

It’s important to me that I’m thought of, that I’m missed, that I’m desired. I’m at work right now not because I’m getting overtime or to impress my boss. I’m here because I want this road to look good so that I look good. I’m here to build a professional reputation that will make my “her” proud of me.

I know what it’s like to have s father I’m ashamed of. That won’t be my children, they won’t struggle or wonder about me. They won’t see me mistreat their mom or lie on the couch.

Sleepless Memories…

228263_581014860585_118401058_31484293_5420516_nI never had friends growing up. Not in elementary school or middle school or even really high school. I always knew a lot of people, I know a lot of people right now but I can’t really say I have a lot of friends. Who knows why, some of it could be because I’m sort of standoffish, some of it could be timing and a lot of could be simply because I’ve never invested the time into making them.

A part of me, a big part of me has always believed that I didn’t need to be close to my family or friends because my “family” would be the wife and children I eventually created. That I’d find an answer for the emptiness and loneliness in her and my seed but the older I get the more I’m starting to question that logic.

I went out with a friend tonight and you know I can’t even really call her a friend because she was more than that. She was not a sister but just more than a friend and talking to her; realizing how happily married she was and how fulfilled she was it sort of made me realize what I’m missing in spite of all I have.

See the thing is that life is pretty simple regardless of how difficult we try and make it. You do something you love for a living, you love someone you can’t go a day without thinking about and you do things to make those you love smile and to make yourself smile. That’s the formula to happiness, that’s always been the formula to happiness. How we get there is up to us and there’s a different path each of us takes but that’s it. Coming home to someone after a long night that misses you, that worries about you, that thinks about you. Working a job that doesn’t feel like a job because you want to do it at 2:30 in the morning when the world is sleeping. That’s the formula to living, loving and prospering.

A formula I have yet to master.

I wanted to tell her I miss her, I miss our conversations and texts and happy hours. I wanted to tell her she was the best friend I ever had because she was maybe the only friend I’ve ever had. But I didn’t say any of that, I just listened to her and laughed at her stories and appreciated the imperfect moment because I know they’ll come few and far between the older we get.

For a man like me dating and meeting women is the easiest thing in the world. But finding a real friend, someone that you trust and care about and forget how attractive they are because all you see is them as a person; that’s hard. That’s special and it doesn’t happen often.

I can be a mean man, I can be cold and unforgiving but on nights like tonight all I want is to remember the good times and forget most nights it’s only me.

Demez F. White


6230014-close-up-of-ethnic-black-woman-hips-in-white-panties-white-caucasian-man-hand-on-dark-skinned-africaGood Morning,

Pray for someone you don’t like today.

Apologize to someone that you know needs to hear that apology today.

Smile at someone that doesn’t get smiled at often.

Buy a stranger lunch.

Send a good morning text to two or three people. Not the standard, cookie cutter text but a real “Good Morning!”

Listen to your favorite song on the way to work and sing along with it like you’re singing to get the biggest recording deal of your life!!!

At lunch, instead of texting someone or getting on FB, just call them. Scroll down for that number and call them. There’s nothing like hearing the sound of someone’s voice on the other end of a phone.

Write a letter. Sit down on your couch or at your desk and write a letter. It could be to someone you don’t even talk to anymore. It could be to someone that has passed away, it could even be to the son or wife you don’t have yet. You’d be surprised at what putting words to paper does for you.

Just treat today like the treat it is.


Someone That I Used To Know

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

Those may only seem like two words but when they come from someone you were intimate with, someone you talked to all the time. Someone you shared fears and dreams with, those two words are so much more. A blast text that was probably sent to a hundred people makes you simply, “someone that I used to know.”

You think about what she’s cooking, how she probably stayed up all night to make sure it was perfect. You think about what she’s wearing and how it’s going to be sexy enough to frame her curves but classy enough because she’s around family.

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

It’s two words that are supposed to mean, “Have a good day,” or “eat plenty of turkey and dressing.” But instead those two words mean, “You’re just someone I used to know.”

You wonder who she’s calling to talk about how excited she is about Black Friday sales. You wonder who she has tasting the food to make sure it’s good. You wonder who stayed up with her while she was cooking because even though she hates to admit it; she hates being alone during the Holidays.

When the BlackBerry lights up and you see it’s a text from her you wonder if she’s asking you about your family or wanting to bring you a plate. You wonder if she wanted to know whether or not you miss her. But instead all you see is, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Memories fade over time.

Romantic moments become pictures in a Facebook album or in a closet in a box.

Texts are deleted and the heart opens up to someone else.

But a couple times a year, there will always be the “Happy Thanksgiving” text of the world that remind you that on this day you’re alone. The only thing keeping you company is your words, your imagination, your memories and your bottle.

Because for as much as family loves you, the only substitute for a woman’s touch is another woman’s touch.

Another Man’s Child…

I’ll be 30 in a couple of months and the older I get the more women I meet with children. I work with a lot of guys that are older than me and that have had a lot more experience in the world than me and they all have one mutual piece of advice.

“Do not talk to women with children.”

But this is the thing, why not? When you really think about it the only thing that separates most of us none virgins from having children is a sperm here or there. I’ve had enough unprotected sex in my life to have 40 kids but I’ve been blessed because I’ve pulled out or she’s had protection. So who am I to judge or cut out an entire class of women because I sperm slipped through?

I know a lot of great women that thought they were dealing with some real men and once those pregnancy test came back positive, they realized those guys weren’t real at all. Does that take away from the woman she is? She’s still smart and cool and sexy and confident, now she just as a little more baggage. And as a man I can choose to look past that and see where it goes or I can turn my back and talk to the woman who’s man had weak sperm. I’m not a quitter, if she’s a good woman, a child isn’t going to change that, it’s only going to enhance it.

I get what my boys and co-workers are saying. They’ve dealt with the drama and issues and complications that come with being with a woman with a child but all woman aren’t created equal.

The same way I can get into a situation with a woman that has no children and a crazy ex is the same way I can get into a situation with a woman that has a child and a crazy child’s father. If a woman is addictive, she’s going to be addictive with or without a child coming with that package.  Am I currently dating a woman with children, no. But if I was to meet one that has a child and she was everything I wanted. That risk is well worth the reward.

I’m Demez and I’m drunk and rambling on a Friday night. I need a baby mama.


Can You Still Feel It…

The closer the Holidays get, the colder the nights, the shorter the days, the more vivid the day dreams get. The more fierce the nightmares become.

Sleep consist of tossing and turning, walking to the kitchen knowing I’m not thirsty. Walking to my office, knowing I’ll get no work done. Two, maybe three hours of memories. Memories that once brought smiles to my face, memories that inspired the best in me. Now those same memories have inspired nightmares I can’t shake. Images so vivid I awake shaking and panicked. A shot glass or two or four giving me a reprieve from the endless night.

“Do you miss me?”

“Do you think about me?”

“Just tell me you love me. I don’t care if you mean it, I just need to hear it.”

The text are typed but never sent. The letters are written but then ripped up. Pacing the living room, the iPad synced with the TV, the images in my dreams being shown live. Her smile, her hair, her caramel skin in HD.

I hear knocks at the door, I open the door. She’s standing there with her arms open, tears in her eyes.

“I miss you.”

Stepping on the porch to hug her there’s no one there. The gate is closed, the wind attacking my shirt less body.

There’s no one. I blink my eyes but still nothing. I hear her moans, “make me love you baby, I know you can make me cum.”

I step back in the house! My eyes wide, my heart beating!

“Where the fuck are you?! Stop fucking with me!!! Stop! Stop!”

She’s still talking, still moaning. It’s her on the TV, the video goes black. There’s no one here, there was never anyone here. Throwing the shot glass against the wall! I grab the bottle and turn it up! More of the brown liquor falling on my chest and the floor than down my throat! It burns, I gag but the burn helps me forget if even only for a second that I’m losing my mind. The clock reads 3am, I take two pills to take me back to my nightmares. I hate them but they’re the only time she’s real.

Life goes on, the only question is when?